Geralt z Rivii (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gynvael) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2021-08-01 07:11 pm
gynvael) wrote in abraxaslogs2021-08-01 07:11 pm
( CLOSED )
Who: Geralt + Jaskier; Sam Wilson; Belle
When: July 25-31; Aug 5-13
Where: The castle // dungeons
What: The aftermath of the Horizon, and questions Geralt would rather not answer.
Warnings: Talk of death; possibly other similarly dark topics
(( closed starters below. if you'd like a starter following up on the Horizon or anything else in between the July event and August arrivals, hit me up at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
discontinued! ))
sam wilson | jaskier | belle | sam wilson (ii)
When: July 25-31; Aug 5-13
Where: The castle // dungeons
What: The aftermath of the Horizon, and questions Geralt would rather not answer.
Warnings: Talk of death; possibly other similarly dark topics
(( closed starters below. if you'd like a starter following up on the Horizon or anything else in between the July event and August arrivals, hit me up at
sam wilson.
He wants to ride. He should be home. The thought sounds childish crossing his mind, but there are not many steady constants in his life and not many places he can return to and know he'll not be turned away. Kaer Morhen is one of the few. And he wants to talk to Vesemir. (Vesemir would understand; would know what it is to bury children that feel too much like yours when you should know better.)
When footsteps invariably make their way down the stairs, Geralt glances to the side without turning his head. (That's the other part that fucks with him: the loss of his senses all over again now that he's back here.) That it's Sam doesn't surprise him. The man has been by a handful of times. Geralt hasn't minded much—but that was before. Now it's—
Complicated. In truth, if it'd been anyone but Sam, in any other situation, what occurred between them would've felt nothing short of invasive. But if there's one thing he understands, it's that the Horizon had left no room for hidden motives. That as with him, what he found within others was raw, unaltered.
So when he sighs at Sam's approach, there's a note of acceptance to his display of exasperation. ] You know I'll only tell you I'm fine.
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granted, his list of people to check in on has grown exponentially, and he's already found that initial discussion of 'we haven't actually met but i remember you coming over for gumbo' to be more awkward than it had any right to be. if anything, it makes the time he takes away to go down to see geralt all the more...what? easy? casual? he did not meet geralt without memories, did not slip into a close, but not actually, space with him under the guise of magically-induced intimacy. it feels a bit like a weight's been lifted from his shoulders, and as he makes it down into the stone hall, and hears the sigh and the comment from geralt, it pulls a kind of smile from him. one that he doesn't have to put up a front for, in some ways. ]
Good thing I wasn't going to ask. [ he looks over to the guard who he'd checked in with, before coming down here. nods, once - geralt probably recognizes it for how the process goes when the 'honored guests' are allowed to chaperone one of the imprisoned. it's not the first time sam has done this with geralt, specifically, either. ] You up for a walk? [ see? he doesn't even outwardly ask about the leg. he's learning (kind of) ]
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He considers the offer for a second. Not the most difficult decision. He's tired of being cooped up; tired of the hum of conversation and sounds he can no longer sharply distinguish once again. After the sprawling Horizon, it's been particularly confining. Unlike some of the others, he's ambivalent about...whatever supposed connection they now have. About what might still be left behind in that plain full of minds unrestrained. Returning has not been on the list of things he's eager to do despite its potential reprieve from the cells.
So. Yeah. He's up for it. His expression says he's willing, even if no answer comes out loud. In case there's any doubt, though, he gets up. His leg is better, but it's annoying to have it return to bothering him after a handful of weeks free from injury. (Free from a lot of things.)
He follows Sam out once the guards seem satisfied to let him go. The silence isn't unusual with him, but there's a sense that it stems from more than his typical disinterest in sparking small talk—that there's something on his mind he's been trying to deal with. Or swallow down, in any case. Same difference, for him. It's some paces down the hall upstairs that he finally says something. Only so many places here to go, but still—old instincts means he prefers not to follow blindly, even with someone he trusts won't lead him into a spike pit. ]
Hope you have an exciting destination in mind.
