While Jaskier's domain does not always contain him in it, it is always occupied. Dragonlets occasionally show up, with large eyes and shining scales, clearly based on the ones he met in Himeka's domain. The vineyard grapes are always growing, but sometimes they shift on their own, reaching across the ground or altering the shape of their trellises.
Jaskier's horses graze the grasses around the vineyard, a pair that never appear to separate. The nuzzle between their mouthfuls of grasses, swinging braided tails and tossing manes tangled with flowers.
And overseeing all of the vineyards, despite their nebulous nature, is a small, furry white creature with leathery wings and a determined expression, a jaunty hat tilted perfectly on his head. Between musical lessons from his mentor, Moglad's single job is to keep the domain safe -- though Jaskier never really expects anyone to seek him out to destroy it.
So it is most unfortunate for Estinien that Moglad takes his job quite seriously, and immediately flies up to meet the form that approaches the vineyards from above, even though his pom shivers a bit in fear.
Until he recognizes that face, as Jaskier would recognize it.
"Sir Estinien! What are you doing here, kupo? Have you come to visit Master Jaskier? Oh, he'll be quite happy to see you, I imagine!" The moogle swirls around him, his wings fluttering happily. Of course his apprentice appreciates the same company Jaskier does.
And he has the same mouth, running off with itself.
"He was wondering how you were doing with the Lady Himeka, kupo! He told me they were engaged! Can you imagine? What a pair!"
Also unfortunately for Estinien, Jaskier takes to frequent nightly trips to the Horizon, mostly to write somewhere he can think outloud to himself. Tonight, though, he senses an ill chill in the wind, and ducks out from inside a shade with clothing that is far less colorful than his usual, stained with grape juice all along the legs. His nose itches, a sure sign he is being talked about. "Moglad! Who on earth are you gossiping to --"
He looks up, spying dragon wings immediately. And who else could it be besides his elven friend? "Estinien, hello! What are you doing up there? Planning on making off with some grapes?"
Clearly his grapes are just that good, if Himeka's constant stealing of them is any indication.
Though his hatred for moogles is not what it once was, they are an overwhelming affair in general, and he was not expecting to see one here. It takes him a moment to remember, that he thought he saw the creature before when in the vineyard, but it hadn't gotten in his face that time. He guesses it isn't surprising - Himeka also likes them, and she and Jaskier have some things in common.
Most of the moogles words process as nonsense to Estinien, particularly something about engagement. He assumes it is some kind of joke, or some kind of 'comical' moogle misunderstanding of a simple situation. If it was anything real, Himeka would have mentioned it... and he can't really imagine her getting engaged to begin with.
"Ah..." Estinien is saying to the moogle, thinking about retreating entirely - and that's when Jaskier shows up for real. If he wasn't ready to leave before, he certainly is now... not least because in his present state of mind, he somehow manages to misinterpret Jaskier's playful question as an actual accusation.
Jaskier must have heard, after all - the he and Geralt were threatening each other. Estinien knows how he would react to that information, which is not favourably, and though his sense of empathy has seen significant growth in the last couple years, it is still a work in progress.
He frowns, furrowing his brow with a touch of bitterness as he averts his eyes away from the man. This was a bad idea.
"I've no need," he says, looking like he is about to take off completely, even as he awkwardly pauses like he thinks he should say something. He doesn't, though. "... and I shall not bother you further."
Estinien is far from the most fun person he's ever met, nor the most even-tempered elf, but that reaction, even for him, feels strange. Moglad tilts his head at the dragon knight, about to launch into a new slew of questions before Jaskier stops him.
"Moglad, leave off! You're driving the poor man batty." Moglad's head drops, his pom wilting, but he flutters back down between the trellises with a "Kupoooo...." It's the exact same reaction he's gotten with Geralt, so it's a bloody wonder it surprises Moglad to get it again. Besides, he's meant to still be protecting the rows of grapes. And the horses. Though after attempting to tie their tails together once, Moglad's learned to be very wary of the horses.
"What's this about a bother?" This is like yelling at a particularly flighty and gigantic bird. Even the bird Hector gifted him isn't so liken to fly off at the very sight of him.
Once could say it was almost hurtful, if Jaskier thought that was the case.
"Look, do you mind coming down so I'm not shouting about at the sky? I'm afraid I'll get a crick in my neck. Besides, I have a gift for you!"
It's not real, in the Horizon, but he puts just as much effort in the creation of his bottled wine as he would back in Toussaint. He simply... you know. Speeds up the process.
It's bizarre, sometimes, how much a single moment of context can completely change his understanding of something. One moment, Estinien is convinced that Jaskier's comment contains some manner of snide implication... but, just as quickly, as the man calls after him, asking what's wrong and mentioning he has a gift, Estinien is forced to realize how foolish he's being.
Jaskier's tone towards him is the same as ever, isn't it? It was so easy to imagine something that there wasn't, with the things weighing on his mind. Though, if Jaskier really isn't wary of him, it presents another complication. Maybe he simply doesn't know.
(Were he thinking more astutely, he might remember that the last time they spoke he had been similarly concerned that Jaskier would find him at fault for striking at the High Mage, only to be pleasantly surprised in an almost identical way. Has he always been so concerned about when the other shoe would drop when it comes to his relationships? History would suggest yes, if he dared to think of it.)
Thus, it's with some unavoidable sheepishness that Estinien descends, landing gracefully within the vineyard and close enough to Jaskier that he can make out the details of his clothing. The juice stains on his clothing... what has he been doing? He supposes it should be obvious. It's a vineyard after all.
Estinien crosses his arms around himself, displaying some amount of uncertainty. He supposes he will let Jaskier speak first, lest he continue acting like a fool in his presence.
"A gift..." he repeats, prompting the man onward. His gut reaction is to say that he doesn't need whatever it is, but he manages to shut himself up before getting there.
It's not so much that Jaskier notices Estinien is acting off -- he certainly is, of course, but not in the most obvious of ways -- but he doesn't believe it's because of himself. Something surely has happened? Even their last meeting had been a rather pleasant one, regardless that the elf always has this hesitance about him.
Jaskier looks amused, ducking back into the shed. His voice echoes in the tiny structure as he says, "Yes, a gift. Surely you've heard of them? Hold on, I want to perfect it."
A little pull of the magic of the Horizon, and it's ready. As he steps out, he presents it: a bottle of wine, of course, but with a custom label in curling, cursive script that reads bloed y twe dragons, the blood of two dragons, with two curling dragons tangled into the curls of infinity. "I know it's a bit on the nose, but I don't think anything too fancy would suit you."
Estinien might not know the elder tongue, but, well. He's an elf, and in a way, it's respecting the elves from home, as well.
Estinien takes it in hand - he knows that, technically speaking, a person could create something like this with the flick of their wrist in this place, but it's clear that's not what Jaskier has been doing. He has the grapes, he has the signs of legitimately stepping on them... and the bottles own relation to what he's told Jaskier in the past is outright touching.
