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[gynvael]

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Geralt is always reachable by the network. Unless it's an emergency, expect not to hear back for a few hours, if not a few days.

To talk to him in person, you'll need to be in Cadens or go to his domain, a snowy mountain fortress. Yard is open; doors are locked. If he isn't around, leave a delivery with the white wolf.

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[cointosser]

What? Dying? Are you joking?

[If anything, he would say this place sometimes has worse than the Continent, if he has anything to say about the old gods. Maybe the Singularity is a friend, maybe it isn't. However, Jaskier likes to think Hilda is a friend now, so at least he has one axe on his side.

He rubs his hands over his face. Geralt doesn't seem to have any questions, at least for the moment; perhaps that's enough. Either that, or he's masterfully overwhelmed the Witcher.

And himself.]

Wait.

[Jaskier stands, pulling Geralt in against him -- or at least himself against Geralt, gripping him tightly. There is no need to apologize because nothing was his fault, but he feels an urge to, anyway. That Geralt should have so much more dumped upon him by Destiny.]

Whatever your fears, too. You know I'll bear them. Whatever may come.

[gynvael]

[ He meant specifically dying at the hands the north while defending the elves as the Sandpiper, but Geralt decides not to clarify. It seems ill-advised to confirm that he agrees they are all as likely to die here as on the Continent, under the circumstances.

He needs time to consider. Process what he's learned. Consider who he would like to talk to next about it. For now, he wants to sleep on it. Jaskier could use some rest before he piles on another set of questions, anyhow.

As he begins to walk away, Jaskier catches his arm. Geralt turns around and allows himself to be tugged into an embrace. After a second, he lifts his hand and hugs his friend back. He has got fears. One, in particular. Losing all that he cares about. ]

I know.