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and honestly - as sam stands in front of geralt's cell, in the moments before geralt agrees to come - it doesn't feel all that different. or- more so- it almost feels more the same, more comfortable, than before. but underneath all of it is still that underlying sense of...something. something sam hasn't worked out yet. but he's getting there. and part of him wonders, as geralt gets up and joins him on the walk, if there isn't anything geralt wants to say in return. he doesn't hold his breath, if only because after the horizon, sam's a bit exhausted of his 'getting people to open up about feelings they don't normally want to talk about' scale.
he snorts at geralt's comment, taking them down the main hall and towards the front entrance. ] Not sure I'd call it exciting, but I want out of this castle, so- hope you're down for some fresh air. [ sam would prefer to make it fully off the castle grounds, if only because something about ambrose's expression when they returned home didn't sit well with him, but he isn't sure if he's really in a place to push his luck. not with how many trips he's been making down to the dungeon. so...castle grounds and gardens and maybe a bit of forest it is.
it's as they're walking, though, that sam's attention is going to shift to geralt's leg. it might not be outright staring, but there are enough glances to let the other know sam is checking the other's gait, to see how much he's still limping, how bad it still looks. sam tries his best, but they barely make it out the door before he finally gives up on holding back and asks- ]
Your leg wasn't bothering you in the Horizon, was it? [ it's an observation more than a question, and sam exhales. ] But it's back to being messed up now?
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He does notice Sam looking. Geralt's neither surprised nor does he say a word on it. He's too tired to pretend like it isn't still being a damn pain in the arse. Jaskier's magic (and isn't that a hell of a thing on its own) a couple weeks back has managed to soothe it, but the wound is still there. It's less of a limp now; more of the way he never really rests his weight on that leg when they stop or turn a corner.
When Sam finally brings it up, Geralt glances over briefly. It's hard to put into words what he feels now. What he remembers feeling then. (Contentment. A version of it.) ]
Mm. Same as it was. [ He's wondered about it. That when they returned, things had been the same. Hunger and thirst unchanged. As if their bodies hadn't noticed they'd been absent for over a week. Makes him think what else might be suspended while they're in there. Exactly what power does Thorne believe they can tap into? And at what point is their entry into it no longer deemed necessary to be conscious and voluntary? ] Hasn't gotten worse.
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Did you ever hear what the crystals were for? That they sent us in to grab weeks ago?
[ he knows he hasn't been talking to geralt about them - if anything, he feels a bit like most of them have tried to forget the massive amounts of trauma bonding that they went through. but sam's been doing a bit of his own digging, talking with a few other people - guests, of course, because as the days have gone on his trust for the people of thorne has withered.
but god - a thought strikes him then. mixed up in all of that. has it really been weeks? sam almost curses at the idea of it, momentarily distracted by the idea that they've been here for, actually, about two months. that he doesn't know what is happening back home, what sarah and the boys must be thinking. but that tidal wave is something to unpack for another day, and if geralt gives him any kind of look, sam is simply going to shrug. ]
I got curious and asked around. They had to be important if they went through all that trouble, you know?
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He doesn't ask. Even if it does cross his mind, briefly. Sam hasn't given any indication he's too bothered by what happened in the Horizon, but—Geralt's not certain how Sam really feels. To have held all the things so important to him and wake up with it abruptly torn away. There's a reason Sam's home had not just been a house. He remembers, distinctly, that it had been filled with what he realizes must've been Sam's friends and family. None of whom are here.
The subject hits too close to home. When Sam gives a shrug, Geralt decides that's enough of an answer. He leaves it. ]
Presumed they had alchemical properties. [ Rare crystals from an endangered species—it tracks. Given its effects, he'd considered it might be weaponized. Recreation, even. It does give a hell of a time. He leans back against one of the trees. ] You found something.
