[Be that as it may, he also seems to be around whenever these spikes of emotion happen in her. And how can he not imagine he's the cause? He says the wrong thing, stirs the worst memories. It's a miracle at all to him she was so quick to embrace him when they first met. Not -- originally, but here in Abraxas. When he'd not remembered who she was.

He takes her hand, gripping it in his tightly. Her long, scarred fingers next to his own. Jaskier gets to his feet with her help, his legs, his whole body pulsing like a bruise.

Ah. Well. He supposes he bears them now, doesn't he? Still.]

What? [He looks at her, incredulous. His hand hasn't let hers go yet.] No. Gods, no, Ciri. I don't want to be alone right now.

[He'd been about to do it simply to -- to save them from what he couldn't hide behind a smile now. As long as he could, at least. But if she knows now, if she realizes what he's remembered -- or lived through -- what does it matter? His thoughts scramble for something, anything.

And he recalls one of the last memories he has of Abraxas. The calm. The warmth.] Downstairs. You still have some of that chocolate, don't you? Let's make a few mugs. I need to taste something that isn't wine or blood.