[At least she insists she herself is one of them, though. Then she finds good company in a trio of idiots, because surely Geralt is as stupid as the rest of them.
He does brighten. It's an easier feat than ever -- simply to know he's alive and famous. And he is the same. Why would he let anyone forget? Surely no one understands how much work he's put into having this bloody reputation! (He will not complain about how much work he is doing to reestablish it. Surely Ciri has already heard enough about it the last month.
He stares at her.] You must be kidding. She was already quite powerful.
[Well, he means, as far as he knows. He's no expert on Elven blood and what powers may come with it.
His fingers curl tightly around his blanket.]
You what.
[There is no scholar in Oxenfurt who has not heard Ithlinne's Prophecy -- even if it is, of course, seen as some Elven folktale.] Ess'tuath esse. Thus it shall be. [A folktale. Just... just like Filavandrel of the Silver Towers. Or the legend of Dol Blathanna. His finger curl more until the tips begin to pale. For someone who speaks as much as Jaskier does, he suddenly stumbles in trying to follow her. A child she's suppose to have? Is that how prophecies are supposed to work?
How the fuck is it supposed to be a prophecy one takes seriously?
By the end of it, he has no fucking idea what to do. His mouth opens as he attempts to say something, then closes again when words don't come. It happens a few times, the sweet nectar of apple turning sour in his mouth.
Oh. Right. Portals and raw chaos.
Of course.
He rubs his face with both hands.]
In retrospect, it's a bit silly I tried to teach you to make a bird.
no subject
[At least she insists she herself is one of them, though. Then she finds good company in a trio of idiots, because surely Geralt is as stupid as the rest of them.
He does brighten. It's an easier feat than ever -- simply to know he's alive and famous. And he is the same. Why would he let anyone forget? Surely no one understands how much work he's put into having this bloody reputation! (He will not complain about how much work he is doing to reestablish it. Surely Ciri has already heard enough about it the last month.
He stares at her.] You must be kidding. She was already quite powerful.
[Well, he means, as far as he knows. He's no expert on Elven blood and what powers may come with it.
His fingers curl tightly around his blanket.]
You what.
[There is no scholar in Oxenfurt who has not heard Ithlinne's Prophecy -- even if it is, of course, seen as some Elven folktale.] Ess'tuath esse. Thus it shall be. [A folktale. Just... just like Filavandrel of the Silver Towers. Or the legend of Dol Blathanna. His finger curl more until the tips begin to pale. For someone who speaks as much as Jaskier does, he suddenly stumbles in trying to follow her. A child she's suppose to have? Is that how prophecies are supposed to work?
How the fuck is it supposed to be a prophecy one takes seriously?
By the end of it, he has no fucking idea what to do. His mouth opens as he attempts to say something, then closes again when words don't come. It happens a few times, the sweet nectar of apple turning sour in his mouth.
Oh. Right. Portals and raw chaos.
Of course.
He rubs his face with both hands.]
In retrospect, it's a bit silly I tried to teach you to make a bird.
[Translation: Hey. Hey, Ciri? What the fuck?]