It's easy to make out, within context, and Estinien doesn't know what to do with it at first. Jaskier clearly isn't upset with him, for him to do something like this, but it only makes Estinien's heart sink to realize it. After all, it means that he is likely uninformed.
"You have my thanks," Estinien says, though in a subdued tone that suggests deeper thoughts are lurking in his mind. It's a stock phrase, but there's meaning in his tone. He appreciates it, even if he is unskilled at verbalizing these things.
He looks away.
"But I would not lead you astray. You... should know that I and your comrades are in conflict. I attempted to make peace, but in coming days, I cannot promise..."
He's making it sound very dire, but in truth, he doesn't really understand it at all.
He braces himself, the easy smile on his face fading a little bit. He likes it, doesn't he? Yet that is exact the sort of thanks that is immediately followed by a but...
Fuck. There it is.
Jaskier watches him, lifting an eyebrow. Astray? Can this man even lie convincingly? And what on earth could he --
"My comrades?" He supposes there's a first time for everything, yet certainly that is the first and only time his friends should be referred to as comrades. Also, that really doesn't narrow it down, Estinien. "Who? Ciri?" She seems the most likely if only because she is particularly prickly, but he's not sure if they had a chance to meet in the cages before the portals came.
"Geralt?" While Estinien seems to feel strongly about this, Jaskier doesn't. He's only ticking off names. "Bah, it doesn't matter. What's that got to do with wine? Don't tell me. You don't drink? At all? Come, I must be able to convince you to try it."
Oh, wait. He can't promise what? "I mean, unless you're planning on coming over here to, I don't know, stick me with a knife or something, which I would find particularly rude."
And thus Estinien finds himself gripped by a familiar wariness - what is with these people, anyway? He's already bracing to be told that it doesn't matter, that Jaskier doesn't want to hear it, but everything inside of Estinien is screaming that it does matter and he wishes that someone would just listen to him.
But while with Geralt he'd only had a general impression of him being a decent man, with Jaskier... he really and truly likes him. His own reaction to receiving this gift was enough to tell him that. He doesn't want this same confrontation to happen again, but he can't claim to be sorry, and he can't claim to be as uninvested as all of them seem to be.
"I'm not," he says, first and foremost, the directness of that statement jerking him out of his indecision. "I had only... assumed that given how closely you travel together, that you and Geralt would be of one mind concerning Thorne." His gaze shifts down to the ground. "And the lady Yennefer."
Still, he keeps the bottle of wine clenched firmly in hand.
"Geralt was convinced that nothing should be done, and that trying to do anything was either arrogant or deluded. Such was our 'disagreement'."
"Or stick me with other things?" He offers, which could be a flirt but mostly isn't meant to be. He'd rather not be stuck, all right, he still has bottles to fill.
He puts his hands on his hips. That's what's got him as stiff as a rabbit with a stick up its ass, prepped to be thrown on a fire? While he finds it a bit insulting Estinien would assume he thinks like Geralt because they traveled together, let alone that he is anything like Yennefer, he doesn't immediately bite at the comment.
Tempting, though. He understands Yennefer can have her... charms.
(He is not thinking of her charms.)
"I mean this in the kindest, yet sternest way possible: we are not the same person. Geralt's quarrels -- and believe me, they are many -- are not mine. I'm not even touching the topic of Yennefer." And Jaskier makes sure to keep it vice-versa, thank you (unless the quarrel led to someone attempting to kill him, in which he does actually get Geralt involved. For other reasons.) "Look, I don't have to ask what he said. I know Geralt. He is extremely adamant about the idea of never getting involved in anything, ever, so he does everything he can to stay out of it. He tries to." He gives a pause and a sigh, running a hand through his hair. He doesn't normally spout off about Geralt unless it involves his songs or the stories within them, but just this once... the Witcher may understand. "People have tried to use him for politics before, and often. Roped him into it. And it got him -- us -- in a lot of shit. So don't take it personally. He's a prickly bitch, but it is never personal."
And here the last thing he would have guessed was that Estinien was deliberately trying to avoid him because of Geralt. Honestly, how ridiculous. And here he is, nearly defending him. Even more ridiculous! He's not getting paid for it.
"So that's what you feared? I'd be upset with you because of that? He didn't even tell me. Honestly, Estinien..." And here he shifts his hips to the side, adding what may either relieve him or enrage him even further. Yet it's most likely true. "I doubt he even thinks twice about this disagreement of yours."
To Estinien's credit, while he may not be the best at inferring people's intentions, if he is provided with actual data he is capable of taking it in and using it to adjust his thinking. That's what he'd wanted from Geralt, isn't it? To talk, to understand. Yet when Geralt had forbid him his attempt, he was left to go off of so little, his mind filled in the blanks in the least flattering ways.
He was one to assume the worst, after all - or at the very least, he was unwilling to give people credit they hadn't earned. So why not think Geralt was a coward, that he was self-righteous, that he would sway his companions to fall in line? He had so little to work with, he had no reason to think he wouldn't.
But here it is. However stern Jaskier is being, Estinien doesn't seem to balk on it. Instead, he watches, and listens, his eyes slightly wide as if doing his best to absorb all that he's hearing. Suddenly, the image of a man that had eluded him makes sense, all because he trusts Jaskier enough to give him the right evidence.
Even beyond the mechanical level that he can put together motivation and calculate the results, he understands. On a gut, emotional level he understands. Estinien himself is that friend, isn't he? Or, at least, he was. Not exactly, not in all the ways that matter, but there is taste enough of something he has felt before that he can extrapolate it into something bigger.
There are still some surprises, of course. He and Himeka have been so goal-orientated for most of their relationship that it's hard to imagine what it would be like if they didn't have some common cause and purpose that they all believed in. Himeka and the Scions both. They've always been on the same page, at heart.
Maybe it says something that he can barely imagine what his relationships would be like if it wasn't for the common bond of duty.
But he can't stand here and think on that forever! No, Jaskier deserves an answer in turn. He contemplates what he's going to say, wanting to get it correct the first time.
"...Thank you, for telling me as much," he says, first and foremost. "'Tis... far from my experience. The way that you are." And he means that on a few levels. His personal tidbit for the day. "I had sought him out hoping to understand his perspective, but he gave me little." He's about to say something else, but he leaves it at that.
Jaskier senses there is a lot going on in Estinien's silence and, he hopes, some sort of revelation, so he's quite patient in allowing him to take it all in. He considers offering Estinien a seat that he summons up, but he could guess he won't take it. He's already stiff as a board.
He can't really blame him. Jaskier has... well, he's himself, and he knows it is not easy to know Geralt. Even after all those decades together, the Witcher still tried to get him to shove off. And he'd nearly tried again, when they were brought here.
It's the way he is. It's that simple.
Jaskier huffs a laugh at how serious his answer is, and he steps close to pat his arm companionably (and, okay, he wants to look at his wings. Gods. The size of them! Ooh, he bets they're soft in that way like snakes are. Or bats?) "The way I am? I love the sound of that." Not sarcasm. As if he's this strange, unfathomable thing. Like Geralt, apparently. "Don't worry about it, my friend. Believe me, I know intimately well of how tight-lipped Geralt is."
