[ CLOSED ] let these bones be the giver

[gynvael]

Who: Geralt + Various
When: Mid-January
Where: Cadens, Horizon
What: Dealing with a sudden onslaught of new memories
Warnings: Spoilers for The Witcher S2, trauma, discussion of torture, etc. NSFW marked.



placing starters in the comments below. find me at discontinued or at Noa#1979 to plot stuff!

since geralt has been officially canon updated to the end of s2, just let me know directly if you want to have a zero spoiler interaction and i can set the threads pre-canon update for these cases.

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[gynvael]

[ He remains where he is while Ciri gathers her weapons, steps off the roof. The need to get away for awhile is one he's often felt himself.

He hasn't brought it up, no. It is not the first time he's lost too much in one instant, and it doesn't make it easier to bear. He also does not regret it. What he did. His decision, to protect Ciri, because he knew that he could. That they all could.

The loss of his brothers hurts. But they have, from the start, known that a Witcher's time on this earth is not one of peace and quiet. They will fall, eventually, each one of them. That's the simple reality of their existence. They've lived their lives after a hundred, two hundred years, trudging onward in a world that no longer wants them in it. Ciri is more. She is so much more than any of them ever was. And for all that he remains uncertain of his choices elsewhere, in this, he is sure: she will always be worth saving. ]

Ciri. [ He looks over. He isn't stopping her from leaving. If she wants time to herself, he more than understands. He just wants her to know that she needn't stay away for his sake, or for Jaskier's. ] We'll be here. When you come home.

[wiedzminka]

[ When he calls her name, Ciri pauses. She glances over her shoulder, lets herself meet his eyes briefly. They're steady as ever. There is no uncertainty there, no judgement, no rancor.

She smiles, faint and short-lived as the dew in the desert. ]

I know, Geralt.

[ And then she jumps down, with the faint rustle of leather and cloth, the twitch of the curtains, the soft thud of boots. A minute later, Geralt will hear the front door downstairs open and shut, and she is gone.

She's gone until the gray haze of the hour before morning, when the homes are quiet and only the most industrious shops are just beginning to stir. The window is still open. Ciri foregoes the front door this time, climbing up onto the ledge with the help of a cart parked in the alley and slinking inside like a stray cat, windswept and damp from the condensation in the air as the cold begins to break with sunrise nearing. She drops off her swords in the main room, kicks off her boots. Rinwell is asleep in their room, and she wouldn't disturb the girl.

The door to Jaskier's room is cracked open, the heavy breathing of one sleeping man and the silence of one not-quite-asleep Witcher beyond it. She glances at the couch, which would have been fine, and deems the cushions unappealing.

When you come home.

Wrapping herself in her cloak, Ciri slips quietly into the room where Geralt shares a bed with Jaskier and curls up in the bard's reading chair, closing her eyes. ]