No. [ Geralt agrees easily. Kaer Morhen is crumbling, and he doesn't pretend otherwise, but it's theirs. The scars that mark it have been inextricably intertwined with what it means to him. From the attacks, sure—but from his brothers, too. Gouges in tables and cracked bowls from too many brawls to count (over inconsequential shit). He's recreated it stone by missing stone for a reason—even down to the rats that occupy the warmest rooms.
Wouldn't be the same without them.
He places the mug between his legs on the bench. ] Kaer Morhen. [ Or Caer a'Muirehen, as the elves once called it. ] It's well-hidden on the Continent, but here...
[ He gives a shrug. Makes no difference here. The path up the mountain has been significantly shortened, a hike that takes minutes as opposed to weeks. ]
no subject
Wouldn't be the same without them.
He places the mug between his legs on the bench. ] Kaer Morhen. [ Or Caer a'Muirehen, as the elves once called it. ] It's well-hidden on the Continent, but here...
[ He gives a shrug. Makes no difference here. The path up the mountain has been significantly shortened, a hike that takes minutes as opposed to weeks. ]