While, certainly, Jaskier wasn't living in luxury when he had just started out as a bard, he's now renowned throughout the Continent. He's made a name for himself-- which was the reason why he was in such a mess with Nilfgaard-- he could play at almost any court that he wants, and Geralt knows that he'd been offered positions. He'd just turned them down. Following his muse, he'd said to all the lords and ladies that had wanted to keep him. If he wanted to, he could take a position as some king or lord's court bard and have those silk sheets and fine wines, live luxuriously and never have to eat squirrel roasted over a campfire ever again.
And yet, here he is.
Jaskier's hand grasps his chin, turning it towards him. Like he has so many times before, the bard is making a choice-- with, apparently, full knowledge of what he will have to give up. And as little as he wants to ask for help, Geralt knows that there are so many places where he lacks the proper knowledge to raise Cirilla, that she needs things that he doesn't know how to give her. He doesn't know what to do when she wakes crying in the night. He doesn't know how to raise a child. He can train a witcher, he can teach her how to use a sword and a crossbow and how to kill monsters. He can teach her the difference between a ghoul and an alghoul. If she was just another orphan brought to Kaer Morhen, maybe that would've been enough.
(It would not-- Geralt's childhood was filled with endless days of training, then Trials and death, then more endless days of training. Then he was a witcher, and he has been nothing else ever since. He would not wish that on his child surprise.)
Ciri will need more. And between himself and Yen and Jaskier, maybe they can do more than just prepare her for survival.
But putting all of that aside, Jaskier is asking him a difficult question. Geralt has not let himself want for things.
"I want you to be safe and content. I've wanted that for many winters, but you've... preferred Oxenfurt."
There's a slight hesitance at the end of that sentence; Geralt is starting to think that he may have been wrong in some of his assumptions about Jaskier's preferences.
no subject
He'd just turned them down. Following his muse, he'd said to all the lords and ladies that had wanted to keep him. If he wanted to, he could take a position as some king or lord's court bard and have those silk sheets and fine wines, live luxuriously and never have to eat squirrel roasted over a campfire ever again.
And yet, here he is.
Jaskier's hand grasps his chin, turning it towards him. Like he has so many times before, the bard is making a choice-- with, apparently, full knowledge of what he will have to give up. And as little as he wants to ask for help, Geralt knows that there are so many places where he lacks the proper knowledge to raise Cirilla, that she needs things that he doesn't know how to give her. He doesn't know what to do when she wakes crying in the night. He doesn't know how to raise a child. He can train a witcher, he can teach her how to use a sword and a crossbow and how to kill monsters. He can teach her the difference between a ghoul and an alghoul. If she was just another orphan brought to Kaer Morhen, maybe that would've been enough.
(It would not-- Geralt's childhood was filled with endless days of training, then Trials and death, then more endless days of training. Then he was a witcher, and he has been nothing else ever since. He would not wish that on his child surprise.)
Ciri will need more. And between himself and Yen and Jaskier, maybe they can do more than just prepare her for survival.
But putting all of that aside, Jaskier is asking him a difficult question. Geralt has not let himself want for things.
"I want you to be safe and content. I've wanted that for many winters, but you've... preferred Oxenfurt."
There's a slight hesitance at the end of that sentence; Geralt is starting to think that he may have been wrong in some of his assumptions about Jaskier's preferences.