middaeg | ( OPEN ) february catch-all

[ She had no plans to push it, if he didn't answer. There was no need to pick a fight tonight of all nights. Not with him and not about this. Not when there was already enough simmering beneath the surface and waiting for the second he decided he was done being patient.

Casually, she swirls her hand in the water as she waits in the silence -- the pinkish hue leaving bit by bit. Though, her movements still when he starts speaking. She keeps her gaze cast down, almost not wanting to startle him and halt anything else he gets off his chest.

She leaves off the empty platitudes people often weave in when they're attempting to be supportive. The 'it's not your fault's and even worse, the 'it's going to be alright's. Yennefer already knows how much Geralt is beating himself up and she has no intention of being disingenuous. Instead, she relies on a more honest form of communication between them, reaching out to gently touch his jaw -- her expression serious. ]

He has a very caring heart. [ Untarnished and rare. Especially for their world. She doesn't say it, but she silently battles with a twisted sense of gratitude. Not sure Jaskier would have been able to keep Yen from leaving if Geralt had been taken. And honestly, not sure Jaskier would have been able to keep Geralt in the house if it had been her. In terms of scenarios, this is probably the best option if one of them had to be taken. ]

And he's stronger than we both, or at least stronger than I often give him credit for. [ Violet eyes leave his face as she begins to rise, planning to begin rinsing out his hair unless he needs her to sit a bit longer. ]

[ It's good she does; Geralt's not sure he can take it, hearing platitudes. He turns to look at her instead as her fingers brush his jaw. Her gaze is soft and on anyone else, he would hate it. It would feel like pity. But he knows Yennefer. She doesn't do pity. Not when it comes to him.

He brushes a thumb over her cheek. For a moment, he lets her presence steady him. He does his best to keep his own emotions from overwhelming the ties between them—though whether he succeeds is another matter.

When she draws away, he lets her. The salve in the water has eased the rawness of the burns, no longer aching so sharply. ]

I know. [ That much is true. It's not anyone who can spend the better part of their years keeping up with a Witcher. ] But some things are beyond strength.

[ Picking up a small bowl from nearby, she grabs a neutral smelling soap - dipping both into the water. She carefully wets Geralt's head before putting down the bowl and lathering the soap -- setting it down nearby should he want to grab it. With more care than she'd admit out loud, she begins washing the blood out of his hair. She's careful to not get his ears wet, taking a bit of time to examine him a little closer. ]

Yes, but most is not. Certainly not when it comes to torture or experimentation. There's a chance he's not alone -- that they'll keep him with other Mirrorbound they've grabbed. And as long as we can feed him strength through the bond, he'll make it through.

[ He has to. Her hands still on his shoulders, tensing slightly before it leaves her and she returns to the calm she was attempting to give off. ] I would never wish this lesson on him, but perhaps he'll also learn that pain reminds him he still draws breath.

[ Yennefer is just about the only one he'd allow to take care of him: a quiet moment that's meant to be private between the two of them. And that they'll likely never speak of out loud.

It's a quiet that doesn't last long. The more she speaks, the colder his blood runs. It's where they differ, maybe, because Geralt has never seen pain as a lesson. It simply is, a thing that happens, one that you either live through or you don't. The only thing he's ever learned from it is that if you're lucky enough to survive, you get to live with the knowledge that something inside you has irrevocably changed against your will.

By the time she finishes, her calm does little to ease the tension in his shoulders. He pulls abruptly away from her hands. It's not fair to push his anger onto her. Deep down, he knows she doesn't even realize the implications—

It's not as if he's ever talked about it, his time in the Trials. But his nerves are frayed, and a long buried bitterness overwhelms him suddenly. ]

If only we all had your wisdom for comfort while we bleed for science.

[ She'd channeled her pain on the floor as she fought to stay conscious through her transformation, the years and years of torment and beatings and any other cruelties foisted upon her culminating into feeling every part of her body shift and break and reform. An experience she never would have gone through if Tissaia hadn't saved her when she'd tried to kill herself. Just as she'd heard rumors of the Trials, she's sure there were rumors of what a Sorceress undertook to obtain her beauty. That they were offered the luxury of sedation for the pain.

