[ He withdraws his hand soon enough, anyway. They rest on his drawn up knees, and he does not answer. Maybe it is an assumption. These days, he feels like he hardly knows what's happening anymore, what anyone is thinking. He doesn't even know what he's fucking thinking himself. His head is full of half-formed thoughts, decisions he does not want to make, images he does not want to address.
His brows furrow a hint. It's the only sign he's listening, waiting for what Jaskier is really trying to tell him. He hears it a moment later: a basement. Geralt had created the upper floors, the main hall, the yard. But he had not created the floor beneath the keep. It isn't really that the lab is a place of horrors he refuses to enter. It has its uses these days. They don't avoid it as if it haunts them, he and the other Witchers; that's not their way. But out there, back home, Kaer Morhen is real. It does not manifest shadows and ghosts. The Horizon is different. He'd been afraid of what might happen if he placed it there, set loose with what hides in the corners of his mind.
He supposes now he knows. That Jaskier had seen it recreated not as it is now, but as it was long ago. With blood freshly staining the floors, with. Everything. He makes a soft noise. He needn't wonder how it came to be. He remembers crawling through the woods, the likely poor decision he'd made one night to try and leave a message in the Horizon. He'd entered for the briefest minute or two, and then: nothing. It must've been enough, then, to spawn...that. ]
They searched through my memories. For information. [ His voice is tight. He distinctly does not look at Jaskier, though he hears it in his breathing, that Jaskier is...he just can't. Do it right now. ] I tried to keep them out, but. [ But. Fuck. ] In the midst of it, something came loose and— [ Yennefer. He doesn't say it. He can't talk about it yet. Not that. ] —it must've affected the Horizon. I didn't know.
[ He'd have never left that place for just anyone to stumble onto. The irony is, if he had not trusted Jaskier so thoroughly, Jaskier would likely have never been able to open that door. But Kaer Morhen, though Jaskier hadn't come to visit yet, has always been open for his friend. ]
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His brows furrow a hint. It's the only sign he's listening, waiting for what Jaskier is really trying to tell him. He hears it a moment later: a basement. Geralt had created the upper floors, the main hall, the yard. But he had not created the floor beneath the keep. It isn't really that the lab is a place of horrors he refuses to enter. It has its uses these days. They don't avoid it as if it haunts them, he and the other Witchers; that's not their way. But out there, back home, Kaer Morhen is real. It does not manifest shadows and ghosts. The Horizon is different. He'd been afraid of what might happen if he placed it there, set loose with what hides in the corners of his mind.
He supposes now he knows. That Jaskier had seen it recreated not as it is now, but as it was long ago. With blood freshly staining the floors, with. Everything. He makes a soft noise. He needn't wonder how it came to be. He remembers crawling through the woods, the likely poor decision he'd made one night to try and leave a message in the Horizon. He'd entered for the briefest minute or two, and then: nothing. It must've been enough, then, to spawn...that. ]
They searched through my memories. For information. [ His voice is tight. He distinctly does not look at Jaskier, though he hears it in his breathing, that Jaskier is...he just can't. Do it right now. ] I tried to keep them out, but. [ But. Fuck. ] In the midst of it, something came loose and— [ Yennefer. He doesn't say it. He can't talk about it yet. Not that. ] —it must've affected the Horizon. I didn't know.
[ He'd have never left that place for just anyone to stumble onto. The irony is, if he had not trusted Jaskier so thoroughly, Jaskier would likely have never been able to open that door. But Kaer Morhen, though Jaskier hadn't come to visit yet, has always been open for his friend. ]