He could give him a lesson on maybe how he should calm down on his assumptions, but... perhaps he caught on? "You know, it was quite coy of you to come spy on me. I would advise next time you may check I'm actually upset. Though, to be fair, I'm certain you'll know."
It's only honest. Jaskier does not hide any of his problems with people.
It's probably something that would feel less serious if the concept of his conversation with Geralt hadn't been haunting him for the last few months. It wasn't even about Geralt himself, in the end - it was about everything Estinien had allowed him to represent in his head. It's the feeling of having a phantasm of the night explained away by mundane logic in the light of day.
He does feel slightly foolish about all of it, now that Jaskier is dismissing the need for it so plainly - not least because he apparently hasn't forgotten about the circumstances that this conversation started in! Estinien thinks to object, but on second thought, he can't even deny that's what he was doing. Or rather, spying on his domain as a means to vicariously spy on the man.
When did he become so ridiculous, he wonders? Life was easier when he only had one thing going on in his head.
As it is, he stares down at him, still clutching the wine bottle as Jaskier pats his arm. His wings fold closer, apparently discarding the notion of needing to suddenly escape. For Jaskier's curiosity, their texture is most like something belonging to a vast serpent.
"Well," he begins, but doesn't have much to follow it up with. Maybe he'll just be direct. "You've made an impression. With or without the Witcher." After a moment longer, he adds: "I do drink, by the way."
Jaskier never forgets. Not about embarrassing entrances, at least, when they make excellent fodder for teasing.
Because, at least to him, he finds it the easiest way to move past this. Less a chance for Estinien to somehow puff himself up about it again. He doesn't mean to minimize any miscommunications -- they happen to the best of us -- but he certainly does not desire any wedge between his friends to remain past their expiration date, either.
Well is a good start.
Jaskier smiles. "Is that a compliment?" From this rugged knight? His heart is touched, and Jaskier is surprisingly sincere when he adds, "Thank you." He glances at his wings, considering asking to touch one later. Look, they're just. Fascinating. "And that, by the way, is wonderful news. You needn't open it now, but perhaps you'll stay and we can catch up? I haven't seen you or Himeka in weeks. Have things changed?"
To that, Estinien can't help but actually smile. Maybe it's a good thing he came over to snoop like a fool... if he hadn't, the chance encounter that lead to this new understanding never would have happened. He nods in agreement, glancing around the vineyard as if looking for a place to rest.
There's noticeably less reluctance to his presence, now. Perhaps even compared to the last time they spoke in the Horizon, which had been pleasant on its own. He might even let him touch his wings, if he asked. Maybe.
"Not much, in regards to my own affairs," he says, considering what Jaskier probably does and doesn't know. "Himeka and I have settled with a farming family in the Primary Settlement. They needed the help, it seems. Just the two of them, with an entire flock to care for." He glances aside. Though his work on the farm is something he does take an amount of pride in, it's not something he'd be content sticking with forever.
"The locals have been kind enough, and there's plenty to busy myself with. That said, I have no desire to simply retire to the countryside, after all that's happened...'
Of course, there's more important stuff he's been trying to do... but something tells him that maybe just once he should share something personal instead of heading straight into grizzly political details.
Ah! History in the making! Instead of poking fun at him -- far too easy! -- Jaskier basks in the warmth of that smile instead and, as the knight looks around, summons a few chairs for them to sit (one without a backing to make room for Estinien's wings, of course.) The scene is shockingly close to his last meeting with Himeka, though he notes the elf is far less inclined to shove every grape within reach into his face.
She really had eaten a lot of grapes. As in, nearly a whole few vines of them. Over the course of a single conversation.
Though, remembering how she ate that cheese wheel, he should not be so surprised.
The rows of trellises expand to give them plenty of room, and the horses graze closer, as if in silent command. Just in case he and his guest wish to go on a ride. "Ah, she mentioned your flock. Suits you rather well, I imagine, but... I understand the desire not to settle into domesticity."
It wasn't for him, either, and he was only a bard. He already itches for the road again, the Path. When is the last time he accompanied Geralt on a monster hunt? This place has thrown a wrench into how his life had been going for years. Years upon years, even.
"So that's what started this tiff between you and Geralt? Did you have some idea, moving against Thorne? I only guess, since, you know. I didn't miss your attempts before I left through the portals."
Well, if Jaskier insists, he can forgo the pleasantries. He is surprised for only a moment, before his expression settles into something more contemplative.
"The tiff..." he repeats, as if he thinks it's an odd choice in words. He shakes his head to himself. "As you'll similarly recall, lady Yennefer was among the number that defended the High Mage from my assault. As such, I had deemed her an obstacle to pursuing justice against Thorne... made more curious by the fact that I had seen her and Geralt exchanging romantic gestures only a moment earlier."
He's still not certain he's wrong, but that is still to be seen.
"Thinking Geralt a likely ally in this world... largely through reputation and certain connections... I sought him out to hear his thoughts on her choice in affiliation. I thought that, with a closer perspective, I might see some way around that conflict of interest. Or mayhap better understand her reasons for making such a choice."
His brow still furrows when he thinks of the conversation, even though he thinks he is beginning to understand how it all unfolded.
"Geralt thought little of my attempt, obviously. And, when pressed, he claimed that 'twas none of his business, while also making vague threats about how I would regret it if I pursued her and forced him to become involved. He dismissed any hopes of finding a solution to the problems in this place, seeming to think any higher ambitions than mere survival were mere delusion."
He finally looks up to meet Jaskier's gaze.
"'Tis not an outlook that I can accept. But, while I would have been willing to leave him to his own devices otherwise, the thought that conflicting with Yennefer would be conflicting with him in turn, and mayhap all those he considers comrades..."
He falls silent for a moment, but then adds, in a bit dryer of a tone:
"...And you needn't remind me that you hold no such obligation to him. Mayhap I led myself astray, thinking only of how 'twould be if Himeka and I had been in a similar position."
He may as well dive into it, being nosy about drama and all. Drama and politics. He's all about it.
Unfortunately, as Estinien actually offers his explanation, his interest in the topic wanes. Not at all because of its subject matter, but because every time Estinien mentions Yennefer's name, he both gets a prickle up his spine that is an equal fifty-fifty split of remembered attraction and abject irritation.
It's quite obvious the very mention of her leaves him bristling.
"Honestly, this is more complicated than I'd first imagined," he says at first, crossing his legs. How was it that every time a wrench was thrown into plans, Yennefere always seemed to be the one holding it? He curls his hands around the edge of his seat, leaning forward, still tight with energy that the problem all focused on her.
Just like the bloody mountain.
And now with this... this memory (several memories) he has of her. Her using him like a wooden cock.
Not that he will be mentioning that part to Estinien. Or anyone. Ever.
