[ The first time he enters the Horizon, he does not visit that room. The stairs that Jaskier and Amos found leading to nowhere have returned to their form now that he's back, opening the upper floor to the rooms that have been there. The second time, he passes by and hesitates. It feels like the scent of her is—
Stronger. Newer. His imagination, perhaps. He goes inside, anyhow. Studies the candle placed askew. He remembers Ciri found the token here and Geralt had placed it back without taking it, not wanting to think of it. He reaches for it now—lifting up the candlestick to find. There. His chest twists. He picks up the parchment. For a moment, he isn't sure he wants to open it. What he might find written there. So much of him feels unsteady and it isn't only to do with her. It's what her reaching out to him means, what it reminds him of. He's spent hours and days since his return burying it again. He doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to dream about it. And it's not as though he hasn't before—it will always shadow the darkest corners of his mind—but after so many decades, the memories had faded. The edges had dulled. Now they are sharpened once more, bright and ugly and too much.
The mountainside.
He slips the note in a drawer. This time, when he leaves, he takes the small silver token with him, with its engraving on the back.
The date comes, and he returns. Her silver charm has joined his medallion, tucked underneath the snarling wolf on the same chain. He's not certain what to expect, what he might find or hear out of her. He only knows he can't not see her.
He walks until he finds the mountainside she speaks of erected in the Horizon. A tent alongside it. It's a familiar scene, a familiar memory. He doesn't know why she's recalled this particular moment, but...it was the last time things were simpler. As far as anything is ever simple with them. He ducks inside the tent, finds himself surrounded by the smell of her. She's there, of course, and another time he'd have moved towards her.
Here, he does not. He stays by the edge of it, more guarded than he's ever been with her before. It isn't that he's wary of her, not like that. More that he feels inexplicably fragile. He's shown her parts of himself he's revealed to no one else, but it's always been by choice. This is different. This is something absolutely no one outside the walls of Kaer Morhen has ever known.
no subject
Stronger. Newer. His imagination, perhaps. He goes inside, anyhow. Studies the candle placed askew. He remembers Ciri found the token here and Geralt had placed it back without taking it, not wanting to think of it. He reaches for it now—lifting up the candlestick to find. There. His chest twists. He picks up the parchment. For a moment, he isn't sure he wants to open it. What he might find written there. So much of him feels unsteady and it isn't only to do with her. It's what her reaching out to him means, what it reminds him of. He's spent hours and days since his return burying it again. He doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to dream about it. And it's not as though he hasn't before—it will always shadow the darkest corners of his mind—but after so many decades, the memories had faded. The edges had dulled. Now they are sharpened once more, bright and ugly and too much.
The mountainside.
He slips the note in a drawer. This time, when he leaves, he takes the small silver token with him, with its engraving on the back.
The date comes, and he returns. Her silver charm has joined his medallion, tucked underneath the snarling wolf on the same chain. He's not certain what to expect, what he might find or hear out of her. He only knows he can't not see her.
He walks until he finds the mountainside she speaks of erected in the Horizon. A tent alongside it. It's a familiar scene, a familiar memory. He doesn't know why she's recalled this particular moment, but...it was the last time things were simpler. As far as anything is ever simple with them. He ducks inside the tent, finds himself surrounded by the smell of her. She's there, of course, and another time he'd have moved towards her.
Here, he does not. He stays by the edge of it, more guarded than he's ever been with her before. It isn't that he's wary of her, not like that. More that he feels inexplicably fragile. He's shown her parts of himself he's revealed to no one else, but it's always been by choice. This is different. This is something absolutely no one outside the walls of Kaer Morhen has ever known.
He's quiet, fingers pressed into his palm. ] Yen.