"Blood and love are the beginning and the end of more curses than I can count," he acknowledges. It doesn't always end as well as that—whole, but scared. Maybe don't survive that kind of magic.
His concern is, to say the least, undispelled.
The anger is still there, simmering sluggishly, but he can't conjure more of it. Doesn't really bring it to bear. It's more frustration.
It's easy to be frustrated with Yen.
It's hard to be furious when she's already clearly punishing herself.
"You are selfish," he agrees then without malice. "And vain. Prone to acting rashly. And suspicious of others' motives. None of that surprises me, and none of it has pushed me away before. You're so sure I won't forgive you this time?"
"Maybe now you will, not understanding the scope of things." It's not said condescendingly so much as a matter of facts -- hearing what happened and experiencing them, feeling them, are two different things. "But you could wake up another day and remember everything and decide that was the wrong course of action. That there are some things you won't forgive even me for."
But the honest truth? If she can even manage to get close to it? She tries, for him.
"There's not much I'm certain of, at the moment. I don't like that feeling."
"We never know how we'll wake up tomorrow," Geralt points out, not angry enough to raise his voice and not mollified enough to be comforting but uncomfortably situated somewhere in between. As annoyed with his own feelings as he is with her, at this point.
"I won't insult you by promising I won't be angry another day because I wake up with memories of this, or some other future. But I could also wake up tomorrow concussed because of a scuffle with a troll. There's only so much we can be sure of."
Ever, but especially here.
A part of Geralt is still processing the fact he survives. That's its own kind of surprise.
It is uncomfortable. It'd be easier if he was angry. It wouldn't make sense for him to comforting, nor does she deserve his comfort for a multitude of reasons, more than a few ones she made on purpose.
No one is Yennefer's worst enemy more than Yennefer herself. But anger is easier, safer than this unease, this weird in between that they seem to keep finding themselves in here.
"I should have told you I needed time, but I didn't pull away because I didn't trust you."
Well, not completely. How much does Yen ever trust anyone? And her recent memories did involve him holding a sword to her neck and telling her he didn't forgive her but it's just....fucking complicated like everything between them always is. Like he's said before, she trusts him with some things, she's tried here to trust him with more but it's a work in progress that has become only more tangled now.
"I was trying to find my footing again. Make sense of things." And strategize how she wanted to approach all of this with him. She knew that unlike herself, he never asked Jaskier if he survived or not, that he had continued to play off the idea that he didn't. But now he knows he does. That he finds his child surprise and finally claims her. And has that to go back to, someday.
It's all unsatisfying. At least a fight might have provided some catharsis, the sense that they'd cleared the air. A climax to the days of building tension. This, whatever it is, doesn't do that. Instead Geralt's frustrations seem lodged, like undigested food.
She's explained herself, and he can't fault her explanation, even if it doesn't make him happy. It all seems... it all seems so painfully like her.
And like them.
It's a minor irritation on top of it to note that Jaskier had been right. Of course, he had the benefit of remembering what, to Geralt, was still the future.
"I'm glad you've told me," he grumbles, not sounding glad at all. Maybe grateful would have been a better word, though too strong.
"No you're not, not completely. You wish I had told you sooner. You're disappointed. Frustrated, even."
Talking to him was something Jaskier had been encouraging her gently to do, which had helped her get to this point at all. Left to her own devices completely who knows how long she might have dodged the conversation.
And maybe she's pushing him to be angry for reasons other than feeling like she deserves it -- she wants a release as well. Some sort of catharsis, something beyond the sad, mournful feelings she's been wrestling with since she woke up with all these new memories.
"Not really. But I couldn't avoid you forever -- I didn't want to avoid you forever.
"I'm capable of being glad and frustrated at the same time." A fact which might have souned like a joke, but wasn't—rarely would have been. Contrary to popular lore, witchers weren't so immune to feelings.
Even contratictory ones.
"And disappointed," he admits. "After everything we've been together here, I might have hoped for better."
He surprises himself with the realization he had hoped for better. He'd thought here, after what they'd been through together, she would have come to him sooner. That they could have faced her new memories together.
"You weren't wrong to want better." Because what is hope if not desire in another name? And things had been getting better here and then she got these new memories and it felt like she lost her footing again. Even she would not have just pretended nothing happened. Not with him.
