There’s no way to inquire about what kind of mess he believes he’s made, not without forcing him to revisit something that may be too painful in the moment — so for now, Yennefer’s gaze follows his to the bed, even going as far as to turn her head to find it. It’s a place he hasn’t been far from, most nights, with even a place designated for him on a specific side.
“Of course.” She’s already using the tether of their hands to draw him toward it, without a hitch in her stride — from there, she does have to release him in order to make herself comfortable, leaning back with her head against the headboard, but then she opens her arms to Sweeney again, beckoning for him to curl up against her.
“It’s not exactly as comfortable as what was custom-built for me,” she points out, with a half-smile turning up one corner of her mouth. “Perhaps the castle architects could use some design advice when you’re in the position to lend it.” It’s a small attempt, and poor at that, to ease his despair, or frustration, or defeat, whatever he might be feeling in the moment.
He's kicked off his boots and crawled up next to her when she remarks about his assistance when it comes to bed-building. It earns a weak smile and a small snort that's a distant cousin to a chuckle.
"Well, beggars can't be choosers. It's 'nough, if yer in it."
Sweeney curls up on his side, propping her knees over his as he lays his head in her lap, facing them. His arm draped over her hips, he starts to babble. It's a little easier, not having to look her in the face while he does.
"I thought I had somethin'. A way ta bridge the gap; ta keep everyone safer an' chart a path forward fer whenever folk figure out how ta get back through the Void." He presses his lips, sagging against her.
"I want that. People ta be able ta leave if they want. An' the people that stay ta be safe. Ta have a way ta keep the Void at bay an' not leave their culture in ruins." Sweeney nuzzles the fabric of her dress.
"I thought I had it, but I was wrong. So wrong." The tears still his eyes, but they don't fall.
With anyone else, Yennefer would be openly resistant to the idea of being maneuvered into a desired position, like a makeshift chaise for Sweeney to curl himself against — but it speaks to her willingness that she already wants to be bent and curved, wrapped up in him as much as he is her. In a pose like this, she can rest her hand against the top of his head, fingers idly beginning to rift through his hair in a slow and repetitive motion.
"You know, I've had that thought myself, more than once," she admits, after a few moments of silence pass between his admission and her response. "Which may be somewhat obvious, given where my strength in chaos lies — " In creating portals, that is. " — but as many times as I've tried to open a path that leads... not just back to the Continent, but anywhere else, I've come up short."
Her hand stills in his hair, but only because she's deep in thought herself, now.
"My point being, you can have the best intentions, or the biggest capabilities, and yet still encounter things that are beyond your control. It doesn't make the realization any less painful, but it also doesn't mean that you're inadequate. It just means you haven't found the right solution yet."
Of course I'm not adequate, he chides himself. Not at everything. Just at...all the things he's actively trying to do. Sure, he can till a fruitful field and fuck like a champ, but none of those things are actually needed right now, even with the zadza commandment.
"Yeah." The acquiescence is soft; not dismissive, but distant, like he knows that, he just can't feel it.
"I just..." Sweeney isn't sure he knows how to put it.
"Maybe I should just stay in my lane." He pauses enough to steal a needed nuzzle.
"Keep my mouth for other things than talkin'." The lick of his lip prefaces his sucking it. "Maybe I'm meant ta do what I'm told, instead'a offerin' advice." His breath escapes slowly, causing his body to sag.
"I feel like I fuck it up, more often than not." A silence hangs for a moment.
"I would rather been seen as a strong body with big hands an' a hard prick ta rely on, than an imposing cunt with more cock than brains."
There are moments when Yennefer prefers to stay silent — often, to let her silence speak for itself. One of her best negotiation tactics involves allowing the other person to fill the silence, to discern what they reveal when they're left to try and summon words. This, however, is different. As much as she wants to give Sweeney the floor to express what he's feeling, she also isn't content to remain quiet at his last admission.
Her hand establishes a much firmer grip in his hair, more of a closed fist, close to the scalp rather than ripping the strands out by the ends — but she tugs just strong enough to ensure she's guiding his face up, raising his eyes to hers. She's not planning on any resistance, but this is one of those moments where some of her firm-jawed sternness is rearing its head, with a tone that refuses to brook any argument.
"I've sat here and listened to you devalue yourself, but I won't tolerate statements that are simply not true."
She relinquishes her tugging on his hair to cup his face between her hands, holding him so that he can't retreat immediately, her gaze firm and insistent but with a note of affection rendered there too, in the emotions she allows to spill forth through their physical and mental connection.
"People look to you here, and I'm not saying that simply to make you feel better, or because of the power you hold within you. And I know you feel responsibility for them, because otherwise, this setback wouldn't sting as much as it does. But that is the mark of a true leader, one who puts others above themselves. One who is willing to take risks even though they might fail, in pursuit of the greater good."
Slowly, she slips down the mattress until they're lying face-to-face and she can tangle her legs with his.
"This is a small stumble, but you've endured worse than it before. We both have. But don't give up yet. Take the respite you need now, tomorrow, a fortnight if necessary — and think about trying again."