Her mind floods back to writhing on the floor, the echo of her screams filling the chamber. Her body being ripped apart for what felt like an eternity. She laughs, but the sound is hollow as she reaches for a towel. Drying off her hands, she doesn't give herself enough time to think through her own next steps. Something he was very good at drawing out of her. He's raw and she's an easy target, she knew that going in -- especially when he lets the 'we' slip. But he'd struck something, a very very old wound. ]

There are far crueler fates than bleeding for science. There's no emotion in science. The cruelty is methodical and result-driven. There's an end to it, a call for an outcome. He should be so lucky to only bleed for science. [ She sucks in a breath, not wanting to share anything else that might give him further ammunition. She'd already said too much. Instinctually, her hand touches one of the scars on her wrist -- a scar he'd commented on in their first meeting. As quick as her hand is on her arm, it drops as she casts. There's a shimmer to the window as she turns, a barrier snapping into place to keep him from running as she calls over her shoulder. ]

Do with the bath as you see fit. I'll fetch the bandages for whenever you're out.

[ Now is not a time he cares to hear lectures on what is more or less cruel. Not even from Yennefer. Or perhaps not especially from Yennefer, somehow her words always far harder for him to ignore than anyone else's. His gaze flicks to the movement of her hand.

Then the windows shimmer with magic, drawing his attention away. His eyes narrow. He knows exactly what she's done. ]

Yen—

[ Shit. Of course she's gone. He huffs an exasperated breath. It's like her, isn't it. He hauls himself out of the bath, roughly drying himself off. It's not exactly appreciated, being held in his own damn home, even if he knows she right. There's nothing he can do by running in there except give them another specimen to hold.

There's some time before he goes to find Yennefer again, but he does go to find her. They're both...affected. By all of this. If she needs to tell herself there's strength to be gained in the end for Jaskier, he can understand. And though it's tempting to withdraw, the tangible link between them reminds him there's no point in pretending he's alone.

When he finds her, he sits down beside her. ] I'd hardly fit through those windows, anyway.

[ There was something so exclusive when it comes to trauma, this mentality that somehow what one person has gone through can’t compare to someone else’s pain. Geralt looking down on her and discounting her own life experiences are partially her own fault. She didn’t open up about her life because she didn’t care about everyone else’s thoughts about her. It was easier to be perceived as shallow and speaking from a place of presumption rather than her past.

But somehow, Geralt was flipping that idea on its head and it made her want to scream. Added with the complication that she couldn’t mask her reactionary emotions through the bond, not yet. Instead, she embraces the confirmation of swallowing down her vulnerabilities and going back to that cold and shallow exterior that had protected her for so long. Focus on being as neutral as she can for Jaskier, not wanting to add further stress through the bond for him. Focus on a plan and just deal with it all after they got him back. She can’t be mad at Geralt for his reaction, his bond with Jaskier far deeper than her own. This was a moment where she could be an outsider to their foundation and just… exist in the same sphere looking in as he works through his own guilt and anger.

There’s a bottle of gin on the table with some glasses, the fire roaring as she lays out bandages -- beginning to coat them with another healing salve to help accelerate the process. She’d never admit it out loud, but she’d slowly been building a collection of more and more salves and brews until she could make her own. Not a current priority over other magics. She doesn’t look up as he walks in, the couch dipping a bit as he joins her. ]

Better to rule out the temptation to try entirely. [ Because the key word there was ‘hardly’. Geralt was the type that would push his body through just about anything if there was a chance it might work. ] Give me one of your arms.

[ A quiet snort escapes him. It's difficult to parse how he feels, a simmering fury with no direction. Rare, for him. He's not often heated and it makes him unsteady, trying to wrestle it back under control.

Temptation is putting it lightly. He's willing to test the limits of her magic, if it comes down to it. She can't keep him here, or at least she can try -- though for now, he's let it go. Her comments have turned old wounds raw. He's not ready to say something he regrets yet, arguing about a strategy he knows will only make things worse. They have the invitation. It's their best lead.

