[ His gaze flicks over. Dean does not expand, and so Geralt simply thinks: paying with one's life—or one's soul—is only natural. He would give the same for Ciri.
It's the cost of others that becomes the real question. (He's paid that, too.)
He's quiet while he listens. In some things they differ, and this is one of them. Dean is right. Everything is shit. Death dogs his footsteps with unrelenting fervour. And where Dean held on, Geralt pushed aside anything that could matter. Or tried to. ]
I spent the better part of my years alone. Wanting no one. I thought, at the time, it was better that way. The world can't take what I never had. [ He slides his thumb along the side of the glass jar. ] Then people came along, anyhow. They became important. And now...
[ Now he understands. If one were to ask what once got him up in the morning if not for someone, he couldn't answer. It's not a conscious thought. He rises because that's what he does, in the same way a wolf awakens and goes about its day on instinct. There's always a horse to tend to, a contract to find, a town to journey towards. Small things. A cadence to follow.
But he's discovered what it means to have more. To redefine his purpose beyond the bare simplicity of living merely to live. To accept the fear he may fail in exchange for something immeasurably precious. He avoided it for so fucking long only to find himself here in the end. Maybe that's what they mean by Destiny. ]
no subject
It's the cost of others that becomes the real question. (He's paid that, too.)
He's quiet while he listens. In some things they differ, and this is one of them. Dean is right. Everything is shit. Death dogs his footsteps with unrelenting fervour. And where Dean held on, Geralt pushed aside anything that could matter. Or tried to. ]
I spent the better part of my years alone. Wanting no one. I thought, at the time, it was better that way. The world can't take what I never had. [ He slides his thumb along the side of the glass jar. ] Then people came along, anyhow. They became important. And now...
[ Now he understands. If one were to ask what once got him up in the morning if not for someone, he couldn't answer. It's not a conscious thought. He rises because that's what he does, in the same way a wolf awakens and goes about its day on instinct. There's always a horse to tend to, a contract to find, a town to journey towards. Small things. A cadence to follow.
But he's discovered what it means to have more. To redefine his purpose beyond the bare simplicity of living merely to live. To accept the fear he may fail in exchange for something immeasurably precious. He avoided it for so fucking long only to find himself here in the end. Maybe that's what they mean by Destiny. ]