[ what would she have done? that is a question that yennefer should be asking herself, and yet she finds herself artfully avoiding it at any moment it appears, refusing to let herself think about that possibility for any actual length of time. because the truth of the matter is that if he had been brought out in front of her again, if he hadn't been able to make his escape and was still down in those dungeons, what she would have done would have been stupid and rash and would have ruined everything she'd worked so hard for over these last few months. it would have put them all at risk, most likely would have landed she or geralt with a death sentence, or would put them all down into those dungeons that she would be so useless in, and it would have exposed ciri.

because as much as she wants to ignore the truth of it, as much as she wants to deny what she knows to be true, she would not listen to him scream again.

it does not matter, in the end. he'd gotten out, gotten to safety, made it somehow across this excuse of a continent and back to a place he felt safe enough to head into the horizon and now he was here, with her. it has been months since they've had this time together, months since she actually exchanged words and time and space. she does not regard their last conversation as one at all, no matter what it was that was said. no matter how well, even now, she can picture the inside walls of his room. but why does it matter? before, they'd gone years without ever crossing paths. years, where she'd avoided thoughts of him. and now?

yennefer's fingers curl in on themselves, fighting the urge to reach for him. to touch him, as if to check if he were real, even when she knows he's not. when he speaks, his voice is still quiet, but firm. tight. she hates how easily she can read it, hates how easily he can read her. ]

I- [ it is not that she stutters, because yennefer does not stutter. rather, it's yennefer who cuts herself off. who takes a moment to breathe, to close her eyes - except that when she does, she sees the same image as she has for these past few weeks. geralt, curled over himself on the marble floor. red streaks, splayed out from his hands. that sound. she takes another breath, another half-moment, and then her eyes are open. hardened, as if in direct opposition to the curl that drags at her stomach. the trials. the children. the screams. geralt.

this was the reason she'd called him here, this was the thing she couldn't say in written words. even if she hadn't wanted to say it to herself, she knows, now, she has to. and when she catches his eyes again, holds them, even as her fists tighten where they sit in her lap. ] I did not mean to pull that memory, in the throne room. [ she doesn't need to specify, she knows he will know exactly what she is talking about. but something in her needs it to be said. ]

I reached for the closest thing that would cut off Grigory's search and that was what I found. [ i'm sorry goes unsaid, for now, as her nails dig into her palms. if he needed more explanation, she could probably give it to him - how she needed something strong enough to divert his attention, how she knew the chances of it being something traumatic, but hadn't taken the time to consider what. she'd reached into his mind in a panic, in a rush, hearing a figure and needing it to be over. yennefer doesn't know why this is so important, why it feels like her chest is tightening around her lungs as she says the words, but she doesn't turn from him. refuses to. ] I did not go searching for it.