If he'd been calmer, he might have dug deeper into why she said what she had. But right now, there's too much on his mind to delicately pull those strings apart. He's still prodding at the bond, waiting for when Jaskier will finally wake -- when something will happen.

Instead, he offers his arm. The redness has subsided a little. At least he knows better than to interfere with her work, letting her take over with bandaging it. ]

[ He's welcome to try. She's not above teleporting him around the house until his head is spinning so much he can't stand up straight or hitting him with one of Jaskier's contraptions to knock him out. Because she knows she can't hold a barrier forever with him pounding against it, but she had other options. Now paired with a large estate.

Strange how the idea that just talking to him isn't her first thought. He was stubborn, doubly so it seems when it's a suggestion from her that contradicts his own desires.

When he doesn't speak, she doesn't try to fill the silence. If it's uncomfortable, so be it. Talking was far more dangerous than anything else he could possibly throw at her. So, she begins draping the bandages on the chain marks, slowly working and taking her time. Popping the top off the gin, she takes a drink straight from the bottle, offering it to him as she rises to move to his other side ton continue wrapping him up. It's a good way to keep her hands and mind busy, to resist the temptation to be the first to speak. ]

[ If there's one thing Geralt has excelled at, it's sitting in silence, uncomfortable or not. He lets it build and build, only the sound of liquid sloshing in the bottle. He tips the gin back—for a few seconds longer than he should—and offers it in return: possibly the closest thing to a peace offering between them right now.

Once the last bandage has been tucked, the only thing he says is a thank you that comes flatly even for him.

Deep down, he's not angry with her. But it's easier to be angry than to admit that he wants—that he needs—anything from her. That he already misses the gentle calm of her fingers in his hair. And it's easier to let her be angry with him, too. At least that, he knows well how to handle.

He gets to his feet, ignoring the ache that's begun to build from the usual bruises that will fade soon enough. There's more liquor downstairs and since he can't fucking go outside, that's where he's headed: to gather another bottle of gin to his room, a space he hasn't often spent the night in since he's moved in.

Only a sliver of the two moons remain in the sky. Geralt parks himself on the floor by the bed. He means to try to settle his mind, but for once his attempts are met with frustration and he ends up cracking open the gin instead. Fuck it. Not like he's going anywhere soon where he needs to be sober. ]

[ A quiet simmering is much easier than coming to any sort of verbal blows again. At least not yet. She doesn't respond to the thank you, not having done much considering she hadn't actually used any magic to heal him on purpose. Not yet. Not until they knew for sure what was happening with Jaskier.

She lets him roam, moving up to her own room to do a form of meditation that's more for maintaining the barriers in various rooms as he stalks around the house. Once he's settled in his own room, after walking past a few times and finding him either attempting to meditate or drinking, she finally lets him be. She doesn't allow her thoughts to linger on how accustomed she'd grown to sharing a bed with him. No. She stays focused, light barriers acting as more of a warning than anything while everything is quiet. Conserving her energy for the 'what if's coursing through her mind.

Yennefer isn't sure how much time has passed, at least a few hours when she gets up to check on Geralt again. She can feel his frustration and the beginnings of the numbness that often came with a second bottle of gin. She wanted to at least get him into bed to rest when there's a sharp jolt through the bond. That sudden panic and fear that has to be coming from Jaskier, cursing under her breath. She'd hoped he'd at least remain unconscious for at least the full night -- reduce the amount of time he could be exposed to anything.

She holds out a hand, locking a barrier entirely around his room in place as she catches her breath leaning against her bed. Keeping him in, even through the doorway. Her first instinct to get to Geralt, her own fears of him breaking through her barriers... Of losing him only amplified by Jaskier's panic. Part of her wonders if she'd made a mistake not going with him to rescue the third in their bond, but she knows all three of them being captured or even just Geralt getting captured cannot happen.

