abraxaslogs | [ CATCH-ALL ] i'm allied to the winter

[ More than anything, Geralt knows better than to expect speaking to Yennefer will make the situation less complicated. Their conversation leaves him with a dozen more questions. A dozen more problems.

He does not tell Ciri immediately. He waits until nightfall, finishes the day's journey past the edges of Cadens towards the next town over. Spends the entire trip going over what he's learned, everything Yennefer has said. One thing he's certain: he can't trust her as things stand. Yennefer is vulnerable in Thorne without her magic in a multitude of ways. All of it is liable to put Ciri in danger. This, here, it's no longer about him. It's no longer about them, about what he may or may not feel for Yennefer. (He still feels it. What he always has with her. Maybe that's the hardest part: when even the deepest hurt does not erase what he feels. It only makes it so that he understands he can't let it mean anything more.)

Just off the path sits a rundown unnamed inn. It's owned by an elderly woman and an even more elderly hound. The place is full of cobwebs and dust, like she can no longer keep up with the sweeping. He pays her an extra few coins to stable Roach—and if there's an extra few more than he truly needs to, that's neither here nor there.

A rat scuttles between his feet as he opens the door to his room. He locks the door behind him. Only then does he send notice to Ciri. ]

I spoke to Yennefer.

[ Ciri knows his hand, recognizing the letters instantly even as they begin to uncurl before her eyes, glittering and nearly fading right into the bright flame she's sitting next to. They've made camp along the side of the road, not unusually; the merchant has his wagon to sleep inside in moderate comfort, and has already retreated within after supper, a little drunk and starting to snore early. Ciri, as she had agreed to do, keeps watch over the wagon and the cart, the horses and the goods (and Rinwell). It isn't late enough for either of them to be asleep.

Geralt's message lingers for a few moments atop the fire. Then, it fades into the flames. When she closes her eyes, the brightness of both lingers behind her eyelids. Her stomach twists, anxiety tight behind her ribs. It's foolish to wait for more; she knows what Geralt will expect. When the message repeats, an unanswered reminder (the magic somehow knows she hasn't responded, and she's long since stopped bothering to figure out how), Ciri finally sends her reply. ]

The training yard. When?

[ Already, she is asking Rinwell to keep an eye on things for her, with a promise that she'll pull Ciri out of the Horizon if anything happens. Or if she stays in too late, past the first watch they'd agreed upon. ]

Edited 2022-02-01 09:24 (UTC)

[ While he waits for her answer, he unpacks what little he's brought with him. Lays out his dagger to clean it. She's mentioned taking Rinwell on a simple escort job; beyond that, Geralt isn't certain where Ciri might be. Letting her go still leaves an uneasiness in him—he remembers keeping her close, needing to keep her close and safe, but he knows it isn't the same here. That no one's chasing her here. (Not if he can help it.)

The letters shine in the candlelight, curling across the grimy floor. He sits on the bed that's really more of a lumpy straw mattress thrown on a rickety wood frame. Feels like it barely holds his weight. ]

I'll wait there.

[ As soon as possible, in other words.

The broken railings atop the keep remain. He hasn't fixed them yet. Has Ciri seen the inside? She must've. He's noticed she hasn't come in and out lately. Didn't ask to meet inside. He can't blame her. He's slowly pieced it together, but much of it will never be the same. Not unless he shifts it deliberately and he doesn't want to. He's not certain it'll hold, either, if he tries.

He finds the lone stump by the training yard. Funny, how different it feels being here now. It used to be a quiet longing—a knowledge that he might never set foot in Kaer Morhen proper again. Now he remembers coming home, only to find everything changed. ]

[ Ciri doesn't respond; there is no need to. Geralt knows she was paying attention and saw his message. For a few minutes, Ciri busies herself making sure Rinwell knows what to do if something comes up to their camp, if the merchant wakes and wants to bother her for something, and whatever else might come up. The preparations are mostly unnecessary; Rinwell is not an idiot, and if Ciri didn't trust her, she wouldn't have brought her in the first place. It's just a stalling tactic that she's being dishonest with herself about.

Eventually, Ciri runs out of things to use as excuses, and the knowledge that Geralt is waiting makes her anxious enough that she has to give in. She needs to know; there's no avoiding it.

She decides to lie down near the fire, letting her body rest even if it isn't quite sleep, and slips into the Horizon.

As usual, she appears in the courtyard of Kaer Morhen. The wolf is already beside her. ]

...Geralt.

[ It isn't long before Ciri arrives. He senses her more than he sees her; that the wolf is with her instead of roaming the keep is no surprise. He pets it absently when it comes up to him, as though it recognizes that no threat looms for the moment.