"I can't speak for him on this," Jaskier says with a sigh, "though I can on many other topics. I imagine he was far more angered by the idea that Yennefer would be your target than anything else, should you keep pursuing your justice." If anything stirs any sort of energetic fire in Geralt, it's her. "She sort of does what she wants, all the time, and usually it's to do these stupid, blasted things in pursuits for... well, whatever it is she decides she wants in that moment. Maybe fucking the king, if it so pleases her."
He waves a hand at his comparison. Would Himeka pick an enemy only because Estinien brought them up? He wonders. It's rather hard to imagine she has enemies at all, actually. "I wish I could advise you on the best course, but I have neither heads nor tails of what to do about Thorne, if anything, or Yennefer. But I do suggest you stay out of her attentions as long as you can."
Which may be impossible now, with her having protected Ambrose. It's not about Ambrose, though. No. It would never be that simple.
Estinien shrugs helplessly, already resigned to the complicatedness of it all. He's certainly learning some things from this conversation - including that both Jaskier and Geralt's feelings for the woman may be even more complicated. There's that sort of energy to the situation.
"Only if it were her that stood in my way," he clarifies - though Jaskier's description of her isn't exactly flattering, he hasn't set his mind on vengeance against her in specific. "Shame she doesn't pay Geralt as much mind as he pays her."
So, he's gathering that Geralt actually is in love with the woman but is not in a situation where he can have any expectations of her. A sorry place to be, truly. He wouldn't have thought he'd come out of this pitying the man. If Estinien were to fall in love with someone, he imagines that them not being a huge pain in his ass would be an indispensable feature.
Though maybe it's arrogant to think that, given what his friends are like.
Estinien doesn't actually have any suggestions regarding what he's going to do in particular about Thorne either - it's more the general sense that he'll do what he has to when the opportunity arises.
As for Jaskier's warning, Estinien scoffs.
"I assure you, she wound enjoy my full attention no more than I would hers."
Estinien's striking straight to the heart of the matter is so on the point, he laughs. "Oh, the prayers I've uttered hoping he would see it, too."
All right, yes, so he'd been witness to their fight on the mountain. It's quite clear to even those without a poet's intuition that Yennefer is not unaffected by Geralt's presence, as he is so overcome by her own in kind. It's only that Jaskier is of the belief that Yennefer's desires will always come first, over any regard she may have for others. She's simply that sort of woman.
And Geralt that specific brand of idiot. (Said lovingly. Sort of.)
"Then you know all you need to about her." Jaskier gives him an understanding pat, leaning across the gap between them. "I have faith you'll figure it out. Or do something monumentally stupid, or insane. That's always the go-to for you heroic types."
Estinien crosses his arms around his chest, staring down at Jaskier's hand as he touches him. It's not unwelcome, exactly, but it's clear that Estinien rarely receives or applies affection that way. To some degree, it seems that he doesn't know what to do with it.
After a long moment of silence, he huff through his nose, shaking his head.
"'Heroic types'..." he repeats, almost as if he can't quite believe it. Yet, from the outside, he understands why it might seem that way? He's generally been acting with the best intentions, he supposes, but the idea of him being part of any genuine heroism is still fresh to him.
"I merely know that I cannot stay my hand for want of better men and woman to take my place. I feel as if I am already an outlier in this place... as not many see any pressing need to involve themselves in this situation. Even less, to make a stand against the will of others."
This is something that genuinely troubles him... the increasing feeling of being alone in this, and of not being able to rely on others to see things done. He's still bothered by Sam's cook out, even if they did talk themselves around to a more positive outlook on each other's actions.
"Yet, how could I face myself... were my lack of action to cause something terrible to befall my homeland?"
"Oh, don't say it like that. I can already see in the slope of your brow you don't think the term pertains to you. As do most heroic types. Truly, no real hero should title himself such. It's a bit pompous."
You know, like bards who go around calling themselves the best bard of the Continent. (That's completely different.)
Of course, he hasn't seen Estinien do more than attempt to murder Ambrose, but... that's heroic, in its own way, because of the immense amount of bravery and stupidity one needs in equal measures. Yet Jaskier envies that. Or he covets simply bearing witness to it. That one could have so much confidence in their own strength. Their own ideals.
What does it take to kill for what one believes in? To be enraged at the neutrality of those around them?
"I'm the last to tell you you're wrong for what you've done, or what you will do." And he can imagine, down the line, what Estinien may try. "Speaking as one who stays uninvolved myself, I understand why we do. Some are content to be here, having escaped from even worse. Some of us are not strong. We're not earth-movers." His hand spreads across his chest, a clear indication he considers himself one of those. Bards do not influence things; they are recorders. Records of history line his head as much as his lyrical poetry does. "Yet I don't believe that your solitude in action means you're on the wrong side of history, either."
It's a hard line to follow. Jaskier does not intend to be involved, but... gods, Ambrose really has it coming. "Honestly, should I be able to help you even with only the encouragement of my words, I take it as a solemn responsibility."
You know, as solemn as Jaskier ever is.
On a side note, he is getting the sickest inspiration for a new heroic ballad from this.
As frustrated as he is by everything, Estinien can't find it within himself to argue that everyone must be a warrior. After all, what do those drawn to the battlefield fight for besides for the sake of others not having to? Of future generations? Jaskier didn't choose to be brought here.
Of course, none of them did, but he can't help but cast a more critical eye on those that clearly have the experience and power to act, but that choose not to. Were this a week ago, he may have begun angrily thinking about Geralt in regards to that sentiment, and his cowardly indifference to choosing a side... but now his heart twinges with understanding, as uncomfortable as it is to have it complicating his view. That's the price of rising to the occasion though, isn't it?
Allowing himself to understand things that make his life more difficult, if it's for the sake of doing the right thing. Sigh. How bothersome.
At any rate, he can take some comfort in Jaskier's assurances - to at least know that the man believes in him and his sensibilities to some degree, even if he doesn't see himself as powerful enough to take the lead. Jaskier has his own skills that Estinien can't even imagine possessing, so maybe they are both unknowingly gazing at each other's positions from across the gap. He contemplates this silently for a moment, staring at the ground before him, before finally humming his tentative agreement.
"Words have their own meaning," he admits, lifting his gaze to face him again. "And are something I am far less adept at." He pauses for a few moments more, seemingly struggling with just that limitation. "...The dragons of my world exclusively record their history through song, as a matter of fact."
That's something he figures Jaskier might find interesting.
Jaskier leans in with an inquisitive rise to his brows. "Oh? Are you trying to be encouraging? Why, Estinien! I do appreciate it." It could be mistaken as sarcasm, but in this instance, with the dragon knight, it is not. Any time someone attempts to look at Jaskier's craft as something more than minstrel performances and elementary rhymes...
It's appreciated, that's all.
He pats his knee. "And your words say what you believe. That's all one can ask for, really." Actually, for a knight, he does find Estinien rather good with them. It's not that he's personable or particularly warm -- it is undeniable that Estinien is neither -- but that he speaks his heart firmly, and diligently, and without remorse. It's worthy of note.
Jaskier leans back again, crossing his legs. Long silences and companions who carefully pick their words have never bothered him. And with a friend, he has especial fondness which offers the strength to be more patient.