Standing in the doorframe, she stays outside the barrier for a moment, taking in his reaction before she risks entering the room. She knows he'd never hurt her intentionally, but she's also keenly aware that knocking her out would drop the barrier. ]

[ For a couple hours, he manages to take the edge off. He sharpens his sword and distinctly does not acknowledge Yennefer lurking outside the door every so often. It's simpler to ignore it than to face how worried she is about him. He can feel it and he hates that she is.

He's fine. The last thing he wants is someone worrying over him. Nothing good has ever come of it. Jaskier had been worried about him, too, and now he's locked away somewhere.

Thought of sleep does cross his mind. He can try, at least. Running on fumes won't help free Jaskier. He's putting a cork in the bottle of gin to do just that when the fear pierces his chest. It's sharp, startling; the bottle slips from his hand, shattering.

He's already on his feet to look for Yennefer, to see if she's felt the same—except she's there, and it takes a split second for him to realize she's sealed the doorway, too, magic humming. Did she—? ]

Yennefer. [ There's more than a warning in his voice. It's not even that his first thought had been to run out the door, but the immediate sense of being trapped while Jaskier's panic curls around his heart triggers something primal inside him.

With one half of his bond suffering, the wolf inches closer to the surface. His eyes glow, claws growing thicker. They scrape against the barrier as he slams his hand against it. ] I will break this down.

[ Fuck.

She steps forward, grabbing his hands as he bangs on the barrier -- using a little magical boost to push him back as it reseals behind him. Pushing his hands down, she grabs his face and forces him to meet her gaze. ]

You will do no such thing because breaking through that barrier means cutting me down. That's the only way you're getting out of this fucking house right now.

[ Any anger she had about what transpired between them is gone, focused solely on keeping Geralt in his current form and in the house. She was too tired to deal with containing a godsdamned wolf right now. The tone that had accompanied her name was something she'd deal with later. Well, he could prioritize Jaskier all he wanted right now, but she was going to be the voice of reason once again. ]

Geralt, if you go out there, go after him... I might as well go with you. Because I cannot be left alone to deal with both of you facing whatever it is the cult has in store.

[ She doesn't say it, but it's simmering beneath the surface -- that she can't lose him. Not tonight. Her own fear leaks through the mask she'd so poorly slipped into place. Her fear and her love. Unspoken, but present. That single commitment that drives her -- reminds her how much she can't also lose him tonight. However short term it may be. ]

[ The last thing he expects is for her to come closer, though the truth is he's not thinking much at all. He hasn't felt this overwhelming instinct since the first few nights if the full moon, when he'd gone without any bond to tether him.

Fortunate, maybe, that he and Yennefer had bonded, as well. It's hard to say what might have happened if only Jaskier's tentative link was there to keep him centered. But she's here, too, and her touch settles him more than anything. Her forced calm hasn't helped much; this is different. Warmer. They've never said it out loud and he's always...known, in some ways. How she feels. Or he's hoped he's known, anyway. It's still different to sense her love so clearly.

He exhales, an unsteady breath. Shit. ] I'm not leaving you.

[ It's a promise he's made to her before. And he doesn't want to spend the next few days fighting her, either. Neither of them need this. But that lingering panic is still there, spiking, spilling into his every heartbeat. Ironic, that the bond which once helped calm him is now threatening to do the opposite.

He doesn't trust himself. He's not sure she should, either. His grip on the wolf is delicate on his best days and much of what he normally relies on to manage it, he can't right now. ] I don't know what will happen when it gets worse.

[ If they weren’t bonded, she wouldn’t have even bothered trying to keep him in the house after a certain point. Not worth the fight and, no matter how much she might care for him, without the bond? Her argument never would have succeeded. She wouldn't have been able to compete with what she was feeling as well from Jaskier.

There's no backpedaling or denying what she feels when their emotions are so raw right now.

When he doesn't push through, reiterates that promise again, she takes a few more steps forward. Placing her hand on his chest, she sighs and drops the shields. An extension of trust -- trying to get her own heart under control. ]

We'll figure it out, Geralt. And we'll find him when we infiltrate the party. We'll get him back.