He rises to meet her. The tension is taut around her. Geralt doesn't waste time avoiding the topic. She will want to hear what he has to say. ]

I found her at last, in the Horizon. She doesn't...recall as much as Jaskier and I. She knows she struck a deal. But not afterwards.

[ Not that she lied to them. To nearly the very end, she had lied to him, to Ciri. She'd known, and she'd lied, anyway. Taken Ciri, anyway. He understands Yennefer wants to believe she isn't capable. But the truth is, Yennefer here or Yennefer in those memories—they are not different people, just as he isn't different, either. Nor Jaskier. They remain themselves. ]

There's more. [ He pauses. ] She hasn't got her magic here.

[ He worries. That's what it comes down to. She's without her magic, again. And it troubles him what she will do to get it back, even if she were to insist she never would. ]

[ That... hadn't occurred to her as a possibility. Ciri stares at him, jaw tight, brows drawn. She crosses her arms under her chest, watching Geralt pet the wolf for a few moments as she does her best to process this new information, trying to piece together what it could mean. What consequences, heretofore unconsidered, are suddenly a salient possibility.

She hadn't thought Yennefer might remember only up to a point. She'd assumed that Yennefer would have either experienced what Geralt and Jaskier did, or not. Ciri certainly hadn't expected she might lose her magic. However these visions -- dreams, memories, whatever they are -- work, clearly they are more capable of affecting someone than should be possible. (Then again, what is possible, anyway? The word is meaningless at this point.) Ciri thinks of Jaskier's bruises.

She closes her eyes. Lets out a slow, measured breath. ]

What else did she say?

Why wasn't she responding?

Edited 2022-02-04 04:34 (UTC)

[ No. It'd not occurred to him, either, until she said it. Something about them, each of them, has changed. Physically or otherwise. He bears no new scars, but he...feels something.

He draws his attention back to Ciri. ] She claims she received no messages.

[ She isn't lying. Not about that. Yennefer is many things, but if she were truly avoiding them, truly didn't want to speak with him, she wouldn't lie about it. She would just defend her decision to do so, fiercely, whether justified or not. And he'd seen her form flicker, her connection to the Horizon unstable. If she can barely grasp her place in that plane, then it stands to reason that perhaps her connection to these messages they receive is equally unstable.

He sighs. He does not tell Ciri what Yennefer said, exactly, but what he says is perhaps telling enough. ] I don't trust her. [ He wants to. He does. He knows better. ] But I think you should speak with her. When you're ready.

[ Ciri needs to decide for herself, how she feels. And she can only do that if she talks to Yennefer face to face. Asks her what she needs to ask her. ]

[ Ciri seems to consider this first part. If Yennefer had no magic, perhaps that affected her connection to the Singularity-- the connection that allowed them to send these messages. It makes sense (as much as any of this does). But even those who had no magic to begin with are connected to the Singularity, given magic tied to it, or -- like her -- their magic warped to work within the Singularity's mysterious parameters, whatever those might be. It is what causes the changes in their connection to Chaos. So why would Yennefer's situation suddenly change?

It isn't just a vision, not even a memory. It has changed a core part of her being, and on top of that, her connection to the Chaos of this sphere, despite the way it tends to behave differently.

During their lessons, Yennefer had insisted Ciri go back to the basics, taught her of Chaos and how to pull and harness it, how to coax and ask the world to do her bidding. But Ciri's problem has never been that she can't reach out to Chaos; it's that it will overwhelm her. Here, the rules have been different than those she'd been trying to understand and work on during her travels, but in many ways, the fundamental problem hasn't changed.

Ciri shakes her head, where an ache is beginning to throb at the sides of her skull from the strain and the stress, and moves past Geralt to pace the yard agitatedly. ]

I do not understand how her connection to the Singularity could have changed so drastically. No such thing happened to you or to Jaskier. Why is this happening?

[ She ignores the rest of what Geralt says, or at least does not acknowledge him. Turning back so briskly her braid flips over his shoulder, Ciri paces in the opposite direction, toward him. ]

Why now?

[ As Ciri paces, Geralt watches. His voice is quiet. ] It did. After Thorne, I couldn't enter the Horizon for a time.

[ It's probably not an external force, is what he means. Yennefer's domain sits in the Horizon, no matter how twisted it's grown. Jaskier has been able to speak with her finally, not long ago. So her connection hasn't waned or disappeared. Just destabilized. He's never told anyone except Jaskier about the Horizon; to him, it'd felt only natural. That he wouldn't be able to focus for shit afterwards. But he knows Yennefer, without her magic nor the Horizon on top of that—she'd feel cut off, one more thing taken away from her.

