( CLOSED )

[gynvael]

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 discontinued! ))

sam wilson | jaskier | belle | sam wilson (ii)

Comments

[falcony]

[ oh, it is definitely going through his head. more so, as geralt's assumed, since the horizon. since living in that house for who knows how long, with photos he didn't recognize. with people, important people, he couldn't remember. it bothers him, but doesn't devastate him, as he might have thought it would - if only because in a way, he had remembered them. not sarah, especially, but she was always a part of that house. always will be.

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? ]

[gynvael]

[ Fortunate for Sam that Geralt's not the interrupting type, even though he can put two and two together before Sam finishes explaining. A healing potion. From the crystals. The name Zelda sends a shadow of recognition over his face.

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.

[falcony]

[ sam knew, going into all of this, that would be what geralt got caught up on. and sure, okay, maybe it's just sam who is getting excited about the concept of healing potions like they're in some old fantasy novel. and maybe everyone else is used to the idea that these things are around, and work, and aren't something to be considered special. but still, side effects, and sam lets out an exhale. ]

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?

[gynvael]

[ Geralt almost mouths the words trip out; what the fuck does that—? Actually, never mind. He can piece it together. And since Sam's confirmed the actual side effects—it only seals his decision. He's not interested in any more hallucinating. He's had enough. He's seen everything from Visenna to corpses to the princess (all three of them). At this point, the only thing he hasn't had visions of is Roach.

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.

[falcony]

[ slang is just something geralt is going to have to come to terms with the longer they spend together. sam is not going to start talking in ye olde english, either, so a middle ground is just going to have to involve sam introducing words to geralt and there may be a fifty fifty chance any of them will ever be important or pertinent in any way. still, tripping out. sam will give the whole drug talk later, the mood isn't quite right for it now.

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?

[gynvael]

[ His head tilts. If he's slow to answer, it's less reluctance and more he's never had to put it into words before. Rumours circulate by the dozens. All of it's roughly true enough. The parts that aren't—what reason has he to correct it? They don't care. The people. They don't care about the specifics; they only care about what they can whisper amongst themselves. That sits fine by him—but it means he's realizing explaining it out loud leaves him unsettled. It doesn't so much bother him, the idea of Sam knowing the truth, as it does the fact that he's the one who has to sit here and tell him about it.

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. ]

[falcony]

[ sam will give him the time, however long he needs it. he's not in any hurry, and there's an aspect to just sitting out in the trees, outside of the castle, that brings about a peace of mind that he's just now realizing he hasn't really had since leaving the horizon. and there is absolutely something to say about that, something that doesn't go unnoticed by sam, while they remain here. while geralt thinks, sam shifts where he's seated, crossing his legs and letting his attention move down to the grass.

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?

[gynvael]

[ Once the information is out, it simply floats there. Geralt lets Sam do with it as he will; he isn't interested in pity, but he senses that's not what Sam will bring. In truth, he can't say what he wants, even. Or why he's decided to address this at all. Maybe it's because Sam occupies the unique position of being someone he's neither too close to nor too distant from. No complicated history exists between them, but Sam's more than a stranger now. More than a mere acquaintance, too. ]

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. ]

[falcony]

[ they all have their own trauma, their own dark shadows that follow them around. sam's counseled enough veterans to know that when someone comes to the point of being comfortable with opening up, it is never pity they are looking for. sam knows first hand, how ugly it could feel to open yourself up to someone and to see that distance, that look, staring back at you. he respects geralt too much to even think to pity him for what he's survived. but there is a level of compassion, of understanding, of listening to what he wants to say and letting it be just that.

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. ]

[gynvael]

[ Dozens of questions out there Sam could ask. Geralt decides not to guess at it. Instead, he waits. Considers if it'll be anything he even wants to answer. If he'll have an answer to give at all.

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.

[falcony]

[ sam expects the silence, and if he's being honest with himself, he almost doesn't expect geralt to answer at all. he doesn't know where the lines are in this conversation, and it feels a bit like he's bumping his way through the dark. but if geralt is willing to talk, sam isn't going to let the opportunity pass by. but he is curious - if geralt is simply taking his life at face value and accepting the cards he's been dealt, or if there is - underneath all of that - a desire for something else. the truth of it, sam realizes as soon as he's asked, is that he doesn't really care what geralt's answer is. whatever he chooses to give would be plenty, and sam feels like he knows the other man enough that no answer is going to color his perception.

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?