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he's done the 'disappear for years and be cut off from family' thing before. hell, multiple times before. what's one more period of time where his sister and her boys have to make it without him? ( god, even joking about it hurts. ) ]
They have a kind of process or something that turns it into medicine. Or- not medicine, technically, or maybe it is for here, but they're supposed to help with healing. [ geralt stops and leans against the tree, and sam steps forward one or two more steps before turning back around to face him, hands in the pockets of his trousers. he may look a little sheepish when geralt says you found something, but only a little. doesn't change what he plans on doing. ]
Wouldn't call it found, but I snagged one of the crystals, while we were thre. A smaller one, that they couldn't catch, and this woman I know - Zelda - she knows more about this magic stuff than I do. [ geralt can probably tell where this is going, but sam plows through all the same. he hadn't known at the time why he wanted to make sure he grabbed some of those crystals, but it probably had to do with his still growing distrust of this whole place. now, though, sam keeps going, to the point that he'll talk right over geralt if he tries to interrupt. ] It's not exactly the same as what they make up out of it, and she mentioned some possible side effects, but I don't know if I trust anything those guys are doing. [ a beat, and then sam's brows both lift, expectantly. ]
We don't know what we're getting ourselves into, here, and your leg is bothering you. Still. [ he gives geralt a look that says even if he hadn't said anything, sam could have guessed. unfortunately, that is what is going to happen, the more time they spend together. sam's good at reading people, no matter how expressive. ] And, after that shit we saw in there, we need to be ready for anything.
[ he pulls the small vial out from his pocket. it's unassuming, fits squarely in his palm before h shifts it around to hold between pointer finger and thumb, the final question left unasked.
well? ]
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He shifts. His eyes narrow a little. It's clear, out of everything that Sam's said, what catches his attention the most. ] Side effects.
[ It's not that he doesn't trust Sam. It's that side effects is fucking vague and these crystals haven't exactly been harmless in their native form. Which. Yeah. He knows. He knows Sam isn't wrong. He'd have to be head buried in the sand to not feel the tension in the air. How things have expanded to the snapping point. He's equally reluctant to forge ahead not at a hundred percent—especially with how muted his senses are. How slow he feels. He hates that just about anyone can sneak up on him.
A breath escapes him. It's difficult to explain how he feels without being entrenched in a history he'd rather not delve into. Still, he does reach for the vial, if only out of curiosity. It sits neatly in his palm. Unassuming as anything.
If he wasn't healing—slowly, but he is—if it'd been getting worse, he'd likely have chanced it. He'd meant it when he'd promised Sam as much. And if he'd been anywhere but trapped in a cell, with so much of himself stripped away, he'd have chanced it, too. As things are, though, he's less willing to play so loosely with the unknown. ] I know what you'll say. But I've fought with worse. I can walk on it.
[ After a moment, he holds it back out. It isn't like him to explain, but he understands Sam's been trying. Has gone out of his way when he's no real reason to. He wants Sam to know that it's not mistrust nor some misplaced bravado that's made him turn the down the help. He's too damn old to indulge in the latter, anyway. ]
I've never had the most blessed experience with experimental alchemy.
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Yeah. Apparently, there's a chance you could trip out for a couple of hours. But if it fixes your leg, might be worth it. [ he says might like he's still convincing geralt to take the potion, because there is still some hopeful part of sam that thinks maybe, just maybe, he will. and its that hopeful part of him that builds as geralt reaches to inspect the vial. he knows there are a mountain's worth of reasons not to take it, knows there are dangers and unknowns, but when zelda had handed him the bottle and told him that it would work, albiet with those damned side effects, geralt had been the only person sam thought of. and even if there is still a larger part of sam that doesn't actually believe geralt will accept it, he has to try.
