[As if he's forgotten. It's not the sole reason he recalls reaching for Sam's hand and holding it there, but it certainly was part of it. And now those images are filtering back to him, albeit slowly and, mostly, in a jumble.
He breathes a laugh.] A close call. Is that what it was?
[He feels that's perhaps the boldest euphemism he's heard for a man who was rapidly tearing down death's door, but it's not lost on him that Sam is often careful with his words. A much softer bedside manner than he's ever had with most healers. Even Chireadan, a rarity among even human healers, had been rather gentle with his pronouncement that Jaskier was definitely going to die.
Jaskier had absolutely been about to die. He was not kidding himself. And as much as that thought terrified him, it changed nothing to not believe it, either.]
I don't believe it's quite hard to be doing better than me. Don't brag about it. [He does take the cup, though it's slow and his hands shake a bit, as if he hasn't eaten in -- ah. Days. That would explain it.
He doesn't bring it to his mouth yet. Give him a second to remember he has a body, please.] You know I want to ask. [He turns to meet Sam's pointed gaze. He is so beyond immune to pointed gazes at this point.] What he did. I don't... really remember. Is he all right?
[He'd said Geralt would be -- because Geralt always was -- but now he is worried, a little bit, that Sam brought up his condition at all.
Somehow it brings to mind the wound Geralt came here with. The bite. The one that... should have killed him, too.
Fuck. They were all so very good at almost dying, weren't they?]
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[As if he's forgotten. It's not the sole reason he recalls reaching for Sam's hand and holding it there, but it certainly was part of it. And now those images are filtering back to him, albeit slowly and, mostly, in a jumble.
He breathes a laugh.] A close call. Is that what it was?
[He feels that's perhaps the boldest euphemism he's heard for a man who was rapidly tearing down death's door, but it's not lost on him that Sam is often careful with his words. A much softer bedside manner than he's ever had with most healers. Even Chireadan, a rarity among even human healers, had been rather gentle with his pronouncement that Jaskier was definitely going to die.
Jaskier had absolutely been about to die. He was not kidding himself. And as much as that thought terrified him, it changed nothing to not believe it, either.]
I don't believe it's quite hard to be doing better than me. Don't brag about it. [He does take the cup, though it's slow and his hands shake a bit, as if he hasn't eaten in -- ah. Days. That would explain it.
He doesn't bring it to his mouth yet. Give him a second to remember he has a body, please.] You know I want to ask. [He turns to meet Sam's pointed gaze. He is so beyond immune to pointed gazes at this point.] What he did. I don't... really remember. Is he all right?
[He'd said Geralt would be -- because Geralt always was -- but now he is worried, a little bit, that Sam brought up his condition at all.
Somehow it brings to mind the wound Geralt came here with. The bite. The one that... should have killed him, too.
Fuck. They were all so very good at almost dying, weren't they?]