[ Will they? It's not only Jaskier that troubles him. Geralt has never meant for her to be what holds him together; that's a burden he's never allowed onto anyone else before. Only now he finds himself leaning on her, far more than he should.

He takes her hand. He can hear her heart pounding as magic shimmers around them. ]

You should get some rest. [ He sits on the edge of the bed, ignoring the broken bottle for now. The room smells like spilled gin. ] Shouldn't have to mind me all night.

[ He's already said he won't leave. And he's done a lot of things, but he doesn't plan on breaking a promise to her. ]

[ He may never have meant for it, but she was the only one here right now. And there was too much at stake for pride to stand in the way. For either of them.

The rest of the magic slowly fades, not able to drop everything at once.

Bit by bit more fades as she watches Geralt, waiting until the last barrier drops. Sighing, she sits down on the bed next to him -- still holding onto his hand as she waves her other to clean up the glass. She can't do much about the smell, too drained to try for anything more than protection for their feet. Or at least, hers. ]

I'm not leaving you. [ She crosses her legs, looking around as she tries to figure out how the fuck they got to this point. ] You need to eat something. I can either bring something up to you or you can follow me down to the kitchen.

[ Either to sober him up a bit or give him a foundation to keep drinking. ] Besides, you need a new bottle of gin.

[ His expression flickers when she repeats the same words to him. He flexes his fingers, both to test the bandages wrapped around them and to will his claws to return to normal. It's funny. He's always been concerned with not risking her life. That's never changed, from the start. Over time, he's realized he's not willing to risk her heart, either, and doing both is...

Not always possible. Sometimes he wonders if he makes things worse by trying to. ]

We both do.

[ Maybe something stronger than gin. He gets up to follow her downstairs. As they pass by the liquor cabinet, he takes a bottle out. One of Maria's samples? Whatever it might be, it's good enough.

There's a loaf of bread on the counter that he simply tears a chunk out of, not near in the mood for the refinement that calls for a knife. He passes Yennefer the bottle with one hand and stuffs a fluffy piece of bread into his mouth with the other. ]

He'll be damned annoyed you'll have saved his life thrice now. [ It's a quiet acknowledgement that he knows she's right: there's nothing to do but wait and believe they'll get him out. Beyond that -- they'll deal with what comes if it does. ]

[ It’s such a simple phrase on its face, a string of 4 words. She doesn’t qualify it, doesn’t return it with a condition. It’s straightforward and seemingly easy to say. Even if they both know it’s not. It’s as close to an admission of love as she might get for now. Because she hadn’t said it back to him that night after he’d found his way into her nightmare. That was too complicated of a situation, but this wasn’t. They needed each other and they needed to stay strong for whatever Jaskier could feel through the bond. She had no interest in being responsible for feeding his fear when he has enough to worry about. And in that same vein, she had no interest in feeding any more of Geralt’s rage right now. Not when they knew Jaskier was awake and at the beginning of whatever hard truths were about to find him.

And where he may not be willing to risk her life or heart, she is if there’s no other choice. But, she’d prefer to not reach that point.

She doesn’t bother with lighting the kitchen as they enter it, letting the calm and darkness of night wash over them through the large windows, taking the bottle when it’s handed over and quickly opening it to take a drink. If they were skipping the refinement of knives, glasses seemed like a stretch. She slides the bottle back to Geralt, roaming through the kitchen to grab a chilled block of softer cheese and some grapes.

Yen isn’t in the mood for cheese under her nails, grabbing a knife for herself. She manages a soft chuckle as she returns to the counter, adding to their small but growing collection of food. She cuts off a bit of cheese from the small block and grabs a chunk of bread. ]

Well, I’m sure I’ll think of a way or five he can return the favor.

[ The air remains heavy despite it all. It feels not unlike sitting on a boiling pot and hoping it won't spill over. He tries not to think about it, what can't be helped. And he can admit he's at least grateful Yennefer is here. Safe. If it had been her instead—

Jaskier could not have stopped him. He doubts Jaskier would've even tried.