The matter of Yennefer's loss of chaos and her inability to reach through the Singularity at first—the causes are interlinked, but not the same. He suspects that isn't why Ciri is asking. It's not theories and speculation about Yennefer's magic she's after. It's why this has affected all of them and only them.

He's thought about it. Often. For awhile. ]

The events of the Dimming may have disturbed the Singularity. It's had adverse effects on your magic in the past. [ He looks up at Ciri. There's a pause, but not hesitation. His gaze is firm. He is not blaming her. But nor does he want to hide what he thinks to protect her. That isn't what she needs. ] You have the power of foresight through dreams.

[ She stops. ]

...what.

[ But before Ciri can process what he's just admitted, what it might mean in connection to what's happened to Yennefer (he'd had his mind fucked with, so what about her?), Geralt moves on to another problem entirely. In a way, he answers her question.

Why now?

Ciri stares at him, wide-eyed and very still. She should have fucking known. She should have figured it out. It makes a sick amount of sense, doesn't it?

It always comes back to her. ]

I do not have the power to put memories in other people's heads. Memories I never experienced.

[ She points out flatly, voice low, but in the back of her mind, there is a sandpaper-scraping doubt that drags against her brain, a wriggling uncertainty like worms in her veins. All these years, all these places she's been to and people she's met, and the truth is that no one, not even the Aen Elle, have been able to explain to her the limits of her powers. If there are any.

And that is the most frightening thought of all.

Jaskier had called her selfish for immediately jumping to the conclusion that she must be source of his problems a few weeks back (it feels so long ago, all of a sudden). Ciri wishes it was only that. She might be selfish in plenty of ways, but unfortunately, she has also grown to have good reason to think in such a way. It's hardly a blessing. She never wanted all these things to be about her at all. ]

I didn't do this, Geralt.

[ I didn't mean to. ]

Not implanted. [ It isn't that he thinks she implanted any memories. She's right: much of it, she couldn't possibly have experienced. Especially not for Jaskier or Yennefer, but not even with Geralt, either. He went places, spoke to people, without her. No, it's— ] We may have absorbed a...variation of your prophetic sense. For a short time, though our connection to the Singularity.

[ Like Ciri, Geralt has come to understand that things simply are about her. The monoliths, the Wild Hunt, Voleth Meir, a dozen fucking kingdoms and more. They want her. For the what power she holds that he's yet to fully grasp. Destined.

She's tied to him. Part of each other.

He takes a breath. He gets up to join her, placing a hand on her shoulder. ] It's all right. I know.

[ He knows she didn't mean it. None of this is her fault. But their connection—there's no denying it anymore. And with the Singularity amplifying her magic, there's no telling what else is possible. It also...it doesn't matter. Whatever has bound them together, he doesn't regret it. Not now. ]

So what? Because I'm from further along our time, you think the Singularity reached through me to... stuff your heads full of memories you shouldn't have yet?

[ And not even to the point where she is, but only a year or so? Why? It makes no fucking sense and she just wants to fucking scream.

She doesn't. Ciri looks away when Geralt grips her shoulder, fighting back the urge to pull back and shove him off. It isn't his fault either. It isn't even that his theory is unfair.

The worst part about all of this is that he's probably right. ]

...and now what?

Yennefer is without her chaos. Jaskier hasn't been sober since I found him stuck in his own damn shirt that morning. Who knows what the fuck is going on with the Singularity, and desire for violence is brewing on the streets.

[ Ciri scoffs, crossing her arms tightly, shoulders hunched. ]

If it's not one thing, it's always five others.

[ Geralt doesn't answer. He doesn't believe it's quite so deliberate—a flash of power, absorbed by them for a brief moment from the Singularity's own loss of control—which explains its haphazard nature. But he knows the specifics is not the point. It's not what has Ciri upset.

Now what. That's a good question. He releases a breath and since she doesn't pull away, he slides his arm around her shoulders. ]

Now we face what lies ahead. Together. Same as always.

[ It doesn't matter if they've walked this path before, or what has caused it. Not for this. Ciri is right: if not one thing, then five others. If they had not received their rush of memories, something else would come along to throw their lives into chaos. To shatter what little calm they've found. That is simply how the world works.

At least now he knows. What Yennefer has done. What she may still do. It hurts, but it's better than finding out too late, the truth. ]

[ As soon as his arm moves around her, something inside her chest seems to snap, cracking apart more than loosening. Ciri leans into him, embracing him around the middle, tight. She buries her face into Geralt's shoulder, and she stays there. ]

I'm sorry.

