[ There's one person Geralt has not reached out to since his return a few days ago. He should. He should. It's complicated, always, between them. More so lately than usual. And Yennefer is many things, has been angry at him for a lot, probably at many points wished to never see him again, but he holds no illusion that she would not care to learn if he's safe. Not after something like this.
He doesn't know how he feels. Too much. More than he wants. He isn't angry. It would be easier if he were. But it isn't so simple, either, as saying he understands, that he knows what happened was not her intention, and leave it at that. It was still by her hand, and he's—it's hard to swallow the bitter taste left behind, the sense that he never wanted any part of this, was dragged into it by her bullshit scheming. It's both childish and unfair. He made his choices, same as she. He knows what he chose when he left her behind in Thorne and asked her to do what it took to protect Ciri. When he stayed with her in the Horizon. When he did not seek her out afterwards. He is not looking for an apology. He does not want her regrets or what guilt she may hold.
Maybe, deep down, all he does want is to hear her say she hadn't meant to do...that. Maybe it will quell the part of him that remains uncertain, the part he's been trying to ignore, that he doesn't want to admit is there. He hates doubting her. He's always understood every one of her sharp edges, the softness they hide, whether they frustrate the fuck out of him or not. He wants to believe he still does.
Thoughts of contacting Yennefer don't leave him. The night is dark when he sits in bed, unable to sleep, thinking about what he can say. What he wants to say, if he wants to say anything. A few haphazard letters slip loose—incomplete, without a signature. ]
We ne—Yen
—fuc
[ Fuck.
He lays back down. Forget it. She'll reach out to him when it's safe. Knowing what the mages are capable of, what the queen must've suspected if not outright known is between them, he can't blame her for avoiding scrutiny. ]
yennefer.
He doesn't know how he feels. Too much. More than he wants. He isn't angry. It would be easier if he were. But it isn't so simple, either, as saying he understands, that he knows what happened was not her intention, and leave it at that. It was still by her hand, and he's—it's hard to swallow the bitter taste left behind, the sense that he never wanted any part of this, was dragged into it by her bullshit scheming. It's both childish and unfair. He made his choices, same as she. He knows what he chose when he left her behind in Thorne and asked her to do what it took to protect Ciri. When he stayed with her in the Horizon. When he did not seek her out afterwards. He is not looking for an apology. He does not want her regrets or what guilt she may hold.
Maybe, deep down, all he does want is to hear her say she hadn't meant to do...that. Maybe it will quell the part of him that remains uncertain, the part he's been trying to ignore, that he doesn't want to admit is there. He hates doubting her. He's always understood every one of her sharp edges, the softness they hide, whether they frustrate the fuck out of him or not. He wants to believe he still does.
Thoughts of contacting Yennefer don't leave him. The night is dark when he sits in bed, unable to sleep, thinking about what he can say. What he wants to say, if he wants to say anything. A few haphazard letters slip loose—incomplete, without a signature. ][ Fuck.
He lays back down. Forget it. She'll reach out to him when it's safe. Knowing what the mages are capable of, what the queen must've suspected if not outright known is between them, he can't blame her for avoiding scrutiny. ]