A surprise, hm? All right. I'll look forward to it. And I'll help drag Geralt along if he resists. It's been some time since the three of us have had a pleasant night out.
[ Neither of them mentions the Dimming, but Ciri is aware they both know. Something will be happening around the Singularity tomorrow night. Thorne and its magic. The Free Cities, Marlo's request for the summoned. Ciri is aware, and she wants to stay as far away from it as possible, even as the need to know keeps tugging uncomfortably at the back of her mind. (Yennefer will be there. It's a certain thing. She would not pass up the chance--)
Jaskier interrupts her spiraling thoughts with a kiss, and Ciri blinks, watching after him as he sweeps back into the kitchen. Her fingers touch her cheek. Her eyes follow his back, the muscles pulling taught across his shoulders. ]
What do you mean... 'gone erratic'?
[ She urges gently, when it seems he's decided to share what's on his mind, after all. Ciri won't hold the hesitation against him, focusing instead on what he says. And what he doesn't. ]
[She's right. It has been some time. Some time since they had not spent every waking moment figuring out a way to find the Witcher. To save him. Besides, this is perfect to ignore the world around them. To be far from this whole Dimming business.
Though to Jaskier, honestly, it's hardly about that.
He sighs. Now the topic has been broached, he... well, he actually would like to pursue it. Ciri, he trusts now, is someone who will actually listen. Who can offer more than silence or advice. She's quite perceptive, too; perhaps better than all of them.]
I don't blame you for not noticing. Plants die far too easily, after all. [He finally turns, lifting his mug to indicate the potted plants in the window. It could easily have been a lack of light, or a temperamental response to the cooler nights. The plants are dying, though. They have been, despite his efforts, though the rot always stars at the roots. When he walks by, they no longer shiver and reach for him.] No, nothing has happened. Not in particular.
[I simply have nightmares of waking up alone. To find blood spilled across the pillow, the floors. That I will be the one taken next. He returns to his seat and slides her newly filled mug across the table.] My writing has come back to me, and the muses sing once more. While that has improved, it... it feels like I'm going backwards. Like the magic is pulling away from me. Is it too strange to say I feel like it's dissatisfied with me? Far be it from me to personify any force I come into contact with, and yet. The bread molds, the plants die. And I can't get a good night of sleep.
[ She listens, following him with her eyes; her gaze flicks to the plants, thinking back on how they have looked in the past, how easily they grew, and how she's failed to notice them struggling recently. Or perhaps it's Jaskier she's failed to notice struggling, even if she could tell he seemed a bit off. They've both been, ever since Geralt--
But Geralt is fine now. (Mostly. Right?) And Jaskier is sleepless and melancholy, and keeps making comments about his own uselessness that are starting to get on her nerves.
Ciri reaches out to take the mug, lifting it to her face to inhale the steam now laced with the sharp warmth of the cinnamon. She takes a careful sip, just dipping her tongue against the liquid to check the temperature. ]
Jaskier...
[ Setting the cup back down, Ciri leans forward across the table on an elbow, meeting his gaze. Serious, but not unkind. ]
If you ask me, I think it's far more likely that your lack of rest and the burdens that you put upon yourself are more the culprit than your magic. I've told you before I am no sorceress, but I know a thing or two about the way chaos mixes poorly with unpleasant emotions.
[ Ciri reaches out across the table, resting her hand on Jaskier's arm (the scar beneath his sleeve). She gives his wrist a gentle squeeze. ]
[Already the way she says his name makes him wish he had said nothing of it. It's not as if he comes looking for pity, either, no matter what others might say. It really all comes down to how stupid it is, for him to feel sorry for himself, when what happened happened to Geralt, not to him. None of it was about him.
He doesn't meet her gaze, which says more than words will. At least he doesn't pull back from her touch. A warm hand has never been something he's shied away from, even one covered in callouses and scars.
He chokes a little, swallowing.]
Yes, well. I certainly did give myself these burdens, didn't I? They're not even mine to bear. [His lips twitch in an attempt to smile, to reassure her he'll be fine. He will. He always is. This is just a trifle. An annoyance. When he doesn't quite make it, he gives a nod instead.