He tilts his head. The shift in topic is abrupt. Not unwelcome, though, nor unnatural. Jaskier is, as one might say, a recent stan of dragons. With the tilt of his head comes a wideness to his eyes. "What! Really? How has Himeka never told me this?" And even surprisingly to himself, he flushes, grabbing over his heart.
"Oh, gods. And to think I played for those dragons. I mean -- neither of us knew who we were, of course, and I hardly recalled much of dragons --"
And yet, the dragons had praised him. Or was that Himeka, through them? He's no longer sure. Moglad is so much himself that Jaskier is unsure how far the creations of one can detach from their creator. He clears his throat. The whole thing is only slightly embarrassing, and Estinien needn't know of the shenanigans he sought while his head was empty of memory. "Do you know any of them? Perhaps you can hum a few lines of history?"
Estinien looks a bit taken aback at just how positive Jaskier's response is, even though he had meant it as both a compliment and encouragement. Dragons saw things much the same way Jaskier did with regards to music, which is significant validation, in Estiniens' perspective. But now that he's caused the reaction he doesn't really know what to do with it.
Especially when Jaskier asks him if he knows any of the songs. His eyes widen in surprise, suddenly put on the spot. He sort of does remember some of them, but what he didn't explain is that what constitutes as music to dragons is significantly different from what mankind enjoys.
"Ah..." He pulls back slightly, considering. "A dragon song is..." Weirdly enough, part of him doesn't actually want to disappoint, despite the fact that he is definitely going to. "...'Tis more of a call. A roar, physically, but with a timbre that extends into the... spiritual."
He realizes how ridiculous that makes it sound right after saying it, but he has no other words for it. There would be no way for a man to truly replicate it. At least, not normally.
He swears, every time he surprises or embarrasses Estinien, it's even better than the last. Jaskier can't even say what did it this time. He only just notices because it's obvious on his face; otherwise Jaskier is so caught up in this new revelation that he's simply gone to. Staring. Drowning in the thud of his heart.
Waiting.
And being disappointed. Of course it shows, with a click of his tongue and a sweep of his arm. However, it's not with Estinien himself. It's with his lack of vision.
A call. A roar. Gods, he wants to hear it. The sort of thing Villentretenmerth would have shattered the skies with. A song, a call, and a scream all at once. (He should like to make that sort of rabble himself.)
"My dear, lovely, fair-faced, snow-haired, unimaginative friend. Please. We are in a place where we can literally make anything. Can you not recreate it? Even if it is not your voice that sings it?"
And as if in example, he holds out his hand between them. From nothing comes Villentretenmerth himself... or, at least, what he understood him to look like from the words of Geralt and the dwarves. A fierce, golden-scaled beast, with wings spread out as fire spits thick from his mouth. A beauty. A missed opportunity. And here, he fits on the palm of a hand.
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cointosser) wrote2021-04-12 08:58 pm
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Jaskier's horses graze the grasses around the vineyard, a pair that never appear to separate. The nuzzle between their mouthfuls of grasses, swinging braided tails and tossing manes tangled with flowers.
And overseeing all of the vineyards, despite their nebulous nature, is a small, furry white creature with leathery wings and a determined expression, a jaunty hat tilted perfectly on his head. Between musical lessons from his mentor, Moglad's single job is to keep the domain safe -- though Jaskier never really expects anyone to seek him out to destroy it.
So it is most unfortunate for Estinien that Moglad takes his job quite seriously, and immediately flies up to meet the form that approaches the vineyards from above, even though his pom shivers a bit in fear.
Until he recognizes that face, as Jaskier would recognize it.
"Sir Estinien! What are you doing here, kupo? Have you come to visit Master Jaskier? Oh, he'll be quite happy to see you, I imagine!" The moogle swirls around him, his wings fluttering happily. Of course his apprentice appreciates the same company Jaskier does.
And he has the same mouth, running off with itself.
"He was wondering how you were doing with the Lady Himeka, kupo! He told me they were engaged! Can you imagine? What a pair!"
Also unfortunately for Estinien, Jaskier takes to frequent nightly trips to the Horizon, mostly to write somewhere he can think outloud to himself. Tonight, though, he senses an ill chill in the wind, and ducks out from inside a shade with clothing that is far less colorful than his usual, stained with grape juice all along the legs. His nose itches, a sure sign he is being talked about. "Moglad! Who on earth are you gossiping to --"
He looks up, spying dragon wings immediately. And who else could it be besides his elven friend? "Estinien, hello! What are you doing up there? Planning on making off with some grapes?"
Clearly his grapes are just that good, if Himeka's constant stealing of them is any indication.
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Most of the moogles words process as nonsense to Estinien, particularly something about engagement. He assumes it is some kind of joke, or some kind of 'comical' moogle misunderstanding of a simple situation. If it was anything real, Himeka would have mentioned it... and he can't really imagine her getting engaged to begin with.
"Ah..." Estinien is saying to the moogle, thinking about retreating entirely - and that's when Jaskier shows up for real. If he wasn't ready to leave before, he certainly is now... not least because in his present state of mind, he somehow manages to misinterpret Jaskier's playful question as an actual accusation.
Jaskier must have heard, after all - the he and Geralt were threatening each other. Estinien knows how he would react to that information, which is not favourably, and though his sense of empathy has seen significant growth in the last couple years, it is still a work in progress.
He frowns, furrowing his brow with a touch of bitterness as he averts his eyes away from the man. This was a bad idea.
"I've no need," he says, looking like he is about to take off completely, even as he awkwardly pauses like he thinks he should say something. He doesn't, though. "... and I shall not bother you further."
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"Moglad, leave off! You're driving the poor man batty." Moglad's head drops, his pom wilting, but he flutters back down between the trellises with a "Kupoooo...." It's the exact same reaction he's gotten with Geralt, so it's a bloody wonder it surprises Moglad to get it again. Besides, he's meant to still be protecting the rows of grapes. And the horses. Though after attempting to tie their tails together once, Moglad's learned to be very wary of the horses.
"What's this about a bother?" This is like yelling at a particularly flighty and gigantic bird. Even the bird Hector gifted him isn't so liken to fly off at the very sight of him.
Once could say it was almost hurtful, if Jaskier thought that was the case.
"Look, do you mind coming down so I'm not shouting about at the sky? I'm afraid I'll get a crick in my neck. Besides, I have a gift for you!"
It's not real, in the Horizon, but he puts just as much effort in the creation of his bottled wine as he would back in Toussaint. He simply... you know. Speeds up the process.
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Jaskier's tone towards him is the same as ever, isn't it? It was so easy to imagine something that there wasn't, with the things weighing on his mind. Though, if Jaskier really isn't wary of him, it presents another complication. Maybe he simply doesn't know.
(Were he thinking more astutely, he might remember that the last time they spoke he had been similarly concerned that Jaskier would find him at fault for striking at the High Mage, only to be pleasantly surprised in an almost identical way. Has he always been so concerned about when the other shoe would drop when it comes to his relationships? History would suggest yes, if he dared to think of it.)
