Kyana Of Cintra

57

Kyana watched Geralt walk out of the room from the piano seat, confusion spread across her face. Had she read the signs wrong? She must have, she thought to herself, a sudden embarrassment flooding through her. 

"For god's sake, pull yourself together, Kyana." She mumbled to herself. "You're being pathetic. This isn't a fairy tale. He doesn't want you." She stood, removing parts of her armour and changing into her nightgown. She chose her white silk dress, her favourite. Slipping it over her head, it glided across her skin, the fake lace and silk a small luxury for her. It gathered at her mid thigh, swaying softly with her movements as she sat in the armchair at the window, watching the sky darken. 

The truth was, Kyana was afraid. She felt herself collapsing in an unknown feeling when it came down to Geralt. She knew if she liked him, or worse, fell in love with him publicly, it could mean the difference between his life and death. Kyana wasn't sure if she was willing to risk his life for her. For the first time in a very, very long while, Kyana was glad she was a Witcher. Knowing she could defend herself if someone came for her was a reassurance, and then it hit her; Geralt could do that to a tenfold. He wasn't incapable of defending for himself. With that realization, Kyana felt some of her fear dissipate, replaced with the danger of a new feeling.  

Kyana had never actually fallen in love; yet this didn't feel like falling at all. It was a gentle lull, a whisper in her ear, a thought or two that escalated into a million. If she was falling in love, she was doing it very slowly. Kyana remembered her friend, Aerin, who had fallen in love at such a slow pace, she hadn't realized she was actually in love until he left her. The pain that she had gone through was absolutely terrifying to watch; she felt empty, like he had taken her smile, her soul, her mind. Since then, Kyana had always had a little fear when it came to love. 

Her eyes began to droop, however much she fought to keep them open, they continued to shut. Geralt had been a while, and she grew tired, until her eyes shut and her body forced her to sleep. Kyana's hair hurt her as it rested behind her; she had grown it out even more since meeting Yennefer, although hated brushing through the strands that fell to her lower back. 

By the time Geralt returned with the food, she was fast asleep. He sighed, half with relief and half with regret, placing the provisions on the bedside table and approaching her. Placing an arm behind her shoulders and under her legs, Geralt lifted her with ease, delicately laying her on the bed and pulling up the covers. His eyes averted as best as he could from the nightgown which hitched further and further up her thighs. Instead he focused on her face, tucking the hair behind her ear with great care. 

Moving away from her as quietly as he could, he sat at the piano stool, determination on his face as his fingers drifting over the keys. They were cold against his fingertips, cold and hard and oddly familiar. His hand slipped, drawing a small sharp sound from the piano. Geralt's head snapped over to Kyana, who didn't even stir. Geralt tested it further, playing two keys, purposefully louder. Again, Kyana did not stir. 

Geralt faced the piano, placing one heavy and large hand onto the keys with slightly sloppy form. Over the years he had been on the earth, Geralt had wanted to learn so much, including how to play the piano. His hands fluttered over the keys, picking a random one that sounded close to the key he was looking for. His fingers drifted over the keys, smacking one or two before getting frustrated when he couldn't play the melody he wanted to.

He had always loved music, although no one who saw him would ever think he did. He enjoyed the meaningful pieces that spoke to your soul, not the tales of adventures, but of fallen friends, of love, of the battles in a mind. His favourite pieces were all revolved around actual meaning, of genuine feelings the bards had felt, not over exaggerated stories like Jaskier's ballads. 

 "Try C." Kyana's voice startled him, his hands halting in their failing dance as he abruptly turned to face her. She sat up in the bed, her legs drawn around her and her hair everywhere but it's rightful place. 

Geralt smiled softly. "Thank you." He said, staring down at the keys. "Wait, which one is C." Kyana gave a small laugh, moving towards the end of the bed and wrapping an arm around the chipped bedpost, leaning her head against it. She started describing the location of the key for him. He soon found it, tapping on it in the sequence he had already put together.  "I'm sorry I woke you"

Kyana waved a dismissive hand. "Then make it up to me." She requested, pulling the nightgown down to cover more of her leg. "Keep trying." Hesitantly, Geralt turned towards the piano and re-positioned his hands at the keys, attempting to string together the song she loved so dearly. She recognized the song, humming along to the shifts and the moments of stillness. 

Kyana hummed softly, most of the noise being drowned out by the piano. Her eyes closed as she hummed, reminiscing the dance they had partaken in at Calalthe's castle. Geralt glanced at her, his gaze admitting the feelings his mouth could not. When the flimsy notes came to an end, Geralt almost felt sorrowful. He enjoyed being surrounded by the music, watched by the woman he had grown to care for as he 'played'. When he finally stilled and faced Kyana, her gaze made him feel like the most talented and pure person on the planet. 

"I can tell you'll be a beautiful player when you practice." Kyana said softly, her voice the silk she deserved, the silk he couldn't give her. He inwardly sighed, but shrugged on the outside. 

"Everyone can become good at everything with practice. None of us were born with the perfect ability to play music or draw portraits." He chuckled, thinking back to the years he had of constant practicing. "Everyone is shit at the beginning." Kyana laughed, swinging her legs to sit more comfortably in front of her and over the edge of the bed. 

"I'm an excruciating perfectionist. If I'm not good at something the second I try it, I get frustrated and sad." Geralt nodded as he understood the feeling, twisting his body to face her properly and to ease the ache from craning his neck. 

"You and I are the same on that front." Kyana hummed in agreement, picking up a grape from the platter of food Geralt had brought to the room. A small silence fell on them when the topic had ran out of things to say. 

"I don't want to kill the dragon, Geralt." He sighed, his eyes turning blank and his head hanging slightly. 

"I know, I don't want to either. But Borch could give me the answers I need, you the control you desire. Besides if Yennefer is here too, maybe this dragon is more important than we thought." Kyana shrugged, moving backwards and pulling the covers over her once again. 

"All the more reason to leave it alone."