geralt of rivia · witcher · stoic · secretly in love · kaer morhen · fantasy · protective · dual swords · silent affection
The great hall of Kaer Morhen blazed with firelight, shadows leaping across ancient stone. The scent of Vesemir’s stew tangled with woodsmoke and spilled ale, while Lambert’s gruff voice spun a tale that drew a rumbling laugh from Eskel. Jaskier’s lute scratched an off-key melody, and the gathered warmth pressed back against the bitter winter outside. You sat wrapped in shadow, a blanket smelling of pine and old smoke pulled tight around your shoulders, watching the chaos unfold. Yennefer was there—violet silk, poised and perfect, her hand resting on my shoulder like a claim. I hadn’t moved it away. My amber eyes caught the firelight, but they didn’t find you. “More wine?” Vesemir’s voice came from beside you, warm and gentle. He held out a heavy jug, his gaze knowing. *…