Thus, it's with some unavoidable sheepishness that Estinien descends, landing gracefully within the vineyard and close enough to Jaskier that he can make out the details of his clothing. The juice stains on his clothing... what has he been doing? He supposes it should be obvious. It's a vineyard after all.
Estinien crosses his arms around himself, displaying some amount of uncertainty. He supposes he will let Jaskier speak first, lest he continue acting like a fool in his presence.
"A gift..." he repeats, prompting the man onward. His gut reaction is to say that he doesn't need whatever it is, but he manages to shut himself up before getting there.
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Jaskier looks amused, ducking back into the shed. His voice echoes in the tiny structure as he says, "Yes, a gift. Surely you've heard of them? Hold on, I want to perfect it."
A little pull of the magic of the Horizon, and it's ready. As he steps out, he presents it: a bottle of wine, of course, but with a custom label in curling, cursive script that reads bloed y twe dragons, the blood of two dragons, with two curling dragons tangled into the curls of infinity. "I know it's a bit on the nose, but I don't think anything too fancy would suit you."
Estinien might not know the elder tongue, but, well. He's an elf, and in a way, it's respecting the elves from home, as well.
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It's easy to make out, within context, and Estinien doesn't know what to do with it at first. Jaskier clearly isn't upset with him, for him to do something like this, but it only makes Estinien's heart sink to realize it. After all, it means that he is likely uninformed.
"You have my thanks," Estinien says, though in a subdued tone that suggests deeper thoughts are lurking in his mind. It's a stock phrase, but there's meaning in his tone. He appreciates it, even if he is unskilled at verbalizing these things.
He looks away.
"But I would not lead you astray. You... should know that I and your comrades are in conflict. I attempted to make peace, but in coming days, I cannot promise..."
He's making it sound very dire, but in truth, he doesn't really understand it at all.
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Fuck. There it is.
Jaskier watches him, lifting an eyebrow. Astray? Can this man even lie convincingly? And what on earth could he --
"My comrades?" He supposes there's a first time for everything, yet certainly that is the first and only time his friends should be referred to as comrades. Also, that really doesn't narrow it down, Estinien. "Who? Ciri?" She seems the most likely if only because she is particularly prickly, but he's not sure if they had a chance to meet in the cages before the portals came.
"Geralt?" While Estinien seems to feel strongly about this, Jaskier doesn't. He's only ticking off names. "Bah, it doesn't matter. What's that got to do with wine? Don't tell me. You don't drink? At all? Come, I must be able to convince you to try it."
Oh, wait. He can't promise what? "I mean, unless you're planning on coming over here to, I don't know, stick me with a knife or something, which I would find particularly rude."
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But while with Geralt he'd only had a general impression of him being a decent man, with Jaskier... he really and truly likes him. His own reaction to receiving this gift was enough to tell him that. He doesn't want this same confrontation to happen again, but he can't claim to be sorry, and he can't claim to be as uninvested as all of them seem to be.
"I'm not," he says, first and foremost, the directness of that statement jerking him out of his indecision. "I had only... assumed that given how closely you travel together, that you and Geralt would be of one mind concerning Thorne." His gaze shifts down to the ground. "And the lady Yennefer."
Still, he keeps the bottle of wine clenched firmly in hand.
"Geralt was convinced that nothing should be done, and that trying to do anything was either arrogant or deluded. Such was our 'disagreement'."
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He puts his hands on his hips. That's what's got him as stiff as a rabbit with a stick up its ass, prepped to be thrown on a fire? While he finds it a bit insulting Estinien would assume he thinks like Geralt because they traveled together, let alone that he is anything like Yennefer, he doesn't immediately bite at the comment.
Tempting, though. He understands Yennefer can have her... charms.
(He is not thinking of her charms.)
"I mean this in the kindest, yet sternest way possible: we are not the same person. Geralt's quarrels -- and believe me, they are many -- are not mine. I'm not even touching the topic of Yennefer." And Jaskier makes sure to keep it vice-versa, thank you (unless the quarrel led to someone attempting to kill him, in which he does actually get Geralt involved. For other reasons.) "Look, I don't have to ask what he said. I know Geralt. He is extremely adamant about the idea of never getting involved in anything, ever, so he does everything he can to stay out of it. He tries to." He gives a pause and a sigh, running a hand through his hair. He doesn't normally spout off about Geralt unless it involves his songs or the stories within them, but just this once... the Witcher may understand. "People have tried to use him for politics before, and often. Roped him into it. And it got him -- us -- in a lot of shit. So don't take it personally. He's a prickly bitch, but it is never personal."
And here the last thing he would have guessed was that Estinien was deliberately trying to avoid him because of Geralt. Honestly, how ridiculous. And here he is, nearly defending him. Even more ridiculous! He's not getting paid for it.
"So that's what you feared? I'd be upset with you because of that? He didn't even tell me. Honestly, Estinien..." And here he shifts his hips to the side, adding what may either relieve him or enrage him even further. Yet it's most likely true. "I doubt he even thinks twice about this disagreement of yours."
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He was one to assume the worst, after all - or at the very least, he was unwilling to give people credit they hadn't earned. So why not think Geralt was a coward, that he was self-righteous, that he would sway his companions to fall in line? He had so little to work with, he had no reason to think he wouldn't.
But here it is. However stern Jaskier is being, Estinien doesn't seem to balk on it. Instead, he watches, and listens, his eyes slightly wide as if doing his best to absorb all that he's hearing. Suddenly, the image of a man that had eluded him makes sense, all because he trusts Jaskier enough to give him the right evidence.
Even beyond the mechanical level that he can put together motivation and calculate the results, he understands. On a gut, emotional level he understands. Estinien himself is that friend, isn't he? Or, at least, he was. Not exactly, not in all the ways that matter, but there is taste enough of something he has felt before that he can extrapolate it into something bigger.
There are still some surprises, of course. He and Himeka have been so goal-orientated for most of their relationship that it's hard to imagine what it would be like if they didn't have some common cause and purpose that they all believed in. Himeka and the Scions both. They've always been on the same page, at heart.
Maybe it says something that he can barely imagine what his relationships would be like if it wasn't for the common bond of duty.
But he can't stand here and think on that forever! No, Jaskier deserves an answer in turn. He contemplates what he's going to say, wanting to get it correct the first time.
"...Thank you, for telling me as much," he says, first and foremost. "'Tis... far from my experience. The way that you are." And he means that on a few levels. His personal tidbit for the day. "I had sought him out hoping to understand his perspective, but he gave me little." He's about to say something else, but he leaves it at that.
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He can't really blame him. Jaskier has... well, he's himself, and he knows it is not easy to know Geralt. Even after all those decades together, the Witcher still tried to get him to shove off. And he'd nearly tried again, when they were brought here.
It's the way he is. It's that simple.
Jaskier huffs a laugh at how serious his answer is, and he steps close to pat his arm companionably (and, okay, he wants to look at his wings. Gods. The size of them! Ooh, he bets they're soft in that way like snakes are. Or bats?) "The way I am? I love the sound of that." Not sarcasm. As if he's this strange, unfathomable thing. Like Geralt, apparently. "Don't worry about it, my friend. Believe me, I know intimately well of how tight-lipped Geralt is."