It helps. It does. He's had the same fear that all of this, as much as it frustrates him, is his own fault. Which, honestly, makes it all the more frustrating.] Besides, you're far more sorceress than I am. I could never fit into all of those grandiose dresses with this chest.
She pulls back, fingers curling around her cup again, eyes falling to its contents. It feels like everything she says is the wrong fucking thing. Like she's just... messed this all up. What she'd wanted was to do something for Jaskier, to thank him for his kindness, and instead she's pushed him -- both of them -- into this uncomfortable place, and she doesn't know how to untwist it all.
Jaskier's joke doesn't land. It doesn't feel sincere, and she doesn't feel like laughing. ]
I'm sorry. I hope you're able to sleep better soon. The rest should help your magic.
[ He's right. The burdens that have been put upon him recently aren't his to bear. Maybe she's relied on him too much. Been callous, when she wasn't paying attention. She should have noticed sooner. ]
I can get some herbs for a calming tea when I'm at market tomorrow. I'll ask at the apothecary.
[It's unfortunate. He thinks it was a rather good joke.]
I'm sure I will, my dear.
[He feels her retract from her far more than he feels the loss of her hand. It's terrible, how they keep saying the wrong things to each other. He hadn't even meant -- he's not sure what. Why is she apologizing, anyway? This isn't her fault. None of this bullshit is.]
You've no need to apologize. And I know you have more interesting things to do than run errands for a whining bard. [He drinks from his cup and, fuck, it does work miracles. Every sip helps. It's certainly why most people indulge, isn't it?] Please, Ciri, I hope you don't think this is your fault, either. I don't even know why you would, what you have to be sorry for. You've been an absolute delight. I mean, if I set aside the bandit murder, it's -- I feel we've kept each other sane.
[ Suddenly, Ciri wishes she were drinking something stronger. It's a shame Nadine never mentioned how well hot chocolate might go with liquor.
She takes a bracing gulp anyway, as if it were something else; the drink is hot, nearly scalding as she swallows it, quickly, and hits the table with her cup a little too loudly. ]
Because I've made everyone carry my fucking burdens.
Even you.
[ Not that he isn't capable or worthy. It's just that, as Jaskier said, it isn't his responsibility to bear. And then, with Geralt gone-- ]
I bring danger and discord wherever I go. Drag everyone around me into it. I can't stop.
The truth is, I--
If I wanted to keep you all safe, I should never have told any of you. I should have left. But I don't--
[ Ciri takes a shaky breath, swallowing roughly. Her throat stings. ]
I didn't want to be alone. You... you made sure I wasn't.
[His brows rise. For fuck's sake. She's doing that Geralt thing. The Geralt thing that specifically led to Jaskier being left on a mountain in boots with worn soles. At least she isn't blaming him for everything, but he can't say this change is really better.
He sits there and lets her explode. Lets her all get it out, only watching her. The flash in her green eyes, the way her body coils. Like with Geralt, he takes it. Opens his heart and takes it in, even if it's not fair this time, either.
It isn't fair she thinks this way.
And when she's done, he does speak.]
I'm sure it's important. But all of that other stuff, frankly? Is horseshit. We all share burdens simply by knowing one another. I mean it on a metaphysical level as commentary on the nature of humanity, by the way. And you're right selfish, thinking those burdens I mentioned are yours. I was blaming Thorne, thank you, for being cunts about our dearly beloved Witcher. Or the Singularity, or whatever. What I mean to say is --
[Well, he's sort of said it already, actually. He gets up, moving behind her, looping his arms around her shoulders. He has a sort of guess on where this might go.]
If you leave off on some fool's errand because you tricked yourself into believing we're better off without you, I'll be very cross. I may even have some scathing, choice words for you about it. I love you, Ciri. And I would love your burdens, too.
[ The urge strikes with a sudden, desperate ferocity: to run, to do exactly as she knows she should have ages ago, to escape somewhere far away and leave behind the awful heavy feeling of dragging everyone down with her very existence. Her fingers curl against the tabletop, nails digging into her palms. Her breath catches, shoulders taught, heels to the ground, ready to push back out of her chair and let it topple, let it all fall because nothing is going as it should and she can't fucking breathe.
