She pressed herself into the warm space he'd left in the bed, her nose to the sheets. She could smell the scent of his skin on the rough fabric, a whisper he'd left behind. It only made her patience grow shorter, and she looked up to find him in her dimly-lit quarters.

"Come," she called into the dark. It was not a request. "It's cold in here."

"I'm trying to—you have so many clothes—"

She rolled her eyes when she heard his voice coming from the other side of the screen. "Wrong chest, darling. The one by the chair."

"There's three by the chair."

"You can't smell the food with your witcher's nose?"

"Your perfume is pretty strong."

"I didn't spritz our dinner with it, I assure you."

More grumbling. Her brow furrowed and she bunched the blanket around her, sitting up on the bed. She did not want stand on the cold, dank tile, but she also wanted food.

"Geralt…."

"I found it," he replied, and appeared from behind her screen a moment later, a finely wrapped package in hand.

She smiled. "I see your tracking skills haven't suffered while on the road."

He gave her an amused look and climbed back onto the bed. She intercepted him for a kiss that had him pulling her down on top of him, food momentarily forgotten.

They continued until her stomach rumbled. He broke off their kiss with a smile and raised a brow.

"Really that hungry?"

"Adventuring with you always gives me an appetite," she replied, and sat up on the bed. She didn't offer him the blanket she'd hoarded, so he pulled the furs up until they gathered around his waist.

"Adventuring," he repeated, setting the package between them and unbinding the twine strung around it. The cloth fell away, revealing strawberries and mint, hard cheese and crumbly bread. Delicacies she'd saved for a special occasion.

"And all the lovely strings that are attached with it," she said, smiling and picking up a strawberry.

Yennefer watched him pick at the food as she ate, admiring the view. If he was bothered by the chilly air, he didn't mention it. And she suspected he very much would complain if it did.

She had seen him back in White Orchard and again in Vizima, which had been lovely enough, but she'd not truly gotten a good look at him in years. He'd changed in that absence; nothing revolutionary, but enough that his body was once again a surprise. It delighted and frightened her in equal measure. Geralt returning with fresh scars on his body and lines on his face was not new, but the degree and intensity of this particular reunion was another matter, one she was still properly processing.

"That one's new," she said, and pressed a gentle finger overtop a small, triangular scar on his right shoulder. "I've not seen it before."

"Got it recently," he said around a piece of cheese, and wrapped his hand over hers where it settled on the bed. "In White Orchard, actually, just before you arrived. Royal Griffin was terrorising the locals."

"And how many pennies did they pay you for it?"

"Nilfgaard set the contract, so relatively well." He squeezed her fingers and she met his eyes, looking away from the scar. "I'm doing just fine, Yen."

She heard the edge in his voice. A guard readily thrown up against an argument they'd had countless times before. About him risking his life for strangers who paid him nothing more than the cost of a hot meal and a bed to spend the night. It was an argument she never won, but that didn't usually stop her.

But she didn't want to have that discussion right now, so she squeezed his hand back instead and smiled. "That's good to hear," she replied, and watched his jaw relax in relief. She picked up another strawberry and popped it into her mouth, and a burst of mint followed as a stray leaf stuck to the fruit.

"And you?" He ate another piece of cheese and looked like he was going to say more, but caught her eye and looked—well, a bit shy, she thought. The most familiar of strangers. Another dance they'd done before, moving slowly back together, but this was, again, different from the other times.

"Wonderfully adequate," she replied, and saw him smile around a piece of bread. "I'll be better once we find Ciri."

"We'll find her," he said, the response automatic, his tone full of a confidence she was too cautious to give into. But it sounded so real when he said it, in the low, husky voice he only ever used around her. Yennefer leaned into him, into his warmth, and he wrapped an arm around her. She felt his face press into her hair, and she stole the strawberry he was holding.

"I saw her, you know."

Yennefer pulled back to look at him. "What?"

"Not—not Ciri. But I saw what she looked like."

"How?" Her fingers dug into his arm as her heart began to beat wildly.

"A doppler had been helping her, and I found him in Novigrad." His brows drew together. "He showed me what she looked like now, all grown." Geralt paused. She watched his throat work as he swallowed. "Do you want to see?"

"Yes," she said immediately, shifting on the bed. Her grip on his arms hadn't relaxed, but Geralt only moved closer to her. He pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. She felt him relax and then prodded for him, feeling for the thread of his thoughts.

She found them easily. She could hear him concentrate, focusing on a memory so intensely that it took a fierce, vivid shape in his mind.

The smell of a bar, the wood panelling old and musty. Tired. So tired. Sore from hunting, from tracking. From worrying. The sound of friends speaking softly, easing some of the tension across his shoulders.

A view of Dudu, staring up at Geralt. Scar over his eye. Zoltan speaking—

"Dudu, do us a wee favour—show us Ciri, for a moment."

Sudden rushes of uncertainty, terror. Exhilaration. Staring down at Dudu. He's looking up expectantly at Geralt, wondering, waiting.

A confirmation, given quickly so he can't take it back. Dudu nodding, and then changing, growing. Hair as light as ash; tall, graceful; riding pants, a sword on her back, scabbard red like blood; her eye, only one open, fiercely green, so achingly familiar—

Yennefer pulled a hand away to cup around her mouth, holding back a sob. The disruption made the memory wobble and lose form, but Ciri's face lingered in his mind, staring straight at him. At them.

Yen opened her eyes and looked at him, feeling pressure gather in the front of her skull. Tears. A luxury she hadn't allowed herself in so very long.

"She's beautiful—our daughter—"

Geralt gathered her back into his arms. She felt him tremble as he exhaled a sharp breath, his face finding comfort in her hair again. She clung to him even more tightly than before, feeling herself shake with him.

"I'll find her," Geralt whispered, his voice rough. "We'll find her."

"We will find her," Yennefer repeated. It had to be true if both of them believed it, and so she must say it. "Our Ciri."

She allowed herself to be held for a moment longer, relishing the contact, the warmth, the certainty. There was so much they still had to say to each other, but there were other matters to attend to first.

"We must get back to the wake," Yennefer whispered, threading her fingers through his hair.

Geralt sighed and kissed the top of her head. "Suppose we do."

"The sooner we speak with Crach, the sooner we can learn more." She pulled back and looked at him, forcing herself to smile. "Then we can find her and settle this mess."

"And then find that cabin by the beach," he replied, a playful glint in his eye. It lifted some of the age from his face, reminding her of simpler times.

Well, not simpler. It had never been simple. Just less complicated.

"I'll hold you to that." She let the blankets fall away and looked to where she'd left her clothes. "Now look away. I must dress."