[gynvael]

[ When Geralt finally glances back at Sam, it's with a scrutinizing look. Sam might be trying to figure him out, but he's not the only one who's doing so. Geralt's learned enough to understand that much can be read between the lines of what another man chooses to ask. Like why this. Why this talk of choices made and lost. Of changing destinies. He doesn't know all the details about Sam but—

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. ]

[falcony]

[ there's always a reason, you know? why they do what they do. why they continue along a life that is not forgiving, that is dangerous and threatening and brings more negative attention onto them than positive. sam's life has become difficult, more so after he accepted steve and nat into his home. and more so even, as he continued to make that choice. it's put his life on the line, yes, but also the lives of his family. of his sister, of his nephews. he was reminded of that with karli, an aggressive, terrifying reminder. but still he took the shield. sam doesn't think it's all that different from geralt, though it may not be packaged up in that modern american dream. but he does choose to help. to step in. to watch people's back.

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. ]

[gynvael]

[ 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. ]

[falcony]

I don’t know if simple and peaceful count as the same thing.

[ 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.

[gynvael]

[ Makes him wonder what it means, that he pretty much expected Sam to say that. Guess he's starting to get to know him better—which isn't unwelcome. Not exactly. Different might be the word. Surprising. He isn't someone who trusts quickly, and though he knows weeks is no small amount of time for others, especially in a place like this, for him, it is.

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. ]

[falcony]

[ sam realizes after the fact that he's been talking quite a bit. that without really meaning to, he'd gone on and on about things he'd been thinking about, things he'd been considering. he's sure geralt didn't expect an explanation at that level, but some part of sam needed to say it. all of it. not to expect anything in return, but to just have it spoken aloud. geralt studies him all the while and part of sam almost prepares himself to shrug it off - to offer a don't worry about it, i just wanted to say it, we can move in. he's run into his fair share of people uncomfortable with simple thanks. he's used to that.

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.

[gynvael]

[ He's waiting, a little, for Sam to say more. He's glad when there's only a nod in return. Not for anything, just. It's simpler when there's no need to say much out loud. He knows Sam appreciates what he did, for the man's own reasons, and Sam knows Geralt feels the same way. Nothing else past that is necessary. Even if Geralt hasn't specified exactly what for or why, after all the help Sam has offered him over the past few weeks, he's only now chosen to acknowledge it out in the open. Maybe because things feel...unsteady. Taut. Frankly, he's less and less confident each day about how many more he'll see. About which conversations will be his last. He's left enough loose ends back home. Rather not add more while he's here.

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? ]

[falcony]

[ maybe there really is more for sam to say. maybe, knowing that the stage is set for words to be brought and for their messages to be heard, he should start in on all the things he had meant to say at other times that he'd held back. except that in the moment, here, in the silence exchanged as the two of them nod, in the understanding that floats in the air among the breeze, sam is alright with the silence. okay with what he maybe should bring up, but can't seem to find it in him to say. it's also possible that he simply doesn't have to - and that's an interesting thing to consider.

though he guesses he's not one to judge. he's made much faster friends than this.

plus, it's always been easy to talk about home. or, more specifically, it's always easy to talk about his family with people he can trust the information with. and honestly, it's been a while, now. not two years a while, definitely not five years, but longer than sam wanted to go, after everything he's already put her through. the thought of it, on top of the question that geralt finally asks, puts something of a somber smile on sam's face, a distant look in his eyes. ]

Every day. [ and its the truth, though geralt has no reason to think otherwise. sam misses sarah and the boys more now than he think he ever has, and that is in part because of his own guilt - leaving her so suddenly, having her work, on her own, for so much. she never should have had to do a fraction of what was put on her, and here he goes once again, vanishing on another mission. disappearing, after putting up so much of a stink, for another fight.

sam sighs, then, his eyes drifting off somewhere to the grass again. not on anything specific, but somewhere else. and then, moments later, sam blinks and he's back again - here, rather than somewhere else. ] But even when I was back there, I was away more than I was home with the job. [ he hasn't exactly told geralt about the whole avenger thing, or about the blip, being on the run. he saw a portion of it in the caves, which sam guesses should be enough to piece it together. sam runs a hand over the back of his head. ]

I guess that's kind of what makes it home, though. Something for you to come back to, to fight for. [ he shrugs. ] And my sister - Sarah - she's made of tough stuff, I know she can handle it. I just... [ wish i could be there more. ]

[gynvael]

[ The job, Sam says, and Geralt's expression is understanding in that way that can only brush the surface. He doesn't know what it's like to leave home and family behind, for the sake of something more important. He doesn't know what it is to see home like that, as something to fight for. Perhaps once: long ago, if he'd been there before, when Kaer Morhen stood tall, he might've felt the same. But inside its crumbling walls, home and his people within it have become swallowed not by any enemy that can be fought, but simply time.