He'd longed for her hand in his hair; it was the main reason his head had found its way to her lap in the first place; but the sudden pull surprises him. It provides the desired result, and he twists, beginning to roll on his back while he keeps her eyes.
Present in his listening, he takes in her statements and reflects as he helps her reposition. Sweeney knows he can't offer his heart as Truth, so he's mindful with his words.
"It feels like they look at me, more than to me." It makes his chest hurt more to say it out loud.
"I'm a source'a information an' labor, when they want it."
He pauses, lifting his hand to cup her face and graze her cheekbone with his thumb. Sweeney offers a weak smile that promises, even in his despair, he is grateful to be with her, together, whether or not they're in the same place. She helps. Her love casts him a rope to clutch. Sweeney brings his hand down again.
"The rest'a the time, most'a them see a bootlicker who won't bother ta lift a finger while the people he loves are sufferin'." And maybe it's true. He isn't sure anymore. Either way, he can't do much but offer a faint shoulder shrug.
"'nless I succeed, that's all I can be. I have to produce tangible results, or I'm just..." He doesn't have a good word for it.
"--the enemy. Untrustworthy. Just another hurdle in the way ta the Good people actually want." Okay, so maybe he's babbling again.
"You've done things for them that they might not be able to even conceive of," Yennefer points out, her gaze unyielding as it flickers over his face. "Things that have been imperative to our survival here, whether they know it or not." Even though he might be quick to dismiss his ability to till fields, that's a much more beneficial form of aid than what others have been able to contribute, to say nothing of the ones who have failed to put in any effort at all.
"It's easy for people to say whatever they want while hardly being the first to come up with a worthy alternative solution to the problem." It's why she isn't necessarily willing to entertain criticism from those who seem to be especially short-sighted, in part due to the fact that they haven't lived nearly as long.
"Much of what you've done already is tangible." Her hand absently strokes the side of his face, fingers curved against the soft hairs of his beard. "Just because some of the gains haven't been immediate doesn't mean they're not valuable. True progress, the kind that has lasting effect for everyone, takes time. Though I'm not sure I need to tell you that." Not when he's much older than she is, by a significant margin.
"You're not the enemy. The enemy is all around us. And even if others can't see the effort you're giving, that doesn't mean everyone fails to notice." A soft pause, before she props herself up on one elbow to rear over him slightly, touch still stroking over his beard. "I see it."
The bristles remain, but her words and touch smooth them back, leaving something safer and more gentle behind. It may have been terribly selfish of him to come here, but this is what he needed. This is why he came. Sweeney can trust in her honesty, knowing it will be blunt where needed and tender when possible. He can put himself in her hands, knowing that, in the moment, there's only Them.
Sweeney turns his face into one of those hands and kisses her palm before she moves. Then he settles back to meet her face on as she rises above him, his eyes not straying from hers. She can feel it in his chest; the glow of violet that warms him and puts flickers of light in his darkness. Of all the things he doubts, her seeing him is not one of them.
He offers a small lopsided smile and lifts his fingers to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Then Sweeney strains up enough to kiss her. It's tender but not overly deep; something born out of gratitude and intimacy.
Her sentiment is not lost on him, and she's right; it takes a long time to make meaningful change. When he rests back down, his hand lingers, cupping her cheek. His voice is soft as it exposes his vulnerability on the matter.
"I'm just worried I don't have 'nough time."
Social unrest is an ever-present threat, and with their current confinement, tigers are pacing. And in the middle of it, Sweeney finds himself cast back to the drawing board.
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“Of course.” She’s already using the tether of their hands to draw him toward it, without a hitch in her stride — from there, she does have to release him in order to make herself comfortable, leaning back with her head against the headboard, but then she opens her arms to Sweeney again, beckoning for him to curl up against her.
“It’s not exactly as comfortable as what was custom-built for me,” she points out, with a half-smile turning up one corner of her mouth. “Perhaps the castle architects could use some design advice when you’re in the position to lend it.” It’s a small attempt, and poor at that, to ease his despair, or frustration, or defeat, whatever he might be feeling in the moment.
no subject
"Well, beggars can't be choosers. It's 'nough, if yer in it."
Sweeney curls up on his side, propping her knees over his as he lays his head in her lap, facing them. His arm draped over her hips, he starts to babble. It's a little easier, not having to look her in the face while he does.
"I thought I had somethin'. A way ta bridge the gap; ta keep everyone safer an' chart a path forward fer whenever folk figure out how ta get back through the Void." He presses his lips, sagging against her.
"I want that. People ta be able ta leave if they want. An' the people that stay ta be safe. Ta have a way ta keep the Void at bay an' not leave their culture in ruins." Sweeney nuzzles the fabric of her dress.
"I thought I had it, but I was wrong. So wrong." The tears still his eyes, but they don't fall.
no subject
"You know, I've had that thought myself, more than once," she admits, after a few moments of silence pass between his admission and her response. "Which may be somewhat obvious, given where my strength in chaos lies — " In creating portals, that is. " — but as many times as I've tried to open a path that leads... not just back to the Continent, but anywhere else, I've come up short."