But this probably isn't much better.
"It wasn't anything because of you. It's me."
It always is, isn't it? Yennefer is easily spooked, never satisified with anything she has in her life. And if she is, she can't trust it to last. It's a rare, vulnerable confession from Yennefer. One she wouldn't have made to him back home.
There is something about Yennefer admitting fault that isn't as satisfying as he might have imagined, if he ever imagined it. It's evidence of the enormity of what she'd done, and the effect it's had on her.
It's also proof of the lengths of her desperation.
And perhaps it galls him because it's not something he can fix—not something he can accept the blame for whether or not he's especially remorseful. If it were his fault, then he would also have control. It's not a thought he likes about himself, and he doesn't sit with it easily.
She can't help but remember how the conversation went back home:
Some part of me can't help but hope we could begin with
I don't forgive you, Yennefer
That fight or flight instinct kicks in again. Don't tell him what you actually want, don't leave yourself open to being hurt again. Don't --
But she's tired, and he is right. They are not the same here as they were back home. They could try to be better. She could try, maybe.
"I don't want to lose what we have here."
Whatever that is, it's not like they've defined it much beyond admitting they love one another, but for people like them -- maybe that's enough. Even if her love admission only came out because of the damn tunnel of love.
"I don't know," Geralt admits heavily. He's not sure how to handle this. What to do about it.
He can't forgive her for something he doesn't remember, but he also can't ignore what she's told him. It would disrespect her, and it would set them up for more problems in the long run, he can see that well enough. He can't promise that anything he says now will continue to be true if and when he remembers what she does.
"I don't want to lose this either," he tells her then. His expression tightens, pinching slightly around the eyes. "I won't say it's been perfect, but we're doing better than we have in a long time. I don't want to undo all of that on something I haven't even done yet.
Yennefer is capable of being pragmatic -- she knows he won't make promises he can't keep, nor would she want him to. He may wake up someday and feel different and they will have to deal with that when it comes. But that doesn't mean they should stop trying now, does it? Even if it does feel a little like a sandclock that's running out of sand. Who knows when that last grain will fall through.
Of course there's the urge to smash the sandclock and try to have control, but there's always that urge, and where has that gotten her? Them?
"It's a bit of both." It's both what she did and how he responded to it. And hard as it is to hold it, she is so, so tired of being alone. And fighting just for the sake of fighting.
How different things could have been if she had just told him at Melitele's temple what was going on.
"And next time I'm upset, I can try actually talking to you -- we're getting almost decent at it."
It's a joke laced with truth. Communication is never a strong point of theirs. And it's now that she finally reaches out to him, grabbing his hand, letting her fingers curling around his, offering comfort as much as asking for it.
It's not just her who's bad at it. Where Yennefer has an understanding of tact and political niceties. Geralt, on the other hand, has rarely been able to beat around the bush when he does. He might joke that between the two of them, they almost make one complete person in that regard, but it wouldn't be true.
Neither of them is any damn good at expressing their feelings.
Geralt nods, still uncertain. It's a start at least. "I would appreciate that," he says, then with an air of wry self-deprecation. "Jaskier likely would too. He wouldn't have to listen to me complain about it."
That's something, isn't it? Admitting that she got under his skin when she withdrew like that?
Yennefer's eyes widen slightly as he mentions Jaskier. Yes, it's good to know that he wants to hear from her more and that she got under his skin but more importantly --
"You can't let him know I listened to his advice. I will never hear the end of it, if you do."
Yes, she consulted the bard about it. He had been the only one who had also lived through things, and he knew Geralt as well as she did, maybe even better in some ways, loathe as she would be to admit it.
"If you asked Jaskier for advice, you really have been through a lot." Is that a mean thing to say? That might be a mean thing to say. It's also true. While Geralt wouldn't say there's absolutely no way that the Yennefer he knows would go to Jaskier for support, even that is something that's developed here.
"I have, and some of it involved him. We helped each other while I was without my chaos and on the run from the Brotherhood." Which is vague, but she doesn't want to overwhelm Geralt with information either. "And he's been holding all of this to himself since he arrived."
It's hard to ignore how much of a weight that must of been.