because that's all he can do, isn't it? after what happened in the horizon, after the time they spent and the conversations they shared, after the girl, sam feels like he carries around the knowledge that he has to do this. or- not has to, necessarily. but wants to. and on top of it all, there is a feeling that maybe after all of that, after seeing sam's home and then seeing the keep and the snow and geralt's home, maybe geralt will actually accept it. jaskier had said trusts, back when they first met. that geralt trusts him, and sam can piece together enough about the witcher to knows what that means.
so he gives it a try, and when geralt ultimately offers it back, sam feels just a tad bit disappointed, in himself more than anything, as he smiles just a bit and gives a small sigh, taking back the vial and studying a bit himself. he doesn't blame geralt for not taking it, but more chides himself. maybe if he'd brought it earlier, but alas. he shakes his head and slides it into his pocket again, looking back up to the other man with a curious smile. ]
You've had other experiences with experimental alchemy?
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He'll take the bad leg. At least he knows what to expect from that.
He ends up sitting at the base of the tree; it's shaded from the summer sun and there's enough privacy between the bushes. He already knows Sam will ask; it's a piece he's willing to share, having offered it in the first place. It isn't a secret—not at home—and besides. Sam's seen more than most ever do out of him in the span of, what. Two months? All of it against his intentions. Might as well make it his choice, for once. ]
It's how we're made. [ He's only mentioned it once to Sam, briefly, that they're made starting as boys—but he's never explained anything further. He's especially never spoken of his own experience to anyone. Of why it is, exactly, that even amidst his own kind, he stands out with his hair leeched of pigment. It's a part of the story he glides over still. The only ones who know it in full are the ones who were actually there. ] Mages called them the Trials. Goes about six, seven days. You either emerged a Witcher or you didn't at all.
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it's when geralt settles at the base of the tree that sam feels the last of that...it isn't tension, necessarily, but whatever it was fade slightly. the vial had been the primary reason, beyond simply checking in on the other man, that sam had gone down into the dungeons with. now that it was over, sam felt a bit like this - this settling in the shade of the trees, amid the dirt and grass and calm breeze - can just be time. and his attention is absolutely caught when geralt starts speaking, lowering to the ground himself, listening closely the more he says.
how we were made geralt had mentioned being created, back when they'd gotten out of the tunnels. had mentioned being created and how it started young. of course, sam had a multitude of questions about it, but the conversation had also been wrapped up in sam not prying, so a part of him had nearly given up hope on ever finding out. the fact geralt is supplying them now is important. so sam does what he does best and listens. ]
You mentioned before only a few survive. [ sam mentions it with a kind of respect. of knowing what it means, when someone casually mentions how few survive something. the fact that apparently most of these boys don't get out of the trials at all. sam's stomach curls a bit at the idea, but he doesn't react. ] Is that what those trials were? Experiments?
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He can feel Sam's eyes on him. Patient, but watching. Geralt ends up studying the flutter of a nearby butterfly while he turns over exactly what he wants to say. Probably, it's not hard to tell he's still skirting the precise details of what he'd meant by experimental. ]
Something of the sort. More of a process, by my time. Plenty of writings on it. [ Well. Mm. There were. ] It's been lost now. Ones who are left are it.
[ Like most of them, his feelings on that are ambivalent at best. It isn't a practice he wishes to inflict on another batch of children. But the loss of his kind, one by one, stings nonetheless. Still. Maybe they were always meant to die out, alongside the monsters they hunted. Numbers dwindling together while the rest of the Continent moved on to other, more pressing threats. It's fitting. They were only ever meant to exist for that one singular purpose. ]
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it's another couple of moments before sam looks back to geralt - again, patient but there, waiting to hear what it is he is considering sharing. there is an odd feeling in his gut that it isn't something he wants to hear, which is obvious enough by the way geralt led into this whole thing, but he's glad when geralt continues all the same - skirted details or not.
those who are left are it. sam's brow furrows a little as he processes that information, as he takes in geralt's lack of real reaction to the information. ]
And you're one of the few left?