Jaskier calls her selfish. He's right. Selfish for staying, and selfish for wanting to run. For telling him and keeping it from him. No matter what choice she makes, it's going to be the wrong one.
She stammers, but no words come out, only a small noise of protestation, a breathless whimper low in her throat. Ciri tries to move, and finds that Jaskier has moved instead.
The weight of his arms around her settles warm and solid. It keeps her there -- in the chair, and in this moment, drawing her back out of her spiralling thoughts and into the words he gives her instead. Soft, like the warmth of a fire's light in the distance, bright with promise, if only one could reach it.
Jaskier doesn't even know what he's promising.
None of them do. Not even Geralt, with fresh scars all down his back. ]
Don't worry, Jaskier. [ She leans back, closing her eyes. The breath escapes her finally, the claws around her throat loosening enough to take another. ]
I could never actually do it. I love you all too much for that.
[He squeezes his arms around her, waiting for her to calm. For her to catch her breath. No, he doesn't know what he's promising. Not really. But should he make a promise to anyone else, he knows just as little. It's the nature of man without the gift of prophecy.]
I'm sure you realize it is not so relieving to know you consider it at all.
[He kisses the top of her head. She must feel terribly lonely sometimes, buried alone in this knowledge of the future none of them can possess. He knows she regrets ever telling them.]
I promised I would not leave you alone. I fully intend to keep it, despite your best efforts.
[Jaskier's breath huffs out in a laugh, and he squeezes her. He knows, too, this probably comes as easily to her as it does to Geralt. That is: not at all. She is, at least, more talented at it.
She has heart. He's... he's glad, if she picked up anything from Geralt, it's his heart.]
I do know.
[It would be impossible, he thinks, to still believe he is not important to Ciri, the same way he knows his place with Geralt. He holds onto her now not only for her sake, but his own. His legs feel weak. He did not... expect this. Any of this. This overwhelming appreciation that --
Fuck. It's the real gift, isn't it?
Perhaps he was getting too lofty with the song names. It could be something much simpler. Her Heart.
Ah. He like that.]
Then you shall be thrilled to know I will continue to do so. [He gives her another affectionate kiss on the top of her head, slowly pulling away. He's learned that these moments can stretch too long, become too raw. He never meant to see so much of her, but Melitele. He's glad he has.] Now, please. We should drink before it gets cold. Something tells me it won't be near as good.
[ Something in her relaxes, and Ciri nods, smiling faintly as he pulls away. She lets him, feeling much lighter as they settle into the evening together, the air still smelling of spices. Cleared now, of what uncertainty lies between them -- at least for now. She hopes he understands.
Destiny isn't what makes someone important.
Ciri goes to fetch the cake after a bit, and they have their dinner of sweets and frivolous things, concocting plans for how to drag Geralt out to the festival the following eve. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cointosser) wrote2021-04-12 08:58 pm
no subject
[ Neither of them mentions the Dimming, but Ciri is aware they both know. Something will be happening around the Singularity tomorrow night. Thorne and its magic. The Free Cities, Marlo's request for the summoned. Ciri is aware, and she wants to stay as far away from it as possible, even as the need to know keeps tugging uncomfortably at the back of her mind. (Yennefer will be there. It's a certain thing. She would not pass up the chance--)
Jaskier interrupts her spiraling thoughts with a kiss, and Ciri blinks, watching after him as he sweeps back into the kitchen. Her fingers touch her cheek. Her eyes follow his back, the muscles pulling taught across his shoulders. ]
What do you mean... 'gone erratic'?
[ She urges gently, when it seems he's decided to share what's on his mind, after all. Ciri won't hold the hesitation against him, focusing instead on what he says. And what he doesn't. ]
Did something happen?
no subject
Though to Jaskier, honestly, it's hardly about that.
He sighs. Now the topic has been broached, he... well, he actually would like to pursue it. Ciri, he trusts now, is someone who will actually listen. Who can offer more than silence or advice. She's quite perceptive, too; perhaps better than all of them.]
