[Jaskier, like him, knows the move was worth it. Feels it. He'd do it again if they needed, if only to give room to Ciri and Rinwell their own rooms. He'd loved glancing at Rinwell's loft in the mornings, making sure to leave extra pancakes to the side for her when she woke -- often already with a book in her hands.
And it was large enough they had gotten a second table for proper dining, so Ciri no longer needed to butcher scorpions or whatever where they ate.
It was cozy. It was lived in. Home.
He lays on his side facing Geralt, propping his head up on a hand. He smiles.] You fixed it? Only the two of you?
[He knows. He doesn't ask why the tree was shattered in the first place; a foolish question, when Jaskier's domain had turned into from a lovely, sunny vineyard to that stupid, stinking tavern. Hearing that Geralt's was damaged the same, but repaired in the end -- it felt like some sort of. Good omen.] That's really wonderful to hear, Geralt. I'm sorry that I was not... I was not able to help.
[He had been in no state to even offer. And he had not gone; has barely gone, really, since he saw that basement in Geralt's Kaer Morhen.]
She wanted to do something. [ Just the tree. Hanging the medallions. Most of the rest, Geralt took care of on his own. Nadine and Sam had stumbled by incidentally, lent him a hand briefly, but otherwise he pieced it together himself. Bit by bit.
Julie had apologized, too. For not coming to help. He feels now as he did then: that it isn't anyone's responsibility except his own. Something inside him broke it. At the end of the day, he's been repairing Kaer Morhen since he was a boy. Fixing crumbling walls and rotting floors. Rebuilding benches and tables worn by time, by the wet and cold that filters in through the holes in the keep. ]
You helped elsewhere. And it's done now.
[ He tucks an arm under his head. He knows why Jaskier does not come. It is the same reason he goes to his domain less and less. Before it fell, he could put aside what laid behind that door, beneath the stairs. Now it's—he's spent all that time fixing every inch of the fortress, and yet there's one place he can't touch. If anything, it seems to grow. Last time he ventured to open the door, it was no longer just a blood-stained lab. It was dark, cold stone, smelled thick of rot and blood and vomit, and he had shut it immediately.
He doesn't bring it up. He has carved his space in the Horizon. It's a shard of home and there's comfort within it in many places. But as with the only home he ever knew, it is splintered deep in its foundations, too. He isn't certain it can be any different. ]
[Sounds like Ciri. Like Geralt, hardly ever still. Always doing something. And with that bright spark of kindness hidden beneath dirt and blood and sweat. Of course she wanted to do something. He can only imagine she blamed herself for its destruction in the first place.]
Suppose I did.
[He doesn't ask what. Doesn't matter. He's safe here, fulfilled, and as he reaches over to thread his fingers through Geralt's hair -- taking advantage while Geralt is feeling generous -- he relaxes.]
I'll come by soon. I already know you need help sprucing the place up with a bit of decoration. And, of course, I owe your wolf a steak or two.
[A part of himself in Kaer Morhen. He doesn't bring it up, and neither does Geralt. Like Moglad, the wolf is more Geralt's than anyone else's anymore. Jaskier doesn't even lay claim to it, nor to why he created it in the first place.
Silently, he's thankful to the beast. Someone to protect Kaer Morhen, and someone to keep Geralt company when no one else can.]
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cointosser) wrote2021-04-12 08:58 pm
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And it was large enough they had gotten a second table for proper dining, so Ciri no longer needed to butcher scorpions or whatever where they ate.
It was cozy. It was lived in. Home.
He lays on his side facing Geralt, propping his head up on a hand. He smiles.] You fixed it? Only the two of you?
[He knows. He doesn't ask why the tree was shattered in the first place; a foolish question, when Jaskier's domain had turned into from a lovely, sunny vineyard to that stupid, stinking tavern. Hearing that Geralt's was damaged the same, but repaired in the end -- it felt like some sort of. Good omen.] That's really wonderful to hear, Geralt. I'm sorry that I was not... I was not able to help.
[He had been in no state to even offer. And he had not gone; has barely gone, really, since he saw that basement in Geralt's Kaer Morhen.]
no subject
Julie had apologized, too. For not coming to help. He feels now as he did then: that it isn't anyone's responsibility except his own. Something inside him broke it. At the end of the day, he's been repairing Kaer Morhen since he was a boy. Fixing crumbling walls and rotting floors. Rebuilding benches and tables worn by time, by the wet and cold that filters in through the holes in the keep. ]
You helped elsewhere. And it's done now.
[ He tucks an arm under his head. He knows why Jaskier does not come. It is the same reason he goes to his domain less and less. Before it fell, he could put aside what laid behind that door, beneath the stairs. Now it's—he's spent all that time fixing every inch of the fortress, and yet there's one place he can't touch. If anything, it seems to grow. Last time he ventured to open the door, it was no longer just a blood-stained lab. It was dark, cold stone, smelled thick of rot and blood and vomit, and he had shut it immediately.
He doesn't bring it up. He has carved his space in the Horizon. It's a shard of home and there's comfort within it in many places. But as with the only home he ever knew, it is splintered deep in its foundations, too. He isn't certain it can be any different. ]
no subject
Suppose I did.
[He doesn't ask what. Doesn't matter. He's safe here, fulfilled, and as he reaches over to thread his fingers through Geralt's hair -- taking advantage while Geralt is feeling generous -- he relaxes.]
I'll come by soon. I already know you need help sprucing the place up with a bit of decoration. And, of course, I owe your wolf a steak or two.
[A part of himself in Kaer Morhen. He doesn't bring it up, and neither does Geralt. Like Moglad, the wolf is more Geralt's than anyone else's anymore. Jaskier doesn't even lay claim to it, nor to why he created it in the first place.
Silently, he's thankful to the beast. Someone to protect Kaer Morhen, and someone to keep Geralt company when no one else can.]