[He is becoming acutely aware as their conversation travels onwards, along with his wagon, that he has made a grave mistake in playing with her for his own amusement, in finding a grim comedy in her without memories. Here he finds a sincerity he was never prepared for, and that he still cannot shield himself against.
Even the way she says his name -- though he's never really kept it so secret -- it feels intimate, knowing she's never called him it before.
He does look, because her eyes are on him and he can feel the weight of them. And though he has never said it, he does find them beautiful. A violet that would make even the petals of heliotrope pale in comparison. Which is funny, considering he has often thought of her as that flower. Beautiful. Poisonous. Causing gastric distress to those around her.
He is certainly beginning to feel some sort of distress.]
Because a truth has struck him with the inevitability of Destiny herself. Yennefer will recover her memories, the next time she is here. And this woman here, now... she'll be gone, won't she? It will be her second death -- the death after who Yennefer is now took over.
It feels it must be that way to him, because they are so unalike that he almost convinced himself she was a different person. Despite the years he has been aware of her, she is as much a mystery as she was when they met. Unintentionally.]
Would you believe me if I said, in this moment, it lies right here?
[In the quiet of this ride, of horse hooves stomping along a path, with willow branches arching over them and shading them from the sun. Hiding the rising monolith of the Singularity from view. And there is the wolf and the weight of him, the hot heaving breath when he sighs. The Path and Company. It's all he's needed for a long time.
Ah, Jaskier remains selfish as ever. He wants to steal something from this. For himself. For once, it is not about her -- about bothering her, or annoying her, or insulting her. He would steal something before this fantasy vanishes.
So he lets go of the reins (the horses have never needed the direction) and cups her cheek. The shape is unfamiliar, but his hand finds where to hold it gently anyway. Then he leans in and kisses her.
no subject
Even the way she says his name -- though he's never really kept it so secret -- it feels intimate, knowing she's never called him it before.
He does look, because her eyes are on him and he can feel the weight of them. And though he has never said it, he does find them beautiful. A violet that would make even the petals of heliotrope pale in comparison. Which is funny, considering he has often thought of her as that flower. Beautiful. Poisonous. Causing gastric distress to those around her.
He is certainly beginning to feel some sort of distress.]
I believe it's a bit of a cliché, my answer, but my heart has never been chained to one place. [He looks away, to his fingers, where he has already worried an indentation into the reins. Physical evidence of what this conversation has done to him. (And it's been so easy, once he allowed it, and it does feel like what he's lied to her about. That they are friends. That words between them are private, but easy, and comforting. Comfortable. And it's that comfort he finds disturbing.
Because a truth has struck him with the inevitability of Destiny herself. Yennefer will recover her memories, the next time she is here. And this woman here, now... she'll be gone, won't she? It will be her second death -- the death after who Yennefer is now took over.
It feels it must be that way to him, because they are so unalike that he almost convinced himself she was a different person. Despite the years he has been aware of her, she is as much a mystery as she was when they met. Unintentionally.]
Would you believe me if I said, in this moment, it lies right here?
[In the quiet of this ride, of horse hooves stomping along a path, with willow branches arching over them and shading them from the sun. Hiding the rising monolith of the Singularity from view. And there is the wolf and the weight of him, the hot heaving breath when he sighs. The Path and Company. It's all he's needed for a long time.
Ah, Jaskier remains selfish as ever. He wants to steal something from this. For himself. For once, it is not about her -- about bothering her, or annoying her, or insulting her. He would steal something before this fantasy vanishes.
So he lets go of the reins (the horses have never needed the direction) and cups her cheek. The shape is unfamiliar, but his hand finds where to hold it gently anyway. Then he leans in and kisses her.
An impulse. That's all it is.]