[ it's an overwhelming idea, being faced with what feels like an extinction. whether or not sam knows what it feels like, there is a weight to the concept that settles heavy and hard in his chest. something uncomfortable, something without words. it feels awful and while sam might not even know a portion of the reasoning or explanations around the whole ordeal, the expression he gives geralt is not of concern, or pity, but a layer of understanding. or an attempt to. ]
I'm sorry. [ he eventually offers, and he is genuine when he says it. ] I mean- I probably would have offered it to you anyway, even if I'd known, but that's... [ sam shakes his head, then, a hand moving to rub at the back of his neck. ] That's intense shit.
[ and okay, not sam's most eloquent reaction to finding out someone he considers fairly close, by this point, was a child experiment and potentially one of the last of his kind. but he is trying, and thinks he deserves a level of grace for that. but it's another moment, maybe even two, before he looks back to geralt again. ]
Can I ask you something?
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Mm. [ Yeah. He is. Not much to add to that. Entering those doors back home every winter reveals fewer and fewer of them. It's the way it is—a fact he's accepted long ago. Mostly, he thinks it weighs on Vesemir more than any of them.
He sits back on his hands. He makes an idle gesture that suggests intense shit just about covers it. The most ideal reaction anyone could give him, really.
I might even let you have two sits on the tip of his tongue, but. Sam's trying to be sincere. He can meet him halfway. Geralt's expression is steady. ] If you want.
[ Not exactly an open book, but he's willing, at least, to talk. He can admit Sam's caution around him has been surprising. He's used to folk not giving a shit what he wants—or if they do, it's because they're frightened of him, which he knows Sam isn't. Sam's just accepted that Geralt's preferred not to discuss much. It means something to him, that. Maybe more so in particular because he can see it—can read it, on Sam's face sometimes, the burning desire to ask. He's aware Sam's biting his tongue half the time. ]
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and when geralt agrees, when he gives the grunt of agreement that yes, that is what he means, that he's one of the only few left. there is so much sam could ask, about that. so much that his training as a counselor has him thinking about. but geralt didn't move to share this because he wanted a session, and so sam tucks all that away, watching geralt for any signs. that he's overstepping, that this is uncomfortable. but when he opens the door for sam to ask, sam finds himself hesitating.
or, perhaps, hesitating isn't the right word. but sam waits or a moment before the words come out of him, watching geralt with a curious look. ]
If given the choice, would you do it again? [ sam winces, a bit once he asks, like it doesn't exactly sound as he'd wanted it to, when it finally came out. ] You mentioned that you were young, and no kid should ever have to go through something that...something like that. But do you like being a Witcher? [ thanks for the terminology to use here, jaskier, or else sam would be totally lost in this conversation. ] Would you have chosen to become one if you'd been allowed to chose?
[ and...okay. more than one question, technically, but the gist is all the same. ]
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When it comes, it's greeted with more silence. He's been asked before. Always dismissed it. The point is that he wasn't given a choice. There's little use in dwelling on what can't ever be. On choices that weren't his to make. That, and—he isn't the same. He remembers the boy he was like he remembers that of another's. Someone he knows of, but has no part in his life. Not anymore. Perhaps that severance was deliberate. The child he never was, the dreams he might've carried: easier, to let it go, than to sink in the knowledge that it was stolen from him. That his own mother decided it was not for him to have.
Funny, how fresh scars so old can feel. It shows, a little, when his gaze cuts away, as if Sam might read too much. There's a knot that grows more tangled each time he buries a feeling, a thought, a memory. If he's a desire to untangle it—and he sure as fuck hasn't any—he'd hardly know where to begin. From how Sam's asked, from the question itself, though—he gets Sam can't know, in full, what it means to be a Witcher. That it goes beyond a singular transformation. ]
When they take us, we don't return. We grow up on those grounds. Some of us were named there. [ His reply comes carefully. It needs no saying, he thinks, for Sam to realize what it means that not a soul ever comes for the boys who don't make it to the end. ] If there's another path I could've wanted, I never became who I'd need to be to know it.
