Mm. A single syllable that tells him a lot. Oh boy. This. This is shit. Not that it isn't utterly delightful to learn more about one's friends, but not in this way. Not in way that -- Jaskier himself feels as if he's been throttled about in his skull.
He was right to be afraid of the powers here. That someone can step into their minds so easily -- take away everything that made him him. He had not been afraid of not knowing himself in that place, and yet now the memory of that feeling was enough to freeze his blood.
This must be worse for someone like Geralt, he thinks, who shares so little of himself. And yet. And yet most distinctly does Jaskier remember that Geralt was...
He was happy. Well. Happier. Without memories.
For a while. It was the two of them, meeting every spring, and the small gifts Jaskier would bring for a girl whose face he could not recall, even now. But he could remember the physicality: the flower crowns, or the jugs of mountain water, or the handful of tiny dragon teeth. And he could leave, knowing she was protected and Geralt wasn't alone.
Gods. How obvious it is now. Why Jaskier always traveled with the White Wolf.]
It doesn't mean anything. [He glances across the tomes to watch Geralt's face, having also wasted far too much time on the same page. And, so far, he can find no information about the Horizon.] That she was there. It doesn't mean she's not still on the Continent.
[It feels hollow as he says it. His words don't mean anything, really, either. He can guess -- quite accurately -- what Geralt believes now. Why the girl faded and he was left alone.]
no subject
He was right to be afraid of the powers here. That someone can step into their minds so easily -- take away everything that made him him. He had not been afraid of not knowing himself in that place, and yet now the memory of that feeling was enough to freeze his blood.
This must be worse for someone like Geralt, he thinks, who shares so little of himself. And yet. And yet most distinctly does Jaskier remember that Geralt was...
He was happy. Well. Happier. Without memories.
For a while. It was the two of them, meeting every spring, and the small gifts Jaskier would bring for a girl whose face he could not recall, even now. But he could remember the physicality: the flower crowns, or the jugs of mountain water, or the handful of tiny dragon teeth. And he could leave, knowing she was protected and Geralt wasn't alone.
Gods. How obvious it is now. Why Jaskier always traveled with the White Wolf.]
It doesn't mean anything. [He glances across the tomes to watch Geralt's face, having also wasted far too much time on the same page. And, so far, he can find no information about the Horizon.] That she was there. It doesn't mean she's not still on the Continent.
[It feels hollow as he says it. His words don't mean anything, really, either. He can guess -- quite accurately -- what Geralt believes now. Why the girl faded and he was left alone.]