"And even when you wouldn't forgive me, he did. He helped me try to make things right. And yes, he did tell me to talk to you, he seemed to believe that no matter how angry you are, it wouldn't change how you felt."
And it's not so much that Yennefer didn't have that kind of faith in Geralt so much as she can't believe herself worthy of such love. And there's that crawling under the skin feeling too -- would that be true if he hadn't bound himself to her, before he really knew who she was?
"And if you do wake up angry at me one day -- don't take it out on him like you did after the mountain, that was real shit of you to do."
Geralt grunts in response to that last admonishment. He can't argue that he didn't take that out on Jaskier, though he might phrase it differently. It's not something worth clarifying. Not when the heart of the matter is the same, and not when she's right in the end. It was shit of him, and it was unfair.
As much as Jaskier could sometimes learn to better mind the mood of his audience.
It's also not lost on him that Yennefer is standing up for someone else. It's growth, in a way. He doesn't think the Yennefer he'd known years ago would have done that.
She's grown a great deal since then, even if she's still the same Yen in others.
All of that seems more than enough reason to set that particular point aside for a moment and focus on others.
"I'm amazed he kept it to himself so long." He doesn't mean it as shade. It's a fact. Jaskier isn't really secretive by nature, and that as Yennefer implied, he's been shouldering quite a burden alone. "At least now he doesn't have to."
Years ago? Probably not. By the time she had met Geralt her heart had become quite hardened. Fighting for others seemed pointless, you rarely succeeded in the end. People in the courts didn't want someone who spoke out for what was right, they wanted someone knowledgeable and pretty. And after she could not save the Queen and Princess of Aedrin she left the courts, dedicating herself only to herself.
Though some would argue that's always been her true dedication. To some extent, it's true. But things have changed. She has changed, not just here, but back home as well. And she is not the only one. She almost laughs when he comments that he's impressed Jaskier could keep such a secret -- maybe once he would have struggled to do so, but the Jaskier who lived a double life as the Sandpiper kept many secrets.
"He did it to protect me, because I told him I did not want to know anything about my future, other than if I survived Sodden."
Maybe Jaskier wouldn't have said it anyways, but she imagines her explicit request made a difference.
"He did seem relieved not to have to anymore, though."
"I don't doubt it." This time there isn't judgment. Geralt is sure that Jaskier felt more than a little lonely being the only one to remember their future. It's always lonely being the only one who knows where you've been and what you've been through.
Geralt didn't have to endure it long in Hell, but he's lived through it before enough times to know.
They all have.
"I'm glad you have each other in that. As terrifying as it is to see the two of you getting along."
"I thought you always wanted us to get along, make life a little easier for you?"
She's almost teasing now -- almost. There's still tension in the air, the lack of relief or release that might have come from a full blown fight but it's easing slowly as they do something that's fairly rare for them.
There's no way to go back to how things were before. Until Geralt remembers what happened or some other catalyst finally brought them a head. Until then... Geralt supposes they'll have to sit on these feelings, deal with them.
This won't be awkward at all.
Like a rock in your shoe.
But he tries to ignore the discomfort. He doesn't intend to stop interacting with Yennefer. "When I thought that I hadn't considered what a terror you could become if you started working together."
Feelings, something they are both famously good at dealing with. Still, it's some sort of progress that they're trying? That they're not just calling it quits? It can't be what it was, and she's not sure what it is now and it may change again whenever he does remember or some other catalyst changes things but they're trying.
Even if it feels a bit like her gown being weighted down by water after going over a puddle.
"Well, you'll just have to get used to it." Because even before she had gotten her memories back, Jaskier had made himself important to her here.
Another moment, and her expression sobers a little. She had spent so much time working up the nerves to talk to him she didn't think too much of what to do after, and she doesn't want to admit she feels a little out of sorts, but she does.
Geralt makes a dissatisfied sound at that, but it's mostly bluff while he tries to settle into whatever their normal ought to be. He turns his attention back to the horses, wishing not for the first time they were actual horses rather than these monstrous approximations.
He'd prefer Roach, but even a good, solid farm horse would have been welcome.
Something that didn't crave meat, and provided a better conversation partner. Not that it keeps him from talking to these beasts, but real horses... real horses are simple, and often stupid, but they're good at people. At least they've always been good at Geralt.
