[ 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. ]
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cointosser) wrote2021-04-12 08:58 pm
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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. ]