[ Where his brows had been furrowed as he sorted out his thoughts, the look that Geralt turns on Sam now is only contemplative. He gets how Sam might think that. Hard to explain. He does find his own peace and quiet on the Path. That much, he's not lying about. The violence that follows his sword on a hunt is not what disturbs the steadiness he seeks in his life. The monsters he faces are not what haunt his waking dreams. ]
Isn't it? We ride, we find a job. We finish it. It's simple. [ Maybe it says something, that Geralt's conception of peaceful can only extend as far as what's simple. Sometimes he gets paid enough, sometimes he doesn't—but either way, he returns to his horse under the stars all the same. And that's all there is to it. All he wants there to be to it. ] We don't have divided loyalties. Or king and country to serve.
[ The reality is, if Sam were to press further about the difference between what he wants and what he doesn't know he can have, he wouldn't have an answer. As much as he feels, sometimes, that something is missing, he equally can't imagine being in any other position. He can't imagine what it is, to find loyalty to a queen, a cause. To be so ready to die for some nebulous ideal. (But he can imagine an even simpler thing: just people, people who are important to him being there and nothing else to threaten them or tear them away. It's a concept that he knows exists only in the rare moments he lets himself dream. An indulgence he often can't afford.)
He's still dwelling, a little, on the conversation when Sam interrupts with the last thing Geralt expects him up say. He glances over. His head is cocked to the side. For what? The question remains unspoken, but it's clear enough on his face. ]
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Isn't it? We ride, we find a job. We finish it. It's simple. [ Maybe it says something, that Geralt's conception of peaceful can only extend as far as what's simple. Sometimes he gets paid enough, sometimes he doesn't—but either way, he returns to his horse under the stars all the same. And that's all there is to it. All he wants there to be to it. ] We don't have divided loyalties. Or king and country to serve.
[ The reality is, if Sam were to press further about the difference between what he wants and what he doesn't know he can have, he wouldn't have an answer. As much as he feels, sometimes, that something is missing, he equally can't imagine being in any other position. He can't imagine what it is, to find loyalty to a queen, a cause. To be so ready to die for some nebulous ideal. (But he can imagine an even simpler thing: just people, people who are important to him being there and nothing else to threaten them or tear them away. It's a concept that he knows exists only in the rare moments he lets himself dream. An indulgence he often can't afford.)
He's still dwelling, a little, on the conversation when Sam interrupts with the last thing Geralt expects him up say. He glances over. His head is cocked to the side. For what? The question remains unspoken, but it's clear enough on his face. ]