"Hmmh," is Jaskier's first reply. Ironic, he knows. Learned from the best! But a wish that Geralt didn't truly want? He can't help thinking that only applies here, in this world. He still remembers Geralt's heartbroken face when Yennefer turned to leave - don't tell him he didn't truly want her. Never had Jaskier seen that expression on him before. And when he yelled at him, well...
And why would Dandelion believe me? Hard not to believe that it was a true wish after that question. If Jaskier could believe it so easily then...
He downs another glass of wine before crossing his arms on the table and resting his chin on it - he really needs to talk about this. Geralt tried to get him to upstairs, and he avoided it, which is weird - every heartbreak of his must be talked about, in his opinion. Yet this time he's been avoiding it - why? Because... he's scared, he's realizing now. He's scared of what he may discover about himself, of what this tells about his life, of the wasted two decades.
The wine is helping, that's for sure.
"I thought I did," he finally confesses with a sigh. "I thought I understood him. A man that has been through a lot, a man that society has treated that shit, a man that doesn't know how to relate to people and that's why he kept me at arm's length... I just had to read between the lines, I thought. Why should I have believed him when he said we weren't friends if he kept me around?"
I shaved him, he told New Geralt in the morning. He thought it had meant something, that it was a sign. And now? Well, he doesn't understand Old Geralt's behavior any better than his counterpart does.
"It wasn't always so bad, no. He taught me to start a fire and clean a rabbit, I washed his hair and tended his wounds. He saved me from cuckold husbands, I saved him from having to talk to people. I sang Toss a Coin five times an evening, he stayed until the end because he knew his presence helped. I asked for the stories behind his scars, he gave them to me, stingy with the details as he was - I wrote the best songs in his name in return. We shared chats by the fire and tiny beds and rationed food..."
There's a pause. He closes his eyes, his scent showing how sweet memories are quickly becoming something else. Sad, bittersweet.
"I got told we weren't friends and that my voice was fillingless pie... I tried to be understanding of his hard temperament because life shaped him that way." That sure is a way to describe his dramatics - once a bard, always a bard, spinning the facts even when confessing something sad and deep. "But not even I can read between the lines of if life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands."
His eyes are opened then, already getting teary at the memory. It's been echoing in his mind since he left the mountain, a little bit of heart falling off every time he replayed the scene in his head, trying to understand what happened, what went wrong. It can't even be blamed on Yennefer this time, like his ignored confession on the rock.
No, it's always been him.
"...I suppose befriending a witcher was too ambitious even for me." Big words for the guy that ran from home and started a new life from cero, spending twenty years being too stubborn to give up on his muse. But what else can he feel when said muse destroyed what he so strongly believed in?
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And why would Dandelion believe me? Hard not to believe that it was a true wish after that question. If Jaskier could believe it so easily then...
He downs another glass of wine before crossing his arms on the table and resting his chin on it - he really needs to talk about this. Geralt tried to get him to upstairs, and he avoided it, which is weird - every heartbreak of his must be talked about, in his opinion. Yet this time he's been avoiding it - why? Because... he's scared, he's realizing now. He's scared of what he may discover about himself, of what this tells about his life, of the wasted two decades.
The wine is helping, that's for sure.
"I thought I did," he finally confesses with a sigh. "I thought I understood him. A man that has been through a lot, a man that society has treated that shit, a man that doesn't know how to relate to people and that's why he kept me at arm's length... I just had to read between the lines, I thought. Why should I have believed him when he said we weren't friends if he kept me around?"
I shaved him, he told New Geralt in the morning. He thought it had meant something, that it was a sign. And now? Well, he doesn't understand Old Geralt's behavior any better than his counterpart does.
"It wasn't always so bad, no. He taught me to start a fire and clean a rabbit, I washed his hair and tended his wounds. He saved me from cuckold husbands, I saved him from having to talk to people. I sang Toss a Coin five times an evening, he stayed until the end because he knew his presence helped. I asked for the stories behind his scars, he gave them to me, stingy with the details as he was - I wrote the best songs in his name in return. We shared chats by the fire and tiny beds and rationed food..."
There's a pause. He closes his eyes, his scent showing how sweet memories are quickly becoming something else. Sad, bittersweet.
"I got told we weren't friends and that my voice was fillingless pie... I tried to be understanding of his hard temperament because life shaped him that way." That sure is a way to describe his dramatics - once a bard, always a bard, spinning the facts even when confessing something sad and deep. "But not even I can read between the lines of if life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands."
His eyes are opened then, already getting teary at the memory. It's been echoing in his mind since he left the mountain, a little bit of heart falling off every time he replayed the scene in his head, trying to understand what happened, what went wrong. It can't even be blamed on Yennefer this time, like his ignored confession on the rock.
No, it's always been him.
"...I suppose befriending a witcher was too ambitious even for me." Big words for the guy that ran from home and started a new life from cero, spending twenty years being too stubborn to give up on his muse. But what else can he feel when said muse destroyed what he so strongly believed in?