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he's just curious, is all. cares, if geralt is secretly wishing for something more. something else. and with sam's training in dealing with trauma, he knows that childhood experiences don't just slip away. not when it has anything to do with what geralt has been suggesting.
geralt's eyes cut away when sam finally does ask, and he wonders if he's crossed one of those lines. if he needs to backtrack a little in the conversation. sam opens his mouth as if to say something to do just that, but stops himself, letting his mouth fall closed again. waits, patiently as ever, to see what sort of answer geralt will choose to give, and when the words follow, the feeling that settles in his chest feels a bit like a dip in ice water. an image of children, young boys, being left forever. he can barely imagine it, can barely wrap his head around it. that level of abandonment, that level of ptsd...
sam lets the words hang in the air for a few moments, nodding if only to let geralt know he's heard him, that he's taking it into account. but one thing stands out to him, through all of that. what geralt has offered and what he didn't say. there are only a few moments of silence that follow, but it's obvious it's because sam is considering if he wants to ask the question at all, and when he speaks, he's decided to go ahead with it, still looking at the other man. ]
What about now? [ another moment, another pause. then, as if sam is realizing the multiple layers to what should have a been a simple ask, he continues. ] If you had a chance for a different life, I mean. Whatever happened to you when you were a kid, whatever... [ he gestures around with his hand. ] Trials you survived to become a Witcher aside, if you had the chance to be anything else, would you?
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He does know Sam hasn't exactly led a safe and simple life, either. He wonders how much of that has been the man's choosing in return. How many have been choices he regrets? How many paths has he been down that he couldn't leave? Geralt can't stop thinking of that house. Out of all the spaces he visited, it lingers the most. Not only because of what was forged there, either. It's that it makes him realize that, where his own life has been plagued by loss, it feels like Sam is at a stage where he has so damn much he can still yet lose. And Geralt, he remembers that. He remembers being in that same place, once. What happens when it slips away, piece by piece. A shadow of something flickers across his face as he watches Sam. He blinks it away.
What about now. What about it? He wishes, almost, that Sam were someone he could brush aside. They've gone past that point, though. ]
I don't want a different life. [ He doesn't dream of being someone else. He is what he is. The world is not full of easy lives to desire, besides. One does not need to be a Witcher to be cast aside and die alone in the mud. That's a fate that befalls too many to count. ] I want the one I have to be left alone in peace.
[ Maybe some part of him is afraid to want more. Because he knows, deep down, what he dreamed up of in the Horizon. He knows Sam was there to see it. But it's not real. It isn't. Even if he'd managed to save the princess, there would've been no idyllic winter cabin, with a cozy house by the water to visit and a cheerful bard to bring her gifts. There would only be a fortress of Witchers, an army burning through the northern lands, and a girl with nothing left of her home or family. ]
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geralt is watching him while he asks, considering, trying to see what he's asking under the questions. and honestly, sam will let him look. his expression and body language all read open - and if geralt wanted to ask, sam would tell him his thoughts. but all of this, the reason they sat down and are discussing this at all, was because geralt had wanted to speak. and sam's not here to insert him in that space. not unless geralt wants it.
and then, there is it. geralt's answer. i don't want a different life. a part of sam wonders if that is true because geralt doesn't know anything else, or if he really wants it. sam thinks back to what he did see on the horizon, of the place in the mountains, of the way geralt had been there. it had been something sam doesn't think he would have ever seen, if not for the horizon, and for a brief moment he's incredibly grateful for it. ]
Okay, okay. [ he holds his hands up a bit defensively as well as jokingly, a small smile appearing. ] Point taken. But man, being a Witcher doesn't exactly sound like a peaceful kind of job. You might be jinxing yourself before you even get there.[ sam leans back on his hands, then, stretching out his legs in the grass in front of him. there's something about the feeling of the grass and the gentle breeze that actually reminds him of that place, of leaving his home and trekking out to the one place - at the time - he felt like he could sneak away to. that feeling settles a bit strangely in his stomach the more he thinks about it, and after another second or so of thought, he glances back to geralt. to see if the other was simply being quiet or possibly had fallen sleep. ]
Thanks, by the way.