I don't blame you for not noticing. Plants die far too easily, after all. [He finally turns, lifting his mug to indicate the potted plants in the window. It could easily have been a lack of light, or a temperamental response to the cooler nights. The plants are dying, though. They have been, despite his efforts, though the rot always stars at the roots. When he walks by, they no longer shiver and reach for him.] No, nothing has happened. Not in particular.
[I simply have nightmares of waking up alone. To find blood spilled across the pillow, the floors. That I will be the one taken next. He returns to his seat and slides her newly filled mug across the table.] My writing has come back to me, and the muses sing once more. While that has improved, it... it feels like I'm going backwards. Like the magic is pulling away from me. Is it too strange to say I feel like it's dissatisfied with me? Far be it from me to personify any force I come into contact with, and yet. The bread molds, the plants die. And I can't get a good night of sleep.
no subject
But Geralt is fine now. (Mostly. Right?) And Jaskier is sleepless and melancholy, and keeps making comments about his own uselessness that are starting to get on her nerves.
Ciri reaches out to take the mug, lifting it to her face to inhale the steam now laced with the sharp warmth of the cinnamon. She takes a careful sip, just dipping her tongue against the liquid to check the temperature. ]
Jaskier...
[ Setting the cup back down, Ciri leans forward across the table on an elbow, meeting his gaze. Serious, but not unkind. ]
If you ask me, I think it's far more likely that your lack of rest and the burdens that you put upon yourself are more the culprit than your magic. I've told you before I am no sorceress, but I know a thing or two about the way chaos mixes poorly with unpleasant emotions.
[ Ciri reaches out across the table, resting her hand on Jaskier's arm (the scar beneath his sleeve). She gives his wrist a gentle squeeze. ]
no subject
He doesn't meet her gaze, which says more than words will. At least he doesn't pull back from her touch. A warm hand has never been something he's shied away from, even one covered in callouses and scars.
He chokes a little, swallowing.]
Yes, well. I certainly did give myself these burdens, didn't I? They're not even mine to bear. [His lips twitch in an attempt to smile, to reassure her he'll be fine. He will. He always is. This is just a trifle. An annoyance. When he doesn't quite make it, he gives a nod instead.
It helps. It does. He's had the same fear that all of this, as much as it frustrates him, is his own fault. Which, honestly, makes it all the more frustrating.] Besides, you're far more sorceress than I am. I could never fit into all of those grandiose dresses with this chest.
no subject
She pulls back, fingers curling around her cup again, eyes falling to its contents. It feels like everything she says is the wrong fucking thing. Like she's just... messed this all up. What she'd wanted was to do something for Jaskier, to thank him for his kindness, and instead she's pushed him -- both of them -- into this uncomfortable place, and she doesn't know how to untwist it all.
Jaskier's joke doesn't land. It doesn't feel sincere, and she doesn't feel like laughing. ]
I'm sorry. I hope you're able to sleep better soon. The rest should help your magic.
[ He's right. The burdens that have been put upon him recently aren't his to bear. Maybe she's relied on him too much. Been callous, when she wasn't paying attention. She should have noticed sooner. ]
I can get some herbs for a calming tea when I'm at market tomorrow. I'll ask at the apothecary.
no subject
I'm sure I will, my dear.
[He feels her retract from her far more than he feels the loss of her hand. It's terrible, how they keep saying the wrong things to each other. He hadn't even meant -- he's not sure what. Why is she apologizing, anyway? This isn't her fault. None of this bullshit is.]
You've no need to apologize. And I know you have more interesting things to do than run errands for a whining bard. [He drinks from his cup and, fuck, it does work miracles. Every sip helps. It's certainly why most people indulge, isn't it?] Please, Ciri, I hope you don't think this is your fault, either. I don't even know why you would, what you have to be sorry for. You've been an absolute delight. I mean, if I set aside the bandit murder, it's -- I feel we've kept each other sane.
no subject
She takes a bracing gulp anyway, as if it were something else; the drink is hot, nearly scalding as she swallows it, quickly, and hits the table with her cup a little too loudly. ]
Because I've made everyone carry my fucking burdens.
Even you.
[ Not that he isn't capable or worthy. It's just that, as Jaskier said, it isn't his responsibility to bear. And then, with Geralt gone-- ]
I bring danger and discord wherever I go. Drag everyone around me into it. I can't stop.