For a minute, he's quiet. ] Sometimes making certain you come back is the only choice you can make.

[ He gets it now, why Sam's space had been so wrapped up in what it was. Why that sense of protection had permeated every corner. Why it'd been the only place Geralt had not looked twice to see where Cirilla had gone. Is that what stood out? More than anything? It had. He realizes it now, what it is that'd struck him. How it'd been both so open and yet so undeniably safe. Because until Geralt had stepped into that house, it'd never occurred to him those two concepts could exist at the same time in one place.

Some part of him has wondered, too, how much of his little cabin was driven by memories of his own childhood home long forgotten. Does he even carry any images of it that can be called a memory? Does it matter? The thought leaves him uneasy, a box he's opened that should stay closed. It's always felt as if he's had two childhoods: the one that he cradled briefly, like a faded dream, and the one that actually shaped him. He's buried the first, mostly—and still, every so often, he feels it surfacing. ]

[falcony]

[ sam can tell that geralt doesn't necessarily agree with him. which is okay, really. sam's seen enough from geralt to know that, at the very least, where geralt comes from leaves a complicated feeling around the word 'home'. but at the same time, sam thinks about geralt's domain. what it had felt like to step in there. it had been welcoming, like sliding into a worn coat during the first night of winter to find it all still working, still as you remembered it.

he appreciates the fact geralt tries to look understanding, but that is a moment where it feels obvious to him that they come from different places. different worlds. just thinking about geralt back home around the other avengers, well. honestly, he'd fit in pretty damn well in delacroix, but that is besides the point. it's wild. funny. interesting. how far sam has come and where he finds himself now.

sitting in the grass with geralt of trivia. talking about sarah. about home. sam nods at geralt's observation, about coming back. it makes him ache for his parents, who he wasn't around nearly enough before they died. makes him think about sarah, raising two boys on her own, while he didn't exist. they're all things that weigh on him, day to day, week to week. but it's just one more thing, at this point. one more pound to the weight of the life he's chosen to lead. ]

We can always try. [ sam says quietly, because it's not like him to feel so somber. to want to follow up with if we come back at all. images of riley flash by, steve, natasha. but again, that's not like him, he's not one to wallow, so after a moment of the grief taking hold, sam takes a breath and then lets it out again, pushing that darkness with it. acknowledging, and then letting it go.

when he looks back to geralt the next time, it's with a small smile. sam has, obviously, moved on conversationally. ready to change the topic. ]

So. [ and then the small smile grows a little, almost joking. ] When were you going to tell me about Roach?

[gynvael]

[ Sam seems lost in thought, so Geralt decides against interrupting. If we come back at all needn't be said aloud. He can't imagine it not being on anyone's mind. Even if he manages to leave the prison, what then? Something tells him Ambrose's spell wasn't created to be reversed. It's one thing to open a single door to pull people into one singular world. It's another to open dozens of extremely specific doors into a multitude of worlds.

The silence is not uncomfortable. Geralt lets it linger. Funny, that he's found such quick companionship in Sam but—in a way, it's difficult not to. With just how the man is. Or maybe Geralt simply needs this kind of company, more than he'd ever admit. The kind where he hasn't got to say much to be understood.

It isn't until Sam mentions Roach that Geralt turns his head. He raises an eyebrow. What. His horse? Yeah. Sam had met her. In the Horizon, walking up to his cabin, Roach had been there grazing in her stable. Even without conscious memories, he'd created Roach as the chestnut mare she'd always been. Missing the stripe down her face, though. She'd had a star instead.

He gives a small huff, and the corner of his lips quirk upward for a moment. ] Not much to tell. [ The way he says it suggests there's a lot he wants to tell. In truth, as small and inconsequential as it is—she's only a horse and one he's meant to outlive at that, just like all the mares before her—being in the Horizon, riding her: it reminds him of one more thing he no longer has. One more thing he misses. ] She's taken me far. [ He makes a vague gesture with his hand that's akin to a shrug. He's fond of her—that much comes across. ] Ask me another time.