[Gods above, she has to be doing this on purpose... because she is saying all the things that the Yennefer he knows would most likely perish before allowing to grace her (pretty, supple) lips. He shifts in his seat, summoning a cooling breeze to cut across their path, if only to help alleviate the heat that flourishes through him.
As if he were a young boy all over again. His first wagon ride with a daring, darting creature. (Isn't that how she is now? Younger? Or is that only what he imagines? Is this Yennefer that he meets now at all any sort of truth? Was this truly the woman she once was?)
They have all changed over time. In small ways, minute ways. It's the way of the world, of life and age and time. Even those who don't age. But he cannot imagine how these two women coincide. (Even if, he thinks, there are small movements, of the way she holds her head, that he recognizes.)]
Oh, please. Yennefer, you are a prize as much as I. [And those words slip off too easily. To be fair, Jaskier isn't fucking blind. Yennefer, of course, is beautiful. And powerful. Dangerous. They are all things men have wanted to fuck for millennia. And despite whatever his personal opinions are, it is clear that Geralt... sees something in her.] Our talents are not the same, but you are no less for having them.
[He swallows.] There will be a day songs are written of you, too.
[Or they already have been. Moving on. The wagon hits a bump and shifts slightly, their bodies pressing closer together, with only the wolf between. Jaskier glances at them, and his voice goes soft.] He loves you, you know.
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As if he were a young boy all over again. His first wagon ride with a daring, darting creature. (Isn't that how she is now? Younger? Or is that only what he imagines? Is this Yennefer that he meets now at all any sort of truth? Was this truly the woman she once was?)
They have all changed over time. In small ways, minute ways. It's the way of the world, of life and age and time. Even those who don't age. But he cannot imagine how these two women coincide. (Even if, he thinks, there are small movements, of the way she holds her head, that he recognizes.)]
Oh, please. Yennefer, you are a prize as much as I. [And those words slip off too easily. To be fair, Jaskier isn't fucking blind. Yennefer, of course, is beautiful. And powerful. Dangerous. They are all things men have wanted to fuck for millennia. And despite whatever his personal opinions are, it is clear that Geralt... sees something in her.] Our talents are not the same, but you are no less for having them.
[He swallows.] There will be a day songs are written of you, too.
[Or they already have been. Moving on. The wagon hits a bump and shifts slightly, their bodies pressing closer together, with only the wolf between. Jaskier glances at them, and his voice goes soft.] He loves you, you know.