He takes a drink from the bottle. When he passes out back to her, their hands brush and he lets himself linger on it. ]

Only five? [ There's a faint glint in his eyes. ] You've grown generous.

[ Jaskier's not the only one who owes her, though. He knows that, too. ]

[ The air will likely remain heavy for as long as Jaskier remains in the hands of the Circle. And it could've been. It could've been any of them. That's what made this so terrifying and why she was so insistent on keeping Geralt in the house. He was an easy target right now. Distracted and injured. And, by extension, she was also an easy target at the moment. Better to barricade to stay safe and alive, and make a plan to save Jaskier. Starting with that invitation tomorrow.

She smirks, letting their fingers brush and allowing him as much contact as he wants right now. If it meant keeping him calm and here, she could manage that. ]

Don't let word get out, I don't need anyone believing I've gone soft.

[ Eating the bit of bread, she gathers everything up onto the plate she'd grabbed for the cheese -- leaving the bottle for him to carry. ] Come on, the kitchen's cold and if we're staying up tonight I'd prefer to be comfortable. By the fire or bedroom?

[ Because what Jaskier was experiencing was likely only going to get worse tonight and they were all going to need as much support as possible. ]

I always keep your secrets.

[ The banter is still lined with jagged edges, but it manages to set him at ease somewhat. He picks up the bottle, seeing what she's doing with the food. The house is big; everything seems to echo, and he's reminded of the halls of Kaer Morhen. ]

Fire should do. [ He'd rather stay somewhere more open. Besides, his lingering wounds still ache and he doesn't want to put in the effort of going all the way back up those stairs.

He sits close to her, their shoulders brushing as he settles on the fur rug spread out before the fireplace. Not much needs to be said; it's enough to have her next to him. It's funny. He spends so much of his time alone, and yet -- he feels it now, something missing without Jaskier here alongside him and Yennefer. A thread pulled loose from a braid. ]

And I yours.

[ He does, that's true. He keeps her secrets and she returns that favor. Usually without a need to weaponize those confessions and truths. At least, not lately -- and to her credit, the only one she weaponizes it against is him. It was a dangerous game to play, that level of trust she didn't often give to many. Trust he'd earned and trust she'd actively tried to maintain with him and for him.

Setting everything down, a wave of her hand ignites the flames -- bringing them roaring to life as the logs catch again.

Popping a grape into her mouth, she relaxes as much as she can -- some of the tension refusing to leave her shoulders. Still on edge and ready to reflexively react should there be another burst of emotion from Jaskier. Something strong enough to draw Geralt away from her.

She can’t fill the void Jaskier has left and she has no intentions to try. Taking up a space she’s not meant to isn’t a hobby she enjoys. And one she doesn’t need to employ. It’s strange, any other time she might’ve felt threatened by Geralt’s strong response to the Bard. Not that she had a right to lay claim, but if Geralt voiced the feeling of something missing, she’d be remiss to not agree. But, she’d need quite a few more drinks first. Because that would also be an admission of needs and feelings and that’s not in the plans tonight. Fuck no. Not with everything just a little too raw.

So, she sits. And she stays close. And she takes his hand when there’s another wave of strong emotions, leaving him only to fetch another bottle when they’ve finished off the latest. Let the dawn eventually wash over them with her head on his shoulder, eyes fixed on the window as the birds dance in the slowly blooming garden. ]

[ The silence is welcome. They sit in it together and when she reaches for his hand, he offers it to her, squeezing gently. He wishes she didn't feel both of their emotions so strongly. It can't be pleasant, and right now, he has no idea how to hold back the tide of it.

As agitated as he grows with every burst of fear and pain, he stays with her as promised. It's fucking hard. The itch to do something grows every hour; he flips the invitation around, studying it for something else they might be able to use in between downing the bottles of liquor that come his way.

In the end, exhaustion is their saving grace: even he can't keep awake after all the shit that's happened. By the time the sun begins to crest the horizon, he's passed out somewhere—either against Yennefer or sprawled on the rug by the dying fire. ]

( OPEN ) february catch-all

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