Her hand stills in his hair, but only because she's deep in thought herself, now.
"My point being, you can have the best intentions, or the biggest capabilities, and yet still encounter things that are beyond your control. It doesn't make the realization any less painful, but it also doesn't mean that you're inadequate. It just means you haven't found the right solution yet."
no subject
"Yeah." The acquiescence is soft; not dismissive, but distant, like he knows that, he just can't feel it.
"I just..." Sweeney isn't sure he knows how to put it.
"Maybe I should just stay in my lane." He pauses enough to steal a needed nuzzle.
"Keep my mouth for other things than talkin'." The lick of his lip prefaces his sucking it. "Maybe I'm meant ta do what I'm told, instead'a offerin' advice." His breath escapes slowly, causing his body to sag.
"I feel like I fuck it up, more often than not." A silence hangs for a moment.
"I would rather been seen as a strong body with big hands an' a hard prick ta rely on, than an imposing cunt with more cock than brains."
no subject
Her hand establishes a much firmer grip in his hair, more of a closed fist, close to the scalp rather than ripping the strands out by the ends — but she tugs just strong enough to ensure she's guiding his face up, raising his eyes to hers. She's not planning on any resistance, but this is one of those moments where some of her firm-jawed sternness is rearing its head, with a tone that refuses to brook any argument.
"I've sat here and listened to you devalue yourself, but I won't tolerate statements that are simply not true."
She relinquishes her tugging on his hair to cup his face between her hands, holding him so that he can't retreat immediately, her gaze firm and insistent but with a note of affection rendered there too, in the emotions she allows to spill forth through their physical and mental connection.
"People look to you here, and I'm not saying that simply to make you feel better, or because of the power you hold within you. And I know you feel responsibility for them, because otherwise, this setback wouldn't sting as much as it does. But that is the mark of a true leader, one who puts others above themselves. One who is willing to take risks even though they might fail, in pursuit of the greater good."
Slowly, she slips down the mattress until they're lying face-to-face and she can tangle her legs with his.
"This is a small stumble, but you've endured worse than it before. We both have. But don't give up yet. Take the respite you need now, tomorrow, a fortnight if necessary — and think about trying again."
no subject
Present in his listening, he takes in her statements and reflects as he helps her reposition. Sweeney knows he can't offer his heart as Truth, so he's mindful with his words.
"It feels like they look at me, more than to me." It makes his chest hurt more to say it out loud.
"I'm a source'a information an' labor, when they want it."
He pauses, lifting his hand to cup her face and graze her cheekbone with his thumb. Sweeney offers a weak smile that promises, even in his despair, he is grateful to be with her, together, whether or not they're in the same place. She helps. Her love casts him a rope to clutch. Sweeney brings his hand down again.
"The rest'a the time, most'a them see a bootlicker who won't bother ta lift a finger while the people he loves are sufferin'." And maybe it's true. He isn't sure anymore. Either way, he can't do much but offer a faint shoulder shrug.
"'nless I succeed, that's all I can be. I have to produce tangible results, or I'm just..." He doesn't have a good word for it.
"--the enemy. Untrustworthy. Just another hurdle in the way ta the Good people actually want." Okay, so maybe he's babbling again.
no subject
"It's easy for people to say whatever they want while hardly being the first to come up with a worthy alternative solution to the problem." It's why she isn't necessarily willing to entertain criticism from those who seem to be especially short-sighted, in part due to the fact that they haven't lived nearly as long.
"Much of what you've done already is tangible." Her hand absently strokes the side of his face, fingers curved against the soft hairs of his beard. "Just because some of the gains haven't been immediate doesn't mean they're not valuable. True progress, the kind that has lasting effect for everyone, takes time. Though I'm not sure I need to tell you that." Not when he's much older than she is, by a significant margin.
"You're not the enemy. The enemy is all around us. And even if others can't see the effort you're giving, that doesn't mean everyone fails to notice." A soft pause, before she props herself up on one elbow to rear over him slightly, touch still stroking over his beard. "I see it."
no subject
Sweeney turns his face into one of those hands and kisses her palm before she moves. Then he settles back to meet her face on as she rises above him, his eyes not straying from hers. She can feel it in his chest; the glow of violet that warms him and puts flickers of light in his darkness. Of all the things he doubts, her seeing him is not one of them.
He offers a small lopsided smile and lifts his fingers to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Then Sweeney strains up enough to kiss her. It's tender but not overly deep; something born out of gratitude and intimacy.
Her sentiment is not lost on him, and she's right; it takes a long time to make meaningful change. When he rests back down, his hand lingers, cupping her cheek. His voice is soft as it exposes his vulnerability on the matter.
"I'm just worried I don't have 'nough time."
Social unrest is an ever-present threat, and with their current confinement, tigers are pacing. And in the middle of it, Sweeney finds himself cast back to the drawing board.