[ sam isn’t surprised, by the sudden reaction. if anything, he’d almost been expecting it, turning his eyes back to his bowl as if actively avoiding the sudden reaction. because he’d known, somehow, that it would hit harder with geralt than it might with anyone else. anyone else, who could have shrugged it off, offered a simple reaction.
or there is this witcher, this person, who sam has gotten to know over the last few months. who he has worked with, fought with, simply talked. he knows the type, the sort to hold onto everything they’re feeling and hope, by some miracle, it won’t have to go anywhere at all. sam’s seen it first hand, and also has seen what can happen with that.
he takes his time with his next bite, scraping the sides of the bowl with his spoon. and maybe, just maybe, it has something to do with how tired he himself feels. that he doesn’t feel the need to be subtle. to ease into what he wants to say, or have said. that it means something to him, down in his core, that this is happening at all. that jaskier had squeezed his hand and told him to stay. that ciri had come back with him at all, despite the tired, unsure way she’d looked at him. that geralt - always on his guard, always watching the backs of the people around him, had looked at him. had left this all in his hands. when sam does finally look back up, those gold eyes are staring back at him, blunt and with a fracture of color. of something that suddenly, as if for the first time this night, feels unsure.
sam snorts, which maybe isn’t the easiest or nicest way to react at first, pointing his spoon towards geralt. ]
Because you could have tried to handle this all alone. You could have showed up and either grabbed Jaskier and left, or shut me out entirely. [ it’s something that sam has thought about, since. in the moment, he wouldn’t have let it happen, his attention so wholly on jaskier and his decreasing state. but thinking back, if geralt really hadn’t wanted him there, he wouldn’t have been. ] You didn’t. You let me help. [ sam shrugs, letting the spoon fall back in his bowl, eyeing the remains of the stew he has left, before he stretches and sits back. ] Which- I mean- I would have chased you down and made you let me, but I didn’t have to.
[ he gestures to the table, stacked with bags even now, the two of them log by candlelight and surrounded by sleeping bodies. ]
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or there is this witcher, this person, who sam has gotten to know over the last few months. who he has worked with, fought with, simply talked. he knows the type, the sort to hold onto everything they’re feeling and hope, by some miracle, it won’t have to go anywhere at all. sam’s seen it first hand, and also has seen what can happen with that.
he takes his time with his next bite, scraping the sides of the bowl with his spoon. and maybe, just maybe, it has something to do with how tired he himself feels. that he doesn’t feel the need to be subtle. to ease into what he wants to say, or have said. that it means something to him, down in his core, that this is happening at all. that jaskier had squeezed his hand and told him to stay. that ciri had come back with him at all, despite the tired, unsure way she’d looked at him. that geralt - always on his guard, always watching the backs of the people around him, had looked at him. had left this all in his hands. when sam does finally look back up, those gold eyes are staring back at him, blunt and with a fracture of color. of something that suddenly, as if for the first time this night, feels unsure.
sam snorts, which maybe isn’t the easiest or nicest way to react at first, pointing his spoon towards geralt. ]
Because you could have tried to handle this all alone. You could have showed up and either grabbed Jaskier and left, or shut me out entirely. [ it’s something that sam has thought about, since. in the moment, he wouldn’t have let it happen, his attention so wholly on jaskier and his decreasing state. but thinking back, if geralt really hadn’t wanted him there, he wouldn’t have been. ] You didn’t. You let me help. [ sam shrugs, letting the spoon fall back in his bowl, eyeing the remains of the stew he has left, before he stretches and sits back. ] Which- I mean- I would have chased you down and made you let me, but I didn’t have to.
[ he gestures to the table, stacked with bags even now, the two of them log by candlelight and surrounded by sleeping bodies. ]
So. Thank you.