He could give him a lesson on maybe how he should calm down on his assumptions, but... perhaps he caught on? "You know, it was quite coy of you to come spy on me. I would advise next time you may check I'm actually upset. Though, to be fair, I'm certain you'll know."
It's only honest. Jaskier does not hide any of his problems with people.
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He does feel slightly foolish about all of it, now that Jaskier is dismissing the need for it so plainly - not least because he apparently hasn't forgotten about the circumstances that this conversation started in! Estinien thinks to object, but on second thought, he can't even deny that's what he was doing. Or rather, spying on his domain as a means to vicariously spy on the man.
When did he become so ridiculous, he wonders? Life was easier when he only had one thing going on in his head.
As it is, he stares down at him, still clutching the wine bottle as Jaskier pats his arm. His wings fold closer, apparently discarding the notion of needing to suddenly escape. For Jaskier's curiosity, their texture is most like something belonging to a vast serpent.
"Well," he begins, but doesn't have much to follow it up with. Maybe he'll just be direct. "You've made an impression. With or without the Witcher." After a moment longer, he adds: "I do drink, by the way."
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Because, at least to him, he finds it the easiest way to move past this. Less a chance for Estinien to somehow puff himself up about it again. He doesn't mean to minimize any miscommunications -- they happen to the best of us -- but he certainly does not desire any wedge between his friends to remain past their expiration date, either.
Well is a good start.
Jaskier smiles. "Is that a compliment?" From this rugged knight? His heart is touched, and Jaskier is surprisingly sincere when he adds, "Thank you." He glances at his wings, considering asking to touch one later. Look, they're just. Fascinating. "And that, by the way, is wonderful news. You needn't open it now, but perhaps you'll stay and we can catch up? I haven't seen you or Himeka in weeks. Have things changed?"
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There's noticeably less reluctance to his presence, now. Perhaps even compared to the last time they spoke in the Horizon, which had been pleasant on its own. He might even let him touch his wings, if he asked. Maybe.
"Not much, in regards to my own affairs," he says, considering what Jaskier probably does and doesn't know. "Himeka and I have settled with a farming family in the Primary Settlement. They needed the help, it seems. Just the two of them, with an entire flock to care for." He glances aside. Though his work on the farm is something he does take an amount of pride in, it's not something he'd be content sticking with forever.
"The locals have been kind enough, and there's plenty to busy myself with. That said, I have no desire to simply retire to the countryside, after all that's happened...'
Of course, there's more important stuff he's been trying to do... but something tells him that maybe just once he should share something personal instead of heading straight into grizzly political details.
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She really had eaten a lot of grapes. As in, nearly a whole few vines of them. Over the course of a single conversation.
Though, remembering how she ate that cheese wheel, he should not be so surprised.
The rows of trellises expand to give them plenty of room, and the horses graze closer, as if in silent command. Just in case he and his guest wish to go on a ride. "Ah, she mentioned your flock. Suits you rather well, I imagine, but... I understand the desire not to settle into domesticity."
It wasn't for him, either, and he was only a bard. He already itches for the road again, the Path. When is the last time he accompanied Geralt on a monster hunt? This place has thrown a wrench into how his life had been going for years. Years upon years, even.
"So that's what started this tiff between you and Geralt? Did you have some idea, moving against Thorne? I only guess, since, you know. I didn't miss your attempts before I left through the portals."
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"The tiff..." he repeats, as if he thinks it's an odd choice in words. He shakes his head to himself. "As you'll similarly recall, lady Yennefer was among the number that defended the High Mage from my assault. As such, I had deemed her an obstacle to pursuing justice against Thorne... made more curious by the fact that I had seen her and Geralt exchanging romantic gestures only a moment earlier."
He's still not certain he's wrong, but that is still to be seen.
"Thinking Geralt a likely ally in this world... largely through reputation and certain connections... I sought him out to hear his thoughts on her choice in affiliation. I thought that, with a closer perspective, I might see some way around that conflict of interest. Or mayhap better understand her reasons for making such a choice."
His brow still furrows when he thinks of the conversation, even though he thinks he is beginning to understand how it all unfolded.
"Geralt thought little of my attempt, obviously. And, when pressed, he claimed that 'twas none of his business, while also making vague threats about how I would regret it if I pursued her and forced him to become involved. He dismissed any hopes of finding a solution to the problems in this place, seeming to think any higher ambitions than mere survival were mere delusion."
He finally looks up to meet Jaskier's gaze.
"'Tis not an outlook that I can accept. But, while I would have been willing to leave him to his own devices otherwise, the thought that conflicting with Yennefer would be conflicting with him in turn, and mayhap all those he considers comrades..."
He falls silent for a moment, but then adds, in a bit dryer of a tone:
"...And you needn't remind me that you hold no such obligation to him. Mayhap I led myself astray, thinking only of how 'twould be if Himeka and I had been in a similar position."
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Unfortunately, as Estinien actually offers his explanation, his interest in the topic wanes. Not at all because of its subject matter, but because every time Estinien mentions Yennefer's name, he both gets a prickle up his spine that is an equal fifty-fifty split of remembered attraction and abject irritation.
It's quite obvious the very mention of her leaves him bristling.
"Honestly, this is more complicated than I'd first imagined," he says at first, crossing his legs. How was it that every time a wrench was thrown into plans, Yennefere always seemed to be the one holding it? He curls his hands around the edge of his seat, leaning forward, still tight with energy that the problem all focused on her.
Just like the bloody mountain.
And now with this... this memory (several memories) he has of her. Her using him like a wooden cock.
Not that he will be mentioning that part to Estinien. Or anyone. Ever.
"I can't speak for him on this," Jaskier says with a sigh, "though I can on many other topics. I imagine he was far more angered by the idea that Yennefer would be your target than anything else, should you keep pursuing your justice." If anything stirs any sort of energetic fire in Geralt, it's her. "She sort of does what she wants, all the time, and usually it's to do these stupid, blasted things in pursuits for... well, whatever it is she decides she wants in that moment. Maybe fucking the king, if it so pleases her."
He waves a hand at his comparison. Would Himeka pick an enemy only because Estinien brought them up? He wonders. It's rather hard to imagine she has enemies at all, actually. "I wish I could advise you on the best course, but I have neither heads nor tails of what to do about Thorne, if anything, or Yennefer. But I do suggest you stay out of her attentions as long as you can."
Which may be impossible now, with her having protected Ambrose. It's not about Ambrose, though. No. It would never be that simple.
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"Only if it were her that stood in my way," he clarifies - though Jaskier's description of her isn't exactly flattering, he hasn't set his mind on vengeance against her in specific. "Shame she doesn't pay Geralt as much mind as he pays her."
So, he's gathering that Geralt actually is in love with the woman but is not in a situation where he can have any expectations of her. A sorry place to be, truly. He wouldn't have thought he'd come out of this pitying the man. If Estinien were to fall in love with someone, he imagines that them not being a huge pain in his ass would be an indispensable feature.
