[ So Jaskier says, but Ciri is not so convinced. He's a poet; affairs of the heart are his purview. She has grown up guarding hers.
When she'd been dragged through the door between worlds by that Thornean mage, Alina was there. Call it chance or something else (not destiny; she refuses), but Alina had been in her cell to make sure she got enough to eat, to listen without judgement or comment when she'd cried. Alina had been the first, the only person she'd told about Geralt, about how he didn't know her. About who he is.
When the Singularity had dragged that horrible magic out of her and she'd hurt Jaskier, Alina had been there, too. After. At Sam's. In the bath. Warming the water with the little sun in her hands. And again, Ciri had told her. She'd needed to talk, and Alina had listened.
It only now occurs to her that Alina never truly shared much of her own. In retrospect, Ciri feels a fool for having expected more.
For a while, she is silent, finishing her ale and staring at the wall.
She wonders if that was what she'd been hoping for. For... more. When had it started? When will the feeling go away?
Ciri reaches over, her fingertips barely reaching the edge of the envelope she'd shoved away. She slides it closer, then to the side. Toward Jaskier. ]
Keep this for me. Until I ask for it.
[ She doesn't ask him not to read it; she doesn't think he would. ]
It's just--
I'd hate to lose it.
[ When she does something out of anger.
Because she still rather feels like tearing it to bits. And some part of her recognizes that would be terribly sad. ]
no subject
When she'd been dragged through the door between worlds by that Thornean mage, Alina was there. Call it chance or something else (not destiny; she refuses), but Alina had been in her cell to make sure she got enough to eat, to listen without judgement or comment when she'd cried. Alina had been the first, the only person she'd told about Geralt, about how he didn't know her. About who he is.
When the Singularity had dragged that horrible magic out of her and she'd hurt Jaskier, Alina had been there, too. After. At Sam's. In the bath. Warming the water with the little sun in her hands. And again, Ciri had told her. She'd needed to talk, and Alina had listened.
It only now occurs to her that Alina never truly shared much of her own. In retrospect, Ciri feels a fool for having expected more.
For a while, she is silent, finishing her ale and staring at the wall.
She wonders if that was what she'd been hoping for. For... more. When had it started? When will the feeling go away?
Ciri reaches over, her fingertips barely reaching the edge of the envelope she'd shoved away. She slides it closer, then to the side. Toward Jaskier. ]
Keep this for me. Until I ask for it.
[ She doesn't ask him not to read it; she doesn't think he would. ]
It's just--
I'd hate to lose it.
[ When she does something out of anger.
Because she still rather feels like tearing it to bits. And some part of her recognizes that would be terribly sad. ]