[ he says it casually, like geralt should have definitely followed that train of thought himself. but he waits for some kind of response (or lack thereof) before he continues. ]
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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. ]
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[ but sam doesn’t sound, necessarily, like it’s something he wants to argue. if anything, it sounds a bit like a shrug. he doesn’t fault geralt for wanting simple, considering how complicated life tends to be. and doesn’t sam know it? how much easier would his life be if things were more simple? if he didn’t have governments to abide by, laws by people with agendas, the unsteady tip of the power balance in his home country? there’s a path he could have taken, a long time ago, that would have given him a simple life. a life where he hadn’t opened his back door, hadn’t pulled out his file, hadn’t jumped head first into uncharted territory.
except that sam knows he wouldn’t have been happy. knows that something would have always been missing. he wonders if geralt considered how much simpler his life would be without the monsters to kill, but then again, sam thinks back to the horizon. to geralt’s domain. that had been peaceful - not simple, not at all - but complete. satisfying. home.
the feeling of that place has stayed with sam. the mountain air. the hearth. how ciri had wandered through it, happy, free in a way. it’s why sam brings it up. why he thanks geralt, in that moment. and when he sees the look he gets in return, sam shrugs a shoulder. ]
For what happened in the Horizon. [ sam wonders, briefly, if he has to specify the invite. the time spent. the fact that beyond his own space, beyond his place as captain and his home, geralt’s mountain had been the only time he’d taken. the only thing he’d seen.
except it’s more complicated than that, isn’t it? and maybe geralt deserves more of an explanation. so sam sits up again, taking a breath. it’s not that he’s uncomfortable as he speaks, so much that sometimes this isn’t easy. opening up. building a bridge. ]
None of us knew what was happening in there. We didn’t have the tunnels, or our fun chats out here, or anything - we were, literally, strangers. But you showed up for dinner- and not like how everyone else did. [ okay, this is more complicated than sam originally thought it would be. he purses his lips together, trying to find the words, before he keeps going. ] People came by and felt like they were part of the family. They all felt like home. And I liked that- I mean, I kind of get why my subconscious or whatever would make that place. It’s my family home, you know? It’s always been like that.
[ except that’s not what sam is getting at, and after a moment he huffs out another breath. looks at geralt with something a little more serious, but still with that warmth. ]
You were the only one who asked me to come to yours. And I don’t mean like how everyone wandered through that place- not like that. I mean, you asked me to visit. And I did. [ sam, for a moment, pauses - if only because he’s not exactly sure how to put into words the feeling of it. of the night or so he spent there, of the time he had. it hits him once again how good it had felt, just to be there, yes, but more than that, too.
his eyes fall to the grass in front of him for a moment. ] I guess I didn’t know how much I needed it? [ a beat, as he presses his lips together. ] To get away from the house. Not because of anything bad- I think the worst thing that happened was Coraline nearly set the kitchen on fire but even then…no. I just mean getting away. Out for a while. Because it felt good, like, really good. And it helped. And I wouldn’t have known I needed it if you hadn’t have asked me to come. So.
[ and just like that, any of the tension in sam’s shoulders falls away. he looks back to geralt with a smile, easy, casual. it’s no big deal, you know? he’s just thanking a friend. ]
Thank you for that.
