Ok, this one is a game fic, set after the battle in Kaer Morhen, so obviously game SPOILERS.

Prompts used:
- NO. 1 A LITTLE OUT OF THE ORDINARY - This wasn't supposed to happen
- NO. 17 HANGING BY A THREAT - Breaking point
- NO. 27 PUSHED TO THE LIMIT - Magical exhaustion
- Alt prompt 15 - Tears

Aftermath

Geralt felt numb in every sense of this word. The Hunt was gone, but the chill that had set deep in his bones would not fade, leaving his muscles stiff and his joints rusty. There was also a gaping hole that left his heart equally numb, because the alternative was too hard to face and bear. He stopped, half afraid his legs would not carry him any further.

Yet if there was one thing that could push past this everlasting cold, it was the wailing sound Ciri made. She sat there, on the yard, her hand absent-mindedly resting on Vesemir's arm.

No witcher died in bed. But no witcher died without his sword. A witcher without a sword simply seemed wrong.

In a few practiced movements, ones he had made hundreds of times, Geralt carefully wiped the blade clean and sheathed it back in place. Just like Vesemir had taught him and dozens of others he had raised.

Ciri recognised the gesture too, her hand instinctively going up to the hilt of her sword, as if she expected Vesemir to admonish her for not taking proper care of her blade. Silence answered her.

"I was too late," Ciri whispered, almost afraid to look Geralt in the eyes.

"It wasn't your fault."

She argued with him, throwing harsh words at herself, the blame weighting her down. Geralt found his mind blank, unable to offer empty words of comfort when he was this numb. Instead he did what he had done years ago and closed Ciri in an embrace. Her tears felt hot on his half frozen neck.

He didn't see when Yennefer joined them, but he felt her hand resting on his arm. He caught her gaze, her violet eyes reflecting his dullness and pain. Something else seemed wrong, but Yennefer didn't seem to pick his inquiring gaze.

A light squeeze was all the warning Geralt got before her legs gave out. He pushed Ciri away and caught Yennefer before she could hit the ground.

"Yennefer!" Ciri cried in anguish as the witcher sank heavily to his knees, cradling the sorceress.

"Don't yell, Ciri," Yennefer winced. "I'm fine... Just tired."

Geralt swallowed the dread already creeping up and risked a shaky breath. Their foreheads touched briefly. He could hear her quick pulse and shallow breathing.

Ciri looked at them both and, once she seemed assured neither was in an immediate danger of dying, turned at her heel and stormed away. Geralt wished to follow, but he couldn't with Yennefer still leaning heavily against him.

"Give her some space," Yennefer muttered and tried to sit on her own. Geralt let her reluctantly, then rose and helped her up. She swayed. "Damn."

The fact that she simply let him carry her spoke volumes about her exhaustion.

It took them a while to get up to their chamber, but quiet and seclusion were a welcome change, even if it involved climbing up a ridiculous number of stairs. Geralt helped Yennefer to the bed, then one by one lit the candles she kept on her nightstand and on the table. After so many years she would still not sleep in darkness, even with him sharing her bed. The hearth came next, the fire so desired to chase away all that cold that settled deep in their bones, their hearts, the walls around them. Kaer Morhen had never before seemed such a dreadful and abandoned place, though it had not hosted this many people in decades.

Geralt rose with effort. The leather he wore seemed stiff and heavier than he had ever acknowledged, so he reached for the buckles and found himself staring numbly as his fingers would not cooperate. What-?

"Geralt. Come here."

His hands were shaking. He stumbled on his way to her, suddenly aware of every wound he had dismissed, of the way his knee protested. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so weary.

Yennefer helped him out of his armour, leaving him bloodied and shaking even more. She placed her hands on his chest and muttered something. Geralt felt a sparkle of warmth, but then Yennefer winced and muffled a curse.

"We'll have to do it the traditional way," she hissed, wiping the blood dripping from her nose.

There was a gash over his hip, shallow but long enough to be painful, and a variety of cuts he didn't remember getting. Most of them had already stopped bleeding, but the half dried, half frozen blood successfully glued the shirt to his skin. Geralt sat in silence as Yennefer worked to patch him up as best she could, staring at the fire and clenching his hands into fists in a vain attempt to still the worst shivers. The blanket Yennefer tossed over his shoulders didn't seem to help.

"I'm not getting up to take off your shoes," said the sorceress once she was done. "Geralt? You hear me? Come on, you're freezing."

Geralt blinked. "I should... Find Ciri."

Yennefer softened. "Give her time." She pulled him closer, so he tossed his boots and moved to join her. A fur came on the top of his blanket, burying him deep under. Geralt stared. It was a fur from his last leisure hunt with Vesemir. They had gone hunting to replenish their supplies before they got snowed under in the fortress. The mountains around were never easy, but in comparison to kikimoras, drowners and other nasty things living in swamps, that trip had been almost like holiday. Their last hunt...

"I made a mistake," he said towards the ceiling.

"No." Yennefer sat and leaned over him. "No, Geralt. We all made our choices, our mistakes. We all knew what we were going to face and we agreed to that. And we were all prepared to do for Ciri what Vesemir had done," she said forcefully, her eyes glistening in the flickering light of the candle.

Geralt looked away, his voice catching in his throat. Another shiver shook his body.

"This- I didn't-," Geralt muffled a curse. "This wasn't supposed to happen! That plan-"

"Don't," she repeated. "It wasn't your fault just like it wasn't Ciri's. That's what you told her, right?" Yennefer slipped back under their coverlets and nestled herself next to him. She wrapped an arm around him and he felt her warm hand on his neck, prompting him to turn. The witcher moved reluctantly, his own arm sneaking around her waist.

He had told Ciri he didn't know how to cry. Yennefer could probably call him out on that lie as she held him in their dim chamber. The shivers slowly faded.

She stayed silent.