2 days earlier
"Dining hall," slurred Geralt. "Dining hall of Kaer Morhen. The very same table by which Rennes and others dinned, conversed and made decision critical for the entire witcher society. And you-"
"Don't grumble," Yennefer interrupted him. A white cloud of moisty air escaped her lips and hung in the air for a good while, making her realise how cold it must be.
Geralt must have noticed it too. He gripped the thick, checked blanket and spread it over them just when she was about to do it herself. They went silent for a very long moment then, letting their breaths and heartbeats come back to their regular pace, waiting and resting.
"Kitchen, library, Lambert's room. Did you miss anything?" Geralt broke the silence, leisurely putting his hands behind his head.
"I?" She tilted her head and glanced at him. Her fingers guided along the three circular scars the pitchfork left, then mischievously downwards. "I think you've enjoyed it no less than I did," she whispered.
Geralt was silent, but his eyes didn't fear hers. They were fixed on hers and judged her. She tried to read his feelings but couldn't guess even a single one. "The is no living soul around, so we don't need to be careful tonight. Someone may catch us one day. And it won't be pleasant," he explained himself at last, as if suspecting her inability to clarify things on her own.
Yennefer chuckled lightly. "Maybe," she purred, slipping in very deep under the blanket. "Maybe they will. But as you said - not tonight."
They started in the dining room, but it didn't take long. Before either of them knew what was going on, they were in the larder already. Then in the baths and in the evening hall. Then in the armoury. From all rooms they tried that day, the armoury was the worst. Neither of them complained however on the cold or bricks and rusted swords falling on their heads. They had better things to do.
"So you've never celebrated Yule. Not even once?" gasped Geralt, falling next to her on the blankets spread cosily in the window bay.
He asked her again. And again, Yennefer didn't reply. She fixed her eyes even harder on the huge hole in the ceiling, watched the stars glittering at the perfectly clear night sky, not peeking at him, not saying a word. Was it really so hard to comprehend, she thought with reproach.
Her family never felt the need to do so. For her father it remained solely an excuse to get plastered. Things didn't get any better in Aretuza. The academy had celebrated of course. The entire school had caved in under the weight of decorations. The corridors and chambers had been depopulating. Her friends had returned to their homes, to cherish, to spend that time together with their families. Yennefer, however, had never been invited. And maybe it was Geralt's stories, so colourful and whatsoever cheerful that made the blood in her veins boil, she concluded. Maybe it was it, mundane human jealousy.
Geralt didn't say a word. Still she could feel his lips against her arm, his warm breath on her skin, just enough to assure he was there and that he would not go anywhere. Sometimes silence was better than words, she had learnt long ago. Silence let down less often than words did.
"You're in safe hands then," he retorted after a good while. "Everyone in Kaer Morhen knows how to celebrate Yule. Maybe except for Vesemir who enjoyed it a bit too much. He made me and others sing to all the trees in the forest. I was maybe ten. I froze my bottom off. So did four others. But he paid his price. Nenneke badgered him till spring."
"No offence but I've never pictured Vesemir as a sentimental type. Certainly would never accuse him of practising pagan rituals."
"You'd be surprised. He always loved it," said Geralt, with an odd but completely understandable note of sadness. A lonely snowflake fell from the rotten logs and landed on his cheek with grace.
Yennefer reached her hand and brushed it off before it melt. "Do you miss him?" she asked, regretting instantly her offhandedness.
Apparently entirely without reason. Geralt didn't abash even a little. He didn't grimace nor cringe. His only reply was a quiet sigh. A sigh followed by a question.
"Yen, did you miss Tissaia when she-"
"Yes, I think I did," she whispered, decorating her reply with a long moment of silence. "I think this was exactly what I felt."
Finding the right words to describe what she had felt wasn't an easy task. Quite likely, an impossible one. It was much more than one, plain emotion. It contained grief and cold emptiness, a bit of paralysing fear, but mostly rage. Lots of rage of being left in the lurch.
The answer while trivial, appeared to satisfy Geralt. He didn't asked another one. He only got himself up and helped her do the same. If not the years spent together, maybe he could even fool Yennefer, maybe he could make her not notice the subtle changes and nuances. But she knew him too well not to see how he frown and how the corner of his lips trembled gently.
Without a word, she moved closer and wrapped her arms around his neck.
He responded to her touch with his touch, kissed the top of her head and pulled her closer to him. He aided her to twirl and wrapped the blanket around them. His mind emitted as always the same cordial message. The one quite familiar but as ever brand new in the same time. Today notes of nostalgia and affection predominated.
"Correct me if I'm wrong," whispered Yennefer after a moment, releasing her hand from under the thick fabric and guiding her finger along the cloudy window pane. "Lambert is coming. Most likely without Keira since she's busy. A terrible excuse to avoid family drama, I must say. Still, won't complain. One serving less to prepare."
"Are you planning to actually cook?' Geralt cut her, shifting and fidgeting like a fish out of its tank.
His astonishment made the sorceress chuckle. "No darling, our supper is likely ready or shortly will be. When you and your brothers in trade spent lots on liquor, I planned and acted. Just need to collect it, what I which do. Eventually. Now witcher, let me finish."
Geralt had no slightest interest in listening. At least not to the guest list, it appeared. "What did you order?" he asked with a hint of excessive as for an adult enthusiasm.
"Plenty to choose from," she explained, weighing her words and teasing him with them. "Sure, something will catch your eye. Ciri lounges in Ellander but promised to show up. She keeps insisting she's not a patient there but we'll see."
Geralt hand balled around hers. She didn't protest; even let him instruct its movements. An effigy of a deer with long, palatial antlers started to emerge not long after. "Carrot and Orange soup?" he grunted.
"As long as you don't mind ginger. I swear, I won't be answerable for my actions if she's injured again. I was so relieved when you started to consider retirement. Now I have both you and her to worry about. Eskel is coming too."
Geralt hesitated before speaking again. He cleared his throat first, leant in and blew soundly at the tile of glass. A new milky layer of fog arose. "It was just a scratch,'' he started shyly.
Just a scratch but yet Yennefer felt the blood in her veins run cold. One could assume that years spent in the company of a witcher would make one less sensitive to fear but nothing could be further from the truth. This way of life simply gave those fears a certain shape; converted them into a zeulg's teeth and ghoul's clutches, or enormous wings of manticore. More often now, it also gave them a face of another human being.
"Don't think about it, Yen," he offered in a tentative, but honest manner.
She nodded and he came back to his previous task, to decorating the window with another image and amusing her as always with his hopeless romantics. "Did you by any chance remember about pork pies?" he asked after a long moment.
She peeked at him and couldn't comprehend how they could be so different. He, always carefree and optimistic, drawing on the glass while she was tearing her hair out. They were a terrible mixture to raise a child. Somehow however it worked out just perfect. Because at the end of the day, she couldn't even imagine to take that journey with anyone else.
"Two dozens of pork pies. And some fried honey cakes." She replied, letting a smile creep onto her lips and expecting him to do the same. She knew how much he adored those cakes. Both Ciri and he liked them.
She turned around then, snuggled up to him and patiently watched how her finger carved another picture. This one however she couldn't guess. Not yet at least.