[Oh. Right. Embarrassment crosses his face again as he attempts to rein in -- well, fuck. Everything. He feels a bit like crying himself. No bloody wonder she didn't want to tell him about this; the entire thing feels like a tragedy. And Jaskier, though it was years ago, can only think of Pavetta, of the love story between her and her cursed monster of a man. That had been love. Real love.
And now their daughter, the Child of Surprise, going through all of this -- because he had to believe it, if Geralt believed it. He'd only fucking found out dragons existed, like, half a year ago. (It's been so long already.)]
I'm sorry. I'm sorry, this is a lot, but I'm fine --
[He stares back at her. All at once, she folds in on herself. Away from him. Perhaps away from the world. To him, she did look calm -- because anything short of running and screaming simply did not make sense to him.]
Oh, my dear. Ciri. [He reaches for her much more easily this time, giving her a tight squeeze. So it is too much. For him, for her.] Wait, are you laughing? You sound terrible. [Oh, no. He can't tell. That's probably a bad sign. He gives her the hug of his life, the scar on his arm shifting with the squeeze of his arms. He always sees it now, at the corner of his arm, but -- well, why the fuck should one mistake stop them? He's never run from his mistakes in his life. If he gave up because of one fuck up, he'd hardly be a bard at all.] I have absolutely fuck-all idea of how to help you, but rest assured, I will not leave you to this alone. I -- none of us will, I promise.
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And now their daughter, the Child of Surprise, going through all of this -- because he had to believe it, if Geralt believed it. He'd only fucking found out dragons existed, like, half a year ago. (It's been so long already.)]
I'm sorry. I'm sorry, this is a lot, but I'm fine --
[He stares back at her. All at once, she folds in on herself. Away from him. Perhaps away from the world. To him, she did look calm -- because anything short of running and screaming simply did not make sense to him.]
Oh, my dear. Ciri. [He reaches for her much more easily this time, giving her a tight squeeze. So it is too much. For him, for her.] Wait, are you laughing? You sound terrible. [Oh, no. He can't tell. That's probably a bad sign. He gives her the hug of his life, the scar on his arm shifting with the squeeze of his arms. He always sees it now, at the corner of his arm, but -- well, why the fuck should one mistake stop them? He's never run from his mistakes in his life. If he gave up because of one fuck up, he'd hardly be a bard at all.] I have absolutely fuck-all idea of how to help you, but rest assured, I will not leave you to this alone. I -- none of us will, I promise.