"I've gotten used to worse," he says, which isn't exactly admitting he'll get used to this too but he can.
"At least you won't have to split your time up between us anymore?"
It feels weird. Should she leave? Give him some space? Does he want that? She doesn't like this, feeling uncertain about herself. She's Yennefer of fucking Vengerberg, she doesn't overthink things.
But she knows how badly she fucked up back home, and the note they left off there. And this one is not as sour but unpleasant in a different way altogether. Like a holding pattern, almost.
It would have been so much easier if they had just fought and fucked it out like usual.
"I should go" She finally says definitively, like she's made a decision. "I've put a lot on you to digest at once."
She's ready to go but deep down she's hoping he'll ask her to stay.
Geralt grunts, acknowledging her statement without agreeing with her or contradicting. It's only a delay. He knows he'll have to offer more, something to signal where they're supposed to go from here.
But damned if he knows where he wants to go. It would be now that Yennefer learned to take someone else's lead.
"Where will you go?" he asks,giving himself just a moment more to weigh his thoughts.
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His concern is, to say the least, undispelled.
The anger is still there, simmering sluggishly, but he can't conjure more of it. Doesn't really bring it to bear. It's more frustration.
It's easy to be frustrated with Yen.
It's hard to be furious when she's already clearly punishing herself.
"You are selfish," he agrees then without malice. "And vain. Prone to acting rashly. And suspicious of others' motives. None of that surprises me, and none of it has pushed me away before. You're so sure I won't forgive you this time?"
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"Maybe now you will, not understanding the scope of things." It's not said condescendingly so much as a matter of facts -- hearing what happened and experiencing them, feeling them, are two different things. "But you could wake up another day and remember everything and decide that was the wrong course of action. That there are some things you won't forgive even me for."
But the honest truth? If she can even manage to get close to it? She tries, for him.
"There's not much I'm certain of, at the moment. I don't like that feeling."
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"I won't insult you by promising I won't be angry another day because I wake up with memories of this, or some other future. But I could also wake up tomorrow concussed because of a scuffle with a troll. There's only so much we can be sure of."
Ever, but especially here.
A part of Geralt is still processing the fact he survives. That's its own kind of surprise.
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It is uncomfortable. It'd be easier if he was angry. It wouldn't make sense for him to comforting, nor does she deserve his comfort for a multitude of reasons, more than a few ones she made on purpose.
No one is Yennefer's worst enemy more than Yennefer herself. But anger is easier, safer than this unease, this weird in between that they seem to keep finding themselves in here.
"I should have told you I needed time, but I didn't pull away because I didn't trust you."
Well, not completely. How much does Yen ever trust anyone? And her recent memories did involve him holding a sword to her neck and telling her he didn't forgive her but it's just....fucking complicated like everything between them always is. Like he's said before, she trusts him with some things, she's tried here to trust him with more but it's a work in progress that has become only more tangled now.
"I was trying to find my footing again. Make sense of things." And strategize how she wanted to approach all of this with him. She knew that unlike herself, he never asked Jaskier if he survived or not, that he had continued to play off the idea that he didn't. But now he knows he does. That he finds his child surprise and finally claims her. And has that to go back to, someday.
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She's explained herself, and he can't fault her explanation, even if it doesn't make him happy. It all seems... it all seems so painfully like her.
And like them.
It's a minor irritation on top of it to note that Jaskier had been right. Of course, he had the benefit of remembering what, to Geralt, was still the future.
"I'm glad you've told me," he grumbles, not sounding glad at all. Maybe grateful would have been a better word, though too strong.
"Did you make sense of things?"
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"No you're not, not completely. You wish I had told you sooner. You're disappointed. Frustrated, even."
Talking to him was something Jaskier had been encouraging her gently to do, which had helped her get to this point at all. Left to her own devices completely who knows how long she might have dodged the conversation.
And maybe she's pushing him to be angry for reasons other than feeling like she deserves it -- she wants a release as well. Some sort of catharsis, something beyond the sad, mournful feelings she's been wrestling with since she woke up with all these new memories.
"Not really. But I couldn't avoid you forever -- I didn't want to avoid you forever.
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Even contratictory ones.
"And disappointed," he admits. "After everything we've been together here, I might have hoped for better."
