[ When Sam starts talking, Geralt lets him uninterrupted—because there's always more to it, a story buried in the things that Sam chooses to say even when they aren't talking about him. He knows enough about Sam to realize where his thoughts might be going: his family, left behind for greater responsibilities. People he thinks he's failed.
What Sam's trying to tell him, he does understand, but at the same time— ]
She has faced the world. [ And it's let her down. The world, everyone in it. She learned that from an early age. He suspects she has learned further since, in those years he wasn't there for. Hasn't yet remembered being there for. He knows. He knows things happened that he couldn't protect her from, even if she will speak to him about none of it. ] When I found her in those woods, her entire home was ashes. She killed men before I ever put a sword in her hand. She's already seen every horror the world has to show her. I just...
[ How is he to explain? That it's not about protecting her from hard truths or the measure of cruelty in people or how fragile things can be. How easily broken and stolen away. She knows. It's because she knows that he wants more for her. That he keeps thinking, what if he's part of the reason yet one more piece of her life has shattered? It is not his burden to carry, it's true, the choices Yennefer has made. But he has made his own choices, too, where she's concerned, and he doesn't know if they're the right ones. He only knows Ciri found it in herself to forgive Yennefer. Part of him wonders if Ciri is disappointed he cannot do the same. Not in him, not that. He knows it isn't that. Something deeper, he means. That feeling which curls around your heart, which can't be helped, when quiet hopes are crushed.
She looked at him once and said, I want to be like you. And he sees it, now, all the ways in which she is and isn't like him. These jagged edges he recognizes, born from too much over too many years. She can survive it. All of it. She has. But that doesn't mean he ever wanted her to have to.
His gaze flicks to Sam briefly before it shifts away again. Yeah. He hears it—I'm sorry Yennefer let you down—and he can't bring himself to acknowledge it out loud. The words sink in the silence. He remembers thinking, they have all been there for Ciri. And Yennefer—it feels like every time he asks, every time he has tried to trust that she can be, he's left empty-handed or less.
He tips more of the bottle into his cup without answering. A fond sort of irony settles in the air instead, one meant to place to rest the topic at hand. ] She is warming up to you, though. Might even let you buy her another drink some time.
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What Sam's trying to tell him, he does understand, but at the same time— ]
She has faced the world. [ And it's let her down. The world, everyone in it. She learned that from an early age. He suspects she has learned further since, in those years he wasn't there for. Hasn't yet remembered being there for. He knows. He knows things happened that he couldn't protect her from, even if she will speak to him about none of it. ] When I found her in those woods, her entire home was ashes. She killed men before I ever put a sword in her hand. She's already seen every horror the world has to show her. I just...
[ How is he to explain? That it's not about protecting her from hard truths or the measure of cruelty in people or how fragile things can be. How easily broken and stolen away. She knows. It's because she knows that he wants more for her. That he keeps thinking, what if he's part of the reason yet one more piece of her life has shattered? It is not his burden to carry, it's true, the choices Yennefer has made. But he has made his own choices, too, where she's concerned, and he doesn't know if they're the right ones. He only knows Ciri found it in herself to forgive Yennefer. Part of him wonders if Ciri is disappointed he cannot do the same. Not in him, not that. He knows it isn't that. Something deeper, he means. That feeling which curls around your heart, which can't be helped, when quiet hopes are crushed.
She looked at him once and said, I want to be like you. And he sees it, now, all the ways in which she is and isn't like him. These jagged edges he recognizes, born from too much over too many years. She can survive it. All of it. She has. But that doesn't mean he ever wanted her to have to.
His gaze flicks to Sam briefly before it shifts away again. Yeah. He hears it—I'm sorry Yennefer let you down—and he can't bring himself to acknowledge it out loud. The words sink in the silence. He remembers thinking, they have all been there for Ciri. And Yennefer—it feels like every time he asks, every time he has tried to trust that she can be, he's left empty-handed or less.
He tips more of the bottle into his cup without answering. A fond sort of irony settles in the air instead, one meant to place to rest the topic at hand. ] She is warming up to you, though. Might even let you buy her another drink some time.