[ That she'd snapped at him. That she is angry. That she is helpless to the powers that control her, and that he has seen it now, both here and in his memories, how being near her is signing up for misery and misfortune from all sides. She is sorry for not being stronger. For what has happened and will happen, everything Geralt remembers and everything he doesn't yet and all that neither of them know but she can't imagine being painless.

It's not an apology. It is an acknowledgement. She isn't sorry for what she's done; she regrets what she is. Like tar, sticking fast to anyone who steps too close, holding on until it chokes them, leaving only stains. If Geralt didn't know what he'd signed up for when he'd first laid eyes on her in the dungeon yard back in Thorne, he should understand now.

And, in a way, Ciri is also sorry that he does. ]

[ The instant she leans into him, Geralt holds her close. ] Don't be.

[ He doesn't want her regretting herself or the past. Not the present, either. Certainly not a future that neither of them know. Because there is her history that makes up his future, but there's also the one they're living now. She's here, with him, and that's what's important.

It's true. He didn't know what he was signing up for. Not in the dungeon yard, but far back. Over a decade ago, in Cintra's court. He didn't know and if he had, he would've returned for her sooner. He would not have left her for so long, believing she was better off living the life she deserved, rather than stolen away from her family by a Witcher. He would've realized she was—

His. That she was always meant to be a part of his life.

He takes a deep breath. The snow falls around them. ] Come inside. It's gained a few extra holes. [ The faintest hint of wryness enters his voice, belying the gravity of what he is telling her: that his Kaer Morhen, even here, has fallen apart. It's her home, though, as much as it's his. And she knows what happened to it. He won't hide how it is from her.

Besides, he suspects she might want something tangible to do. Something she can help repair, after everything. ] I could use your help, patching it up.

[ With her forehead on his shoulder, Geralt cannot see her wince. Yes, she knows. She'd seen it once, coming here; she actually hasn't gone back since. ]

If you're sure...

[ She sounds uncertain, pulling back only slowly. When Ciri scrubs the back of her hand over her face, there is a flicker across her features, her palm covering the scar and coming away leaving a glimpse of smooth skin, wider eyes and rounder cheeks. It is only for a moment, before she sets her jaw and she is the Ciri Geralt knows here again, with all her wounds in place. ]

Sure. I'll lend a hand.

[ His brows furrow a hint. He catches it. He does, the way her face shifts. Scar fading, a youthfulness to her face and yet the same look in her eyes. He says nothing. It is not the first time this has happened, but...

He leads the way inside. He's sure. The place needs to be cleaned up. And it has been, piece by piece: the last time Sam came, they put a table back together. It now sits next to another, and the braziers are lit again alongside the hearth at the center where the cooking pot hangs. The tree is still broken, but the medallions have all been picked up off the floor. Most of the blood has been scrubbed clean. The broken benches remain, dust and debris and the shattered bits of the monolith. Like blackened glass shards scattered over the floor.

The door shuts heavily behind them. It echoes in the hall. He wonders what she must've thought, coming here when it was whole. Knowing that it was not as she would have left it. Not as he would have left it, had he remembered.

He remembers now. But he supposes, it was never whole. Kaer Morhen has been broken since he was a boy. It doesn't make it any less of a home. He sees it as he walks, the ghost of a girl and her training sword in hand, practicing in the middle of the hall.

He's not altogether sure where to start. In the end, he picks up the bowl of medallions. It only feels right Ciri helps him hang them back up. She's the only one who truly understands what they mean. ]

[ Ciri lingers just inside when the doors swing shut with a heavy thud behind them. She'd glimpsed it once, while Geralt wasn't here; she hasn't come back since. It hadn't felt right, without him.

Now, he leads her in, steps into the ruined hall with its evidence of being patched together bit by bit, and bends to take a bowl in which have been gathered the fallen medallions that had scattered when the tree broke.

The tree. The monolith. Ciri's eyes skirt away from it, down to the contents of the bowl.

It is... too quiet. Firewood crackles softly, and the wind outside gusts through the cracks in the old stone, but it is still too quiet, too heavy, and Geralt's footsteps echo. Ciri hasn't moved. ]

Geralt, I--

[ He'd told her not to apologize. She is tired of apologizing. ]

I want to fix it.

[ She means the tree. And so much more than that, but the rest is impossible. ]

[ Ever since his memories returned (emerged?), he has focused on putting the furniture back together, cleaning the blood. He has not stopped long by the tree. Or what's left of it—a twisted half of a trunk. The other half is collapsed on the ground.