Though maybe it's arrogant to think that, given what his friends are like.
Estinien doesn't actually have any suggestions regarding what he's going to do in particular about Thorne either - it's more the general sense that he'll do what he has to when the opportunity arises.
As for Jaskier's warning, Estinien scoffs.
"I assure you, she wound enjoy my full attention no more than I would hers."
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All right, yes, so he'd been witness to their fight on the mountain. It's quite clear to even those without a poet's intuition that Yennefer is not unaffected by Geralt's presence, as he is so overcome by her own in kind. It's only that Jaskier is of the belief that Yennefer's desires will always come first, over any regard she may have for others. She's simply that sort of woman.
And Geralt that specific brand of idiot. (Said lovingly. Sort of.)
"Then you know all you need to about her." Jaskier gives him an understanding pat, leaning across the gap between them. "I have faith you'll figure it out. Or do something monumentally stupid, or insane. That's always the go-to for you heroic types."
He may be making fun. A little.
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After a long moment of silence, he huff through his nose, shaking his head.
"'Heroic types'..." he repeats, almost as if he can't quite believe it. Yet, from the outside, he understands why it might seem that way? He's generally been acting with the best intentions, he supposes, but the idea of him being part of any genuine heroism is still fresh to him.
"I merely know that I cannot stay my hand for want of better men and woman to take my place. I feel as if I am already an outlier in this place... as not many see any pressing need to involve themselves in this situation. Even less, to make a stand against the will of others."
This is something that genuinely troubles him... the increasing feeling of being alone in this, and of not being able to rely on others to see things done. He's still bothered by Sam's cook out, even if they did talk themselves around to a more positive outlook on each other's actions.
"Yet, how could I face myself... were my lack of action to cause something terrible to befall my homeland?"
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You know, like bards who go around calling themselves the best bard of the Continent. (That's completely different.)
Of course, he hasn't seen Estinien do more than attempt to murder Ambrose, but... that's heroic, in its own way, because of the immense amount of bravery and stupidity one needs in equal measures. Yet Jaskier envies that. Or he covets simply bearing witness to it. That one could have so much confidence in their own strength. Their own ideals.
What does it take to kill for what one believes in? To be enraged at the neutrality of those around them?
"I'm the last to tell you you're wrong for what you've done, or what you will do." And he can imagine, down the line, what Estinien may try. "Speaking as one who stays uninvolved myself, I understand why we do. Some are content to be here, having escaped from even worse. Some of us are not strong. We're not earth-movers." His hand spreads across his chest, a clear indication he considers himself one of those. Bards do not influence things; they are recorders. Records of history line his head as much as his lyrical poetry does. "Yet I don't believe that your solitude in action means you're on the wrong side of history, either."
It's a hard line to follow. Jaskier does not intend to be involved, but... gods, Ambrose really has it coming. "Honestly, should I be able to help you even with only the encouragement of my words, I take it as a solemn responsibility."
You know, as solemn as Jaskier ever is.
On a side note, he is getting the sickest inspiration for a new heroic ballad from this.
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Of course, none of them did, but he can't help but cast a more critical eye on those that clearly have the experience and power to act, but that choose not to. Were this a week ago, he may have begun angrily thinking about Geralt in regards to that sentiment, and his cowardly indifference to choosing a side... but now his heart twinges with understanding, as uncomfortable as it is to have it complicating his view. That's the price of rising to the occasion though, isn't it?
Allowing himself to understand things that make his life more difficult, if it's for the sake of doing the right thing. Sigh. How bothersome.
At any rate, he can take some comfort in Jaskier's assurances - to at least know that the man believes in him and his sensibilities to some degree, even if he doesn't see himself as powerful enough to take the lead. Jaskier has his own skills that Estinien can't even imagine possessing, so maybe they are both unknowingly gazing at each other's positions from across the gap. He contemplates this silently for a moment, staring at the ground before him, before finally humming his tentative agreement.
"Words have their own meaning," he admits, lifting his gaze to face him again. "And are something I am far less adept at." He pauses for a few moments more, seemingly struggling with just that limitation. "...The dragons of my world exclusively record their history through song, as a matter of fact."
That's something he figures Jaskier might find interesting.
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It's appreciated, that's all.
He pats his knee. "And your words say what you believe. That's all one can ask for, really." Actually, for a knight, he does find Estinien rather good with them. It's not that he's personable or particularly warm -- it is undeniable that Estinien is neither -- but that he speaks his heart firmly, and diligently, and without remorse. It's worthy of note.
Jaskier leans back again, crossing his legs. Long silences and companions who carefully pick their words have never bothered him. And with a friend, he has especial fondness which offers the strength to be more patient.
He tilts his head. The shift in topic is abrupt. Not unwelcome, though, nor unnatural. Jaskier is, as one might say, a recent stan of dragons. With the tilt of his head comes a wideness to his eyes. "What! Really? How has Himeka never told me this?" And even surprisingly to himself, he flushes, grabbing over his heart.
"Oh, gods. And to think I played for those dragons. I mean -- neither of us knew who we were, of course, and I hardly recalled much of dragons --"
And yet, the dragons had praised him. Or was that Himeka, through them? He's no longer sure. Moglad is so much himself that Jaskier is unsure how far the creations of one can detach from their creator. He clears his throat. The whole thing is only slightly embarrassing, and Estinien needn't know of the shenanigans he sought while his head was empty of memory. "Do you know any of them? Perhaps you can hum a few lines of history?"
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Especially when Jaskier asks him if he knows any of the songs. His eyes widen in surprise, suddenly put on the spot. He sort of does remember some of them, but what he didn't explain is that what constitutes as music to dragons is significantly different from what mankind enjoys.
"Ah..." He pulls back slightly, considering. "A dragon song is..." Weirdly enough, part of him doesn't actually want to disappoint, despite the fact that he is definitely going to. "...'Tis more of a call. A roar, physically, but with a timbre that extends into the... spiritual."
He realizes how ridiculous that makes it sound right after saying it, but he has no other words for it. There would be no way for a man to truly replicate it. At least, not normally.
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Waiting.
And being disappointed. Of course it shows, with a click of his tongue and a sweep of his arm. However, it's not with Estinien himself. It's with his lack of vision.
A call. A roar. Gods, he wants to hear it. The sort of thing Villentretenmerth would have shattered the skies with. A song, a call, and a scream all at once. (He should like to make that sort of rabble himself.)
"My dear, lovely, fair-faced, snow-haired, unimaginative friend. Please. We are in a place where we can literally make anything. Can you not recreate it? Even if it is not your voice that sings it?"
And as if in example, he holds out his hand between them. From nothing comes Villentretenmerth himself... or, at least, what he understood him to look like from the words of Geralt and the dwarves. A fierce, golden-scaled beast, with wings spread out as fire spits thick from his mouth. A beauty. A missed opportunity. And here, he fits on the palm of a hand.
"There is no better place to share our memories."
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