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Speaking of surprising. Geralt turns to study Sam while he answers. The man obviously has a lot on his mind; Geralt lets him finish without interrupting. Takes his time absorbing what Sam's saying because—
It isn't at all what he thought he'd hear. Not that Sam's been anything other than friendly towards Geralt. It's merely, Sam is friendly with everyone. Geralt's presumed it's just who Sam is. The type of man where it'd take a lot more than a prickly bastard to turn away. He sure as hell hasn't given thought to that casual remark he'd made about Sam going north. Hasn't imagined at all it meant anything much, that he'd told Sam to come by some time. He'd done it, simply because it felt like what he'd want if it were him: to get away, wander the roads. What was the purpose of a home if you didn't leave it?
Home has never been a place to stay for Geralt. It's a place to return to. Where he knows the doors will always be open no matter how long he's been away.
In the end, he only nods. Yeah. He gets what Sam's trying to say. And if he's helped, he supposes it isn't important whether he fully grasps the reasons behind it. It only matters that Sam found something worthwhile in trekking up that snowy path. ]
I should thank you, too. For... [ For more than the Horizon, really. ] All of it.
[ There's a pause as he searches for the words. For what he really wants to say. Geralt prefers to leave things unspoken. They have an understanding. That's enough, usually. Somehow, in this moment, he feels like there's more he should say. More he wants to say, where he might normally not go there. ]
That house. The things in it. The people. [ He lifts his eyes towards Sam. ] It's the same outside of that place, too?
[ Because his hadn't been. Not the cabin, the forest with its blooming lilacs in the midst of winter. Not the wolves or Cirilla. What he'd made for himself felt like...stuffing straw into holes. Nothing that was meant to last. Nothing that he actually ever had. ]
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except that geralt doesn't try to shy away from it. he takes what sam says and simply nods in return. accepting it. sam is a bit caught off-guard by that, if only because he'd really been expecting the other response, so much that when geralt turns the conversation around - thanking him in return - sam almost tells him not to worry about it. almost says it's no big and fulfills the exact response he'd thought he'd get himself. thankfully, sam catches himself before he does, and instead gives geralt a nod in return. because okay - yes. he can accept thanks, just as easily as he gives it. or maybe not as easily, but.
the question about the house, in turn, causes sam to pause. to think about to his home, the yard, the trees surrounding. the off-putting nature of the photographs, and how the overwhelming feeling of the place had covered even that. sam laughs gently at the idea of it and then nods again. ]
It's smaller, in real life. And definitely needs a lot more fixing up than the one in there. [ he'd been planning on getting to that fresh coat of paint. the creaky floorboard. the part of the porch that was starting to splinter. all on his list, for when he was home. all left undone, now that he's here. ] Also, the photos had actual people in them. But the rest of it...yeah. My sister and my two nephews live there, but it's just about the same.
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He files away what Sam says of his family home: another piece of the puzzle that makes up the man before him. Sam is a curiosity to him. Different from nearly everyone else Geralt has met -- and Geralt's damn good at reading people. He can tell there's not anything he's missing. What he found inside that home by the water only confirms it. Sam really is just...this. He's not sure what to make of that. Or how it is he's gotten to be on the receiving end of Sam's gratitude. And he's not ready to push it away right now, this hand that Sam has extended him, but he can't help but think, either: how long before Sam realizes there's so much fucking more shadowing him than a man who hunts monsters, with the ghost of a girl and a neat little cabin on some snowy hills? Perhaps it doesn't matter. He knows himself well enough to understand how Sam looks at him will not change how he feels about Sam in return. Because he'd get it. Wouldn't blame him for it. He's not expecting anything different should they cross that bridge.
His gaze drops away again. He draws his good leg up, letting his arm rest on his knee. ] Are you worried for them? Without you there?
[ He realizes, then and there -- as the question leaves him -- that he wants Sam to go back. To that house, with his sister and nephews inside. That it gnaws at him, the fact he can't do anything. He's just trapped, with an ever-growing list of people who make it harder and harder for him to stick by his decision to do what he needs to, cost be damned, to get he and Jaskier out of this shit. Fuck, how does he always find himself here? Wanting more than he knows can be done? When he's more than aware of how these things always turn out? ]
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