[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
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. ]