"I did," he confirms. "It took me longer than it should've, but I went back for her."
And it was one of the best decisions that he'd made in his life. He and Yen were hardly perfect parents-- though, who is?-- but they had tried their best and Ciri had grown into a strong, confident, and intelligent woman. She's more dangerous than Geralt is, and he couldn't be more proud of her.
Jaskier answers his question, though, with an answer that he oughtn't be surprised of. Of course he'd gotten himself into trouble with someone's husband, what else could be expected of a version of Dandelion? Shameless philanderers, the lot of them. It's a universal constant-- if Dandelion exists, in whatever form, he must grope for trout in peculiar rivers.
"I should've guessed," he replies. "I'm surprised I haven't run into any of your bastards by now, there must be at least half a dozen of them from all of the pantries that you've hidden your sausage in. Or Dandelion's, I mean."
The Continent must be peppered with blue-eyed, musically talented and incurably mischievous children, all because of the spectacular reproductive success of one very horny bard. It's probably impressive, except that it so often gets Dandelion into hot water. His dalliances have become fewer and further between in recent years, though-- there could be many explanations for it, perhaps the most obvious being that he's a man of nearly fifty. Despite the fact that he's quite spry and limber for his age, he couldn't be jumping out of windows and outrunning angry fathers every other night.
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And it was one of the best decisions that he'd made in his life. He and Yen were hardly perfect parents-- though, who is?-- but they had tried their best and Ciri had grown into a strong, confident, and intelligent woman. She's more dangerous than Geralt is, and he couldn't be more proud of her.
Jaskier answers his question, though, with an answer that he oughtn't be surprised of. Of course he'd gotten himself into trouble with someone's husband, what else could be expected of a version of Dandelion? Shameless philanderers, the lot of them. It's a universal constant-- if Dandelion exists, in whatever form, he must grope for trout in peculiar rivers.
"I should've guessed," he replies. "I'm surprised I haven't run into any of your bastards by now, there must be at least half a dozen of them from all of the pantries that you've hidden your sausage in. Or Dandelion's, I mean."
The Continent must be peppered with blue-eyed, musically talented and incurably mischievous children, all because of the spectacular reproductive success of one very horny bard. It's probably impressive, except that it so often gets Dandelion into hot water. His dalliances have become fewer and further between in recent years, though-- there could be many explanations for it, perhaps the most obvious being that he's a man of nearly fifty. Despite the fact that he's quite spry and limber for his age, he couldn't be jumping out of windows and outrunning angry fathers every other night.
That's clearly the reason why.