For a second, he's silent. These walls have held immeasurable loss for centuries, but now it's—it soaks the air, like freshly fallen rain. Nothing will bring them back. And he wonders, not for the first time, if he will be the last to fall. If there will be anyone left to look upon these medallions soon. If it even matters. Were they not always fated to fade from a world that never wanted them?

Ciri's voice slips between his thoughts. I want to fix it. He promised her he would fix so many things and he isn't certain he fixed much at all. He knows he protected her. He doesn't know if doing so made anything better. But maybe it isn't his place to fix what's broken on her behalf. Maybe that's for her to do. Maybe what's more important is that he's there for her, while she does so.

He looks over at Ciri. She seems almost small, and he places a hand on her shoulder. ] I'll help.

[ He bends down to where the split trunk has toppled over and waits for her to join him. The logistics are not especially significant in the Horizon. It only matters that they lift it and fit it back into place. ]

[ They work in silence. At first, it is difficult. To Ciri, each step feels weighed down with sand, each piece of wood -- not even real, remembered, a piece of the past -- seeming so much heavier than it should be. It isn't a physical sensation so much as a drag in the air, a thickness in the emptiness. A tension, coiled in her body like a fight-or-flight response though neither is appropriate.

She picks up pieces of wood, avoiding the shattered stone as much as possible when it's everywhere. The monolith still glints inside. They cover it up, but it will be there the same as it always was-- now that Geralt knows.

Her hands press alongside Geralt's to the trunk, righting bark and branches.

It gets a little easier with each piece. Only a little, but it is a start. ]

[ They take their time. He's in no hurry to finish, nor to leave. Just picks up the pieces, places them back on the standing half of the tree. What remains of the shattered monolith is covered up, bit by bit.

He isn't looking to change it back to how it was before. Only to fix it. What's done can't be undone. But it can be repaired. Healed.

When they place the final piece together, something seems to shift—the tree righting itself a little on its own. A thick crack down the middle shows where it splintered. Otherwise, it stands. Sturdy as ever. He looks up at it, wondering if Vesemir would have repaired it the same way. He imagines so. Rebuilding is what they do, until they no longer can. Until there's none of them left to do so. ]

It should hold. [ He glances over at Ciri. Only one part left: the medallions, waiting to be hung back up. He takes a nail and offers it to her. A moment passes before he says, ] I remember the Wild Hunt. Stepping into their world with you. [ He takes a nail of his own. ] When we first found each other here, you said they've been pursuing you across every sphere.

[ They right the last piece together, her hands next to his, bracing their combined weight on it to push it into place. Whether or not this is how it would 'really' work doesn't matter in the Horizon; the part that is important is it feels real enough. It feels like effort, like something that needs strength and will because it is in the physicality of the fixing that it actually feels like she is doing something. She doesn't want to stand there and wish it all gone, either. She wants the opportunity to choose to do something to move forward again.

Briefly, when they finish and the tree stands more-or-less whole once again, bearing the scars of the past like the rest of them, Ciri leans her shoulder against Geralt's side. It isn't quite an embrace, might have been mistaken for brushing past except for the way she lingers a moment or two.

Then, she takes the nail and a medallion and begins the difficult work of rebuilding the memorial.

Without looking up from what she is doing, Ciri nods. ]

Now you've seen them too.

[ He has. He is still not certain what they are. Spectres? No. They are something tangible. From another world. They spoke, they wore armour of a kind. And they knew of her. Daughter of Chaos.

He hangs the medallion up once the nail has been affixed. He tries not to think about what he has left behind back home. There is some guilt, lingering - not regret, because he knows what needs to be done, knows this is the best decision (isn't it?) - but it's not what he would've wanted had there been another way. There simply isn't. ]

You haven't felt them. [ It's both a question and yet not. ] Here, in this world. Not since we arrived.

[ Not even with her magic gone wrong that one time. It had drawn no real attention. Among the Summoned, it remains an incident that only he and Jaskier and Sam are aware of. He just...he wants to be sure. He wants to hear it from her, that she feels safer in this world than she has elsewhere. ]

[ Ciri finishes what she is doing, hanging up the medallion, before looking back over at Geralt. A faint crease forms between her brows. She's not sure what he's getting at, and answers tentatively. ]

It's more that I presume they haven't felt me.

They have a habit of... catching up. Finding me.

[ She hesitates. ]

It happens when I use my abilities to open portals. Even if it's within the same sphere. My use of magic is like a beacon to them.

[ But she cannot use that magic here. Mostly. There was that time with Jaskier, when they'd run into the remnants of Geralt's overrun camp-- ]

Sometimes, if I try not to draw attention, it takes months.

[ CATCH-ALL ] i'm allied to the winter

for geralt; early february.

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