The air shifts between them. Geralt lets the silence hang for as long as the elf needs to work out whatever's going through his head. He recognizes regret when he sees it. Some form of regret, anyway. He gets it. Geralt's preferred to play it safe, but he has his reasons for doing so. Namely, that Jaskier is here. A guest, true, but that doesn't mean much. A gilded cage is still a cage. And given that Jaskier has fucking persisted in trying to petition for a certain Witcher's freedom, Geralt's given up on even trying to pretend that Jaskier can't be used as leverage, if Thorne should ever decide to.
He can't even be irked by it. He doesn't like it, but he understands Jaskier hasn't a damn clue what else to do except make his case again and again, and if that helps the bard from falling into despair, Geralt's not about to press too hard. At least the court is unlikely to see Jaskier as a threat, just an annoyance. So. Here they are.
For a moment, he thinks the conversation has ended, which is fine by him. He's willing to spend the rest of their time in silence. Then there's that.
His gaze is appraising; the sunlight glints off the yellow of his eyes. A hell of a thing to ask. Somehow, he's not expecting it out of a man he's exchanged but a handful of words with. Maybe they're all feeling it, the weight of the walls around them.
"You want the real answer?" If not, too bad. Those are the only answers Geralt gives. "I think our chances grow more shit by the day. But if you know what you're willing to do, then it changes nothing."
That's a different scale for everyone. He's had a long time to learn his, though; learn what he can live with and what he can live through. It's a blade he's cut himself on more than once, but it's one he'll always have.
no subject
He can't even be irked by it. He doesn't like it, but he understands Jaskier hasn't a damn clue what else to do except make his case again and again, and if that helps the bard from falling into despair, Geralt's not about to press too hard. At least the court is unlikely to see Jaskier as a threat, just an annoyance. So. Here they are.
For a moment, he thinks the conversation has ended, which is fine by him. He's willing to spend the rest of their time in silence. Then there's that.
His gaze is appraising; the sunlight glints off the yellow of his eyes. A hell of a thing to ask. Somehow, he's not expecting it out of a man he's exchanged but a handful of words with. Maybe they're all feeling it, the weight of the walls around them.
"You want the real answer?" If not, too bad. Those are the only answers Geralt gives. "I think our chances grow more shit by the day. But if you know what you're willing to do, then it changes nothing."
That's a different scale for everyone. He's had a long time to learn his, though; learn what he can live with and what he can live through. It's a blade he's cut himself on more than once, but it's one he'll always have.