[ His eyes roll upwards: practiced exasperation. An annoyance, as always, even when Geralt has certain inclinations in mind. Even when he's letting his attention wander along the familiar angles and shapes of Jaskier's body as it sinks under the water.
He decides not to mention his dreams as of late have been especially restless. Dark hair and blood across the sand. Sometimes Cirilla is crying, but he cannot understand why. They're only dreams. Fuck knows that's nothing new. They linger, that's all. Ever since he walked out of that dungeon with Ciri and Jaskier in tow, a mounting pressure has grown in the air. And every small thing, every mishap, every indication that things aren't right (the disappearances, the summons, the wraiths, the attack on the hills with Sam) has added to it. Only short bursts have eased that weight. With Julie. The docks. That little moment with Ciri.
Perhaps now, in the quiet of the water.
He meets Jaskier's gaze. There's no reaction to the flinch other than a brief loosening of his grip before he presses down more firmly. He rolls his thumb in a manner that suggests he's done it many times. On himself, mostly. It'll ache more, at first, but given a minute or so, it'll start to soothe. ] I know.
[ No need to say it. Ciri will only feel worse, and it'll change nothing. He's at least glad to know Jaskier can still play. Part of him is already considering if an additional healer might help. Hard to tell. Some pains can't be healed.
He almost asks, What did she say? About the scar, the incident. He doesn't. He knows Jaskier went to see Yennefer, for Ciri's sake, two weeks ago. Beyond that, it matters none. He's slipped that damn token back where it belongs. He doesn't want reminders that she's circling the periphery of his life. It's necessary, for Ciri. But just because Ciri needs her doesn't mean he has to let her in. He's tired of the inches given between them that amount to only a hollow gap in the earth.
He pushes the thoughts aside. Considers the absence of tension between Jaskier and Ciri that was present during the first month. It's one bright spot. ] You're growing on the girl.
no subject
He decides not to mention his dreams as of late have been especially restless. Dark hair and blood across the sand. Sometimes Cirilla is crying, but he cannot understand why. They're only dreams. Fuck knows that's nothing new. They linger, that's all. Ever since he walked out of that dungeon with Ciri and Jaskier in tow, a mounting pressure has grown in the air. And every small thing, every mishap, every indication that things aren't right (the disappearances, the summons, the wraiths, the attack on the hills with Sam) has added to it. Only short bursts have eased that weight. With Julie. The docks. That little moment with Ciri.
Perhaps now, in the quiet of the water.
He meets Jaskier's gaze. There's no reaction to the flinch other than a brief loosening of his grip before he presses down more firmly. He rolls his thumb in a manner that suggests he's done it many times. On himself, mostly. It'll ache more, at first, but given a minute or so, it'll start to soothe. ] I know.
[ No need to say it. Ciri will only feel worse, and it'll change nothing. He's at least glad to know Jaskier can still play. Part of him is already considering if an additional healer might help. Hard to tell. Some pains can't be healed.
He almost asks, What did she say? About the scar, the incident. He doesn't. He knows Jaskier went to see Yennefer, for Ciri's sake, two weeks ago. Beyond that, it matters none. He's slipped that damn token back where it belongs. He doesn't want reminders that she's circling the periphery of his life. It's necessary, for Ciri. But just because Ciri needs her doesn't mean he has to let her in. He's tired of the inches given between them that amount to only a hollow gap in the earth.
He pushes the thoughts aside. Considers the absence of tension between Jaskier and Ciri that was present during the first month. It's one bright spot. ] You're growing on the girl.