He surprises himself with the realization he had hoped for better. He'd thought here, after what they'd been through together, she would have come to him sooner. That they could have faced her new memories together.
"I know what hope comes to mot times."
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"You weren't wrong to want better." Because what is hope if not desire in another name? And things had been getting better here and then she got these new memories and it felt like she lost her footing again. Even she would not have just pretended nothing happened. Not with him.
But this probably isn't much better.
"It wasn't anything because of you. It's me."
It always is, isn't it? Yennefer is easily spooked, never satisified with anything she has in her life. And if she is, she can't trust it to last. It's a rare, vulnerable confession from Yennefer. One she wouldn't have made to him back home.
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It's also proof of the lengths of her desperation.
And perhaps it galls him because it's not something he can fix—not something he can accept the blame for whether or not he's especially remorseful. If it were his fault, then he would also have control. It's not a thought he likes about himself, and he doesn't sit with it easily.
"And where does that leave us?"
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"It depends on what you want."
She can't help but remember how the conversation went back home:
Some part of me can't help but hope we could begin with
I don't forgive you, Yennefer
That fight or flight instinct kicks in again. Don't tell him what you actually want, don't leave yourself open to being hurt again. Don't --
But she's tired, and he is right. They are not the same here as they were back home. They could try to be better. She could try, maybe.
"I don't want to lose what we have here."
Whatever that is, it's not like they've defined it much beyond admitting they love one another, but for people like them -- maybe that's enough. Even if her love admission only came out because of the damn tunnel of love.
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He can't forgive her for something he doesn't remember, but he also can't ignore what she's told him. It would disrespect her, and it would set them up for more problems in the long run, he can see that well enough. He can't promise that anything he says now will continue to be true if and when he remembers what she does.
"I don't want to lose this either," he tells her then. His expression tightens, pinching slightly around the eyes. "I won't say it's been perfect, but we're doing better than we have in a long time. I don't want to undo all of that on something I haven't even done yet.
"Or you haven't. However that works."
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Yennefer is capable of being pragmatic -- she knows he won't make promises he can't keep, nor would she want him to. He may wake up someday and feel different and they will have to deal with that when it comes. But that doesn't mean they should stop trying now, does it? Even if it does feel a little like a sandclock that's running out of sand. Who knows when that last grain will fall through.
Of course there's the urge to smash the sandclock and try to have control, but there's always that urge, and where has that gotten her? Them?
"It's a bit of both." It's both what she did and how he responded to it. And hard as it is to hold it, she is so, so tired of being alone. And fighting just for the sake of fighting.
How different things could have been if she had just told him at Melitele's temple what was going on.
"And next time I'm upset, I can try actually talking to you -- we're getting almost decent at it."
It's a joke laced with truth. Communication is never a strong point of theirs. And it's now that she finally reaches out to him, grabbing his hand, letting her fingers curling around his, offering comfort as much as asking for it.
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Neither of them is any damn good at expressing their feelings.
Geralt nods, still uncertain. It's a start at least. "I would appreciate that," he says, then with an air of wry self-deprecation. "Jaskier likely would too. He wouldn't have to listen to me complain about it."
That's something, isn't it? Admitting that she got under his skin when she withdrew like that?
And that he'd like to hear from her more.
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Yennefer's eyes widen slightly as he mentions Jaskier. Yes, it's good to know that he wants to hear from her more and that she got under his skin but more importantly --
"You can't let him know I listened to his advice. I will never hear the end of it, if you do."
Yes, she consulted the bard about it. He had been the only one who had also lived through things, and he knew Geralt as well as she did, maybe even better in some ways, loathe as she would be to admit it.
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And gradually.
"Did he really tell you to talk to me?"
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"I have, and some of it involved him. We helped each other while I was without my chaos and on the run from the Brotherhood." Which is vague, but she doesn't want to overwhelm Geralt with information either. "And he's been holding all of this to himself since he arrived."
It's hard to ignore how much of a weight that must of been.
"And even when you wouldn't forgive me, he did. He helped me try to make things right. And yes, he did tell me to talk to you, he seemed to believe that no matter how angry you are, it wouldn't change how you felt."