The truth is, I--
If I wanted to keep you all safe, I should never have told any of you. I should have left. But I don't--
[ Ciri takes a shaky breath, swallowing roughly. Her throat stings. ]
I didn't want to be alone. You... you made sure I wasn't.
You do not understand how important that is.
no subject
He sits there and lets her explode. Lets her all get it out, only watching her. The flash in her green eyes, the way her body coils. Like with Geralt, he takes it. Opens his heart and takes it in, even if it's not fair this time, either.
It isn't fair she thinks this way.
And when she's done, he does speak.]
I'm sure it's important. But all of that other stuff, frankly? Is horseshit. We all share burdens simply by knowing one another. I mean it on a metaphysical level as commentary on the nature of humanity, by the way. And you're right selfish, thinking those burdens I mentioned are yours. I was blaming Thorne, thank you, for being cunts about our dearly beloved Witcher. Or the Singularity, or whatever. What I mean to say is --
[Well, he's sort of said it already, actually. He gets up, moving behind her, looping his arms around her shoulders. He has a sort of guess on where this might go.]
If you leave off on some fool's errand because you tricked yourself into believing we're better off without you, I'll be very cross. I may even have some scathing, choice words for you about it. I love you, Ciri. And I would love your burdens, too.
no subject
Jaskier calls her selfish. He's right. Selfish for staying, and selfish for wanting to run. For telling him and keeping it from him. No matter what choice she makes, it's going to be the wrong one.
She stammers, but no words come out, only a small noise of protestation, a breathless whimper low in her throat. Ciri tries to move, and finds that Jaskier has moved instead.
The weight of his arms around her settles warm and solid. It keeps her there -- in the chair, and in this moment, drawing her back out of her spiralling thoughts and into the words he gives her instead. Soft, like the warmth of a fire's light in the distance, bright with promise, if only one could reach it.
Jaskier doesn't even know what he's promising.
None of them do. Not even Geralt, with fresh scars all down his back. ]
Don't worry, Jaskier. [ She leans back, closing her eyes. The breath escapes her finally, the claws around her throat loosening enough to take another. ]
I could never actually do it. I love you all too much for that.
[ Selfish as it is. ]
no subject
I'm sure you realize it is not so relieving to know you consider it at all.
[He kisses the top of her head. She must feel terribly lonely sometimes, buried alone in this knowledge of the future none of them can possess. He knows she regrets ever telling them.]
I promised I would not leave you alone. I fully intend to keep it, despite your best efforts.
no subject
[ She doesn't clarify which part she's responding to. Both, perhaps. Ciri's hand settles over his arm, draped around her. ]
I believe you.
And I- I appreciate you. I hope you know that. You are... important to me. Just as you are. What you do--
[ She doesn't look up, but her fingers squeeze around his wrist, gently. ]
No one else could do it, Jaskier. Only you.
no subject
She has heart. He's... he's glad, if she picked up anything from Geralt, it's his heart.]
I do know.
[It would be impossible, he thinks, to still believe he is not important to Ciri, the same way he knows his place with Geralt. He holds onto her now not only for her sake, but his own. His legs feel weak. He did not... expect this. Any of this. This overwhelming appreciation that --
Fuck. It's the real gift, isn't it?
Perhaps he was getting too lofty with the song names. It could be something much simpler. Her Heart.
Ah. He like that.]
Then you shall be thrilled to know I will continue to do so. [He gives her another affectionate kiss on the top of her head, slowly pulling away. He's learned that these moments can stretch too long, become too raw. He never meant to see so much of her, but Melitele. He's glad he has.] Now, please. We should drink before it gets cold. Something tells me it won't be near as good.
no subject
[ Something in her relaxes, and Ciri nods, smiling faintly as he pulls away. She lets him, feeling much lighter as they settle into the evening together, the air still smelling of spices. Cleared now, of what uncertainty lies between them -- at least for now. She hopes he understands.
Destiny isn't what makes someone important.
Ciri goes to fetch the cake after a bit, and they have their dinner of sweets and frivolous things, concocting plans for how to drag Geralt out to the festival the following eve. ]