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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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[gynvael]

[ If it'd been against her will, his conversation with Vesemir would have been very different. But Ciri insisted upon it. Perhaps raised the idea in the first place. He knows Vesemir regrets his lapse in judgment.

He wonders if Vesemir ever saw Ciri grow into the woman she is now.

Geralt does not expand on what occurred at Kaer Morhen. A lot happened that winter. Too many losses. Too much pain. He does not wish to reflect on it at length. Between Yennefer, Ciri, the bloodshed—the present is a better place to focus.

He shakes his head. ] No. I'm glad you told me, Jaskier.

[ This is important to know. And he cannot avoid the facets of his past. It is embedded in the history of the Continent. Speaking of the Continent. His gaze returns to the bard. ]

And what of you? You said you were in the thick of battle in this memory. You escaped afterwards?

[ You were unharmed? ]

[cointosser]

[It is a shame, he thinks, that the first time Geralt has ever been glad about anything from him, it's this horrid bit of news. It may not lead to anything, but Jaskier would prefer -- albeit selfishly -- to not be the only person burdened with this.

It's... a lot. And he still cannot think what the shapeshifter's end goal will be.

To galvanize the elves? The bard is all for that, mistreated as they are. But to what end? When he thinks about what this could lead to, he must think truthfully: to what end? Will they be granted land, and people, and supplies by Nilfgaard? They seemed to believe it enough to want passage. Or perhaps it is only as important as having feet steeped in Xin'trean soil once again.

He takes a breath. The conversation moves on.] About half an inch from the end of a Temerian axe, before I was saved. [He picks up his drink once again, but doesn't drink.] The elves came for me. They broke up the camp. I suppose I was not very good at keeping secrets.

[They must have known he was the Sandpiper. Which is funny, in some ways. He still does not think that was enough reason to come for him.] I walked away with all limbs intact, albeit with one new fear added to the growing list I already have.

[gynvael]

[ Information is always valuable, whether it can be used in the moment or not. What the elves want, it may not be relevant to Abraxas. The Wild Hunt, though. The Wild Hunt is a threat that can cross realms. He does not know what will happen if they discover Ciri is here. If they sense her magic.

So far, the Singularity shields her. He's determined to keep it that way until a better solution can be found.

His expression softens. Jaskier is no stranger to conflict—but the Continent has not seen war of this scale in Jaskier's lifetime. Not until Nilfgaard marched on the north.

Still. He's relieved to hear Jaskier escape intact. ]

Well. It's not a fear you need worry about here for now.

[ There are a hundred questions unanswered. About the monoliths, the dwarves, the Wild Hunt. What could have caused mere elves to become corrupted into wraiths? If they are trapped in that world, how did they come to pursue Ciri? What allowed them to not only break free of their arid prison, but travel through worlds as she can?

And now that they know of the Singularity, what does this mean for all of them here?

He sighs to himself. Perhaps it may be worth approaching Istredd later. He wants to consider it first.

After a second, he claps Jaskier's on the shoulder. ] Get some rest.

[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.