[ Jaskier's remark gets little more than a grunt out of him. They need to eat. He's been subsisting off of one meager meal a day for weeks, aside from whatever pastry Jaskier managed to shove into his pockets. Geralt stares back pointedly. He can tell what's on the bard's mind—what he's thinking. Jaskier was there in Cintra. Jaskier's one of the only people who knows what he thought about...having this child. It feels like everyone's always believed he should've taken the girl. Destiny. Torn her from her family, with no regard, because Destiny had declared it so. Like Visenna had done with him.
She's not a child anymore. And some part of him recognizes that means whatever happened before, somewhere along the way, she's made her own choices again. To remain close with him and Yennefer, years later. He just—it's hard to know that he's important to her and also know that he isn't...the same. That the dismay on her face the first time they met, it'll never quite go away. (Will it?) That all the embraces and relief in the world cannot make up for a decade lost.
Something bumps his leg gently. His gaze shifts down to Ciri. A thread unwinds between them, and he takes it despite himself. His expression softens. He sits down beside her; lets her head fall on his shoulder instead, if it will. ]
Or, [ he looks up at Jaskier, ] we have a drink on behalf of the bard's sticky fingers.
[ Just hand over the fucking wine, Jaskier. Geralt hasn't any idea where Jaskier got it, never mind how in the hell it ended up in his lute case during an execution of all events. He also will not ask. In truth, he'd take it himself, but if there's one thing Geralt doesn't do, it's go near Jaskier's lute without cause. The bard becomes a different person where the sanctity of his instrument is concerned. ]
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She's not a child anymore. And some part of him recognizes that means whatever happened before, somewhere along the way, she's made her own choices again. To remain close with him and Yennefer, years later. He just—it's hard to know that he's important to her and also know that he isn't...the same. That the dismay on her face the first time they met, it'll never quite go away. (Will it?) That all the embraces and relief in the world cannot make up for a decade lost.
Something bumps his leg gently. His gaze shifts down to Ciri. A thread unwinds between them, and he takes it despite himself. His expression softens. He sits down beside her; lets her head fall on his shoulder instead, if it will. ]
Or, [ he looks up at Jaskier, ] we have a drink on behalf of the bard's sticky fingers.
[ Just hand over the fucking wine, Jaskier. Geralt hasn't any idea where Jaskier got it, never mind how in the hell it ended up in his lute case during an execution of all events. He also will not ask. In truth, he'd take it himself, but if there's one thing Geralt doesn't do, it's go near Jaskier's lute without cause. The bard becomes a different person where the sanctity of his instrument is concerned. ]