And it's not so much that Yennefer didn't have that kind of faith in Geralt so much as she can't believe herself worthy of such love. And there's that crawling under the skin feeling too -- would that be true if he hadn't bound himself to her, before he really knew who she was?
"And if you do wake up angry at me one day -- don't take it out on him like you did after the mountain, that was real shit of you to do."
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As much as Jaskier could sometimes learn to better mind the mood of his audience.
It's also not lost on him that Yennefer is standing up for someone else. It's growth, in a way. He doesn't think the Yennefer he'd known years ago would have done that.
She's grown a great deal since then, even if she's still the same Yen in others.
All of that seems more than enough reason to set that particular point aside for a moment and focus on others.
"I'm amazed he kept it to himself so long." He doesn't mean it as shade. It's a fact. Jaskier isn't really secretive by nature, and that as Yennefer implied, he's been shouldering quite a burden alone. "At least now he doesn't have to."
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Years ago? Probably not. By the time she had met Geralt her heart had become quite hardened. Fighting for others seemed pointless, you rarely succeeded in the end. People in the courts didn't want someone who spoke out for what was right, they wanted someone knowledgeable and pretty. And after she could not save the Queen and Princess of Aedrin she left the courts, dedicating herself only to herself.
Though some would argue that's always been her true dedication. To some extent, it's true. But things have changed. She has changed, not just here, but back home as well. And she is not the only one. She almost laughs when he comments that he's impressed Jaskier could keep such a secret -- maybe once he would have struggled to do so, but the Jaskier who lived a double life as the Sandpiper kept many secrets.
"He did it to protect me, because I told him I did not want to know anything about my future, other than if I survived Sodden."
Maybe Jaskier wouldn't have said it anyways, but she imagines her explicit request made a difference.
"He did seem relieved not to have to anymore, though."
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Geralt didn't have to endure it long in Hell, but he's lived through it before enough times to know.
They all have.
"I'm glad you have each other in that. As terrifying as it is to see the two of you getting along."
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"I thought you always wanted us to get along, make life a little easier for you?"
She's almost teasing now -- almost. There's still tension in the air, the lack of relief or release that might have come from a full blown fight but it's easing slowly as they do something that's fairly rare for them.
They just talk to one another.
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This won't be awkward at all.
Like a rock in your shoe.
But he tries to ignore the discomfort. He doesn't intend to stop interacting with Yennefer. "When I thought that I hadn't considered what a terror you could become if you started working together."
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Feelings, something they are both famously good at dealing with. Still, it's some sort of progress that they're trying? That they're not just calling it quits? It can't be what it was, and she's not sure what it is now and it may change again whenever he does remember or some other catalyst changes things but they're trying.
Even if it feels a bit like her gown being weighted down by water after going over a puddle.
"Well, you'll just have to get used to it." Because even before she had gotten her memories back, Jaskier had made himself important to her here.
Another moment, and her expression sobers a little. She had spent so much time working up the nerves to talk to him she didn't think too much of what to do after, and she doesn't want to admit she feels a little out of sorts, but she does.
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He'd prefer Roach, but even a good, solid farm horse would have been welcome.
Something that didn't crave meat, and provided a better conversation partner. Not that it keeps him from talking to these beasts, but real horses... real horses are simple, and often stupid, but they're good at people. At least they've always been good at Geralt.
"I've gotten used to worse," he says, which isn't exactly admitting he'll get used to this too but he can.
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"At least you won't have to split your time up between us anymore?"
It feels weird. Should she leave? Give him some space? Does he want that? She doesn't like this, feeling uncertain about herself. She's Yennefer of fucking Vengerberg, she doesn't overthink things.
But she knows how badly she fucked up back home, and the note they left off there. And this one is not as sour but unpleasant in a different way altogether. Like a holding pattern, almost.
It would have been so much easier if they had just fought and fucked it out like usual.
"I should go" She finally says definitively, like she's made a decision. "I've put a lot on you to digest at once."
She's ready to go but deep down she's hoping he'll ask her to stay.
OH MY GOD I thought I'd replied to this!
But damned if he knows where he wants to go. It would be now that Yennefer learned to take someone else's lead.
"Where will you go?" he asks,giving himself just a moment more to weigh his thoughts.
no worries, notifs were so wonky, it happens
(no subject)
end?