[ A small smile curls his lips. Sure. Sam knows the answer to that, Geralt knows why Sam even says it, and the pattern feels familiar suddenly in a way that's sharper, clearer, than the hazy impressions that have circled his mind lately.
How's the boat these days? Just when I think I get one thing done, another thing breaks.
The edges of his smile soften, contemplative. He doesn't say a word, but his gaze lingers on Sam for a minute or two. A telling pause. Perhaps he was right to come here. Or is it too early to tell? Something inside him already feels at ease, though. A touch at home, but not the home that carries so many dark memories under its frozen surface. As long as he needs might be a few weeks, might be a few years. At some point during one of their days under the hot sun, hauling wooden beams and sanding planks of wood, he will confess he does not know what to do about Ciri. That he fears he may never be able to reunite with her or remember her because she will never want to see him again, for reasons he cannot hold against her.
For now, he simply takes another sip of ale, then sets the bottle on the counter. His hands itch for a sword, a tool. Sam might be joking, but Geralt is more than willing to help. There's a thought, a flicker that tells him, Sam's always trying to do too much, and he knows it to be true even if he carries only a small handful of memories that prove it so. He can feel the emptiness between the walls. Geralt was built for the vast emptiness, but he understands that sometimes, he can fill the space for another. And it is not a role he minds taking with a select few. ]
Let's go then. Before you change your mind and put me on the porch.
no subject
How's the boat these days?
Just when I think I get one thing done, another thing breaks.
The edges of his smile soften, contemplative. He doesn't say a word, but his gaze lingers on Sam for a minute or two. A telling pause. Perhaps he was right to come here. Or is it too early to tell? Something inside him already feels at ease, though. A touch at home, but not the home that carries so many dark memories under its frozen surface. As long as he needs might be a few weeks, might be a few years. At some point during one of their days under the hot sun, hauling wooden beams and sanding planks of wood, he will confess he does not know what to do about Ciri. That he fears he may never be able to reunite with her or remember her because she will never want to see him again, for reasons he cannot hold against her.
For now, he simply takes another sip of ale, then sets the bottle on the counter. His hands itch for a sword, a tool. Sam might be joking, but Geralt is more than willing to help. There's a thought, a flicker that tells him, Sam's always trying to do too much, and he knows it to be true even if he carries only a small handful of memories that prove it so. He can feel the emptiness between the walls. Geralt was built for the vast emptiness, but he understands that sometimes, he can fill the space for another. And it is not a role he minds taking with a select few. ]
Let's go then. Before you change your mind and put me on the porch.