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bomberqueen17 asked:
Geralt and Yennefer turned to face the causeway between the ponds, which were white and yellow with water lilies. Ciri hid behind a ruined wall and watched them through a crack. She had imagined that Dandelion, the famous poet whose work she had read countless times, was still asleep. But she was wrong. The poet Dandelion wasn’t asleep. And he caught her in the act.
‘Hey,’ he said, coming up unexpectedly and chuckling. ‘Is it polite to eavesdrop and spy on people? More discretion, little one. Let them be together for a while.’
Ciri blushed, but then immediately narrowed her lips.
‘First of all, I’m not your little one,’ she hissed haughtily. ‘And second of all, I’m not really disturbing them, am I?’
Dandelion grew a little serious.
‘I suppose not,’ he said. ‘It seems to me you might even be helping them.’
‘How? In what way?’
‘Don’t kid me. That was very cunning yesterday, but you didn’t fool me. You pretended to faint, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I did,’ she muttered, turning her face away. ‘Madam Yennefer realised but Geralt didn’t…’
‘They carried you into the house together. Their hands were touching. They sat by your bed almost until morning but they didn’t say a word to each other. They’ve only decided to talk now. There, on the causeway, by the pond. And you’ve decided to eavesdrop on what they’re saying…And watch them through a hole in the wall. Are you so desperate to know what they’re doing there?’
‘They aren’t doing anything there,’ said Ciri, blushing slightly. ‘They’re talking a little, that’s all.’
‘And you,’ said Dandelion, sitting down on the grass under an apple tree and leaning back against the trunk, having first checked whether there were any ants or caterpillars on it. ‘You’d like to know what they’re talking about, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes…No! And anyway…Anyway, I can’t hear anything. They’re too far away.’
‘I’ll tell you,’ laughed the bard. ‘If you want.’
‘And how are you supposed to know?’
‘Ha, ha. I, my dear Ciri, am a poet. Poets know everything about things like this. I’ll tell you something else; poets know more about this sort of thing than the people involved do.’
‘Of course you do!’
‘I give you my word. The word of a poet.’
‘Really? Well then…Tell me what they’re talking about? Tell me what it all means!’
‘Look through that hole again and tell me what they’re doing.’
‘Hmm…’ Ciri bit her lower lip, then leaned over and put her eye closer to the hole. ‘Madam Yennefer is standing by a willow…She’s plucking leaves and playing with her star. She isn’t saying anything and isn’t even looking at Geralt…And Geralt’s standing beside her. He’s looking down and he’s saying something. No, he isn’t. Oh, he’s pulling a face…What a strange expression…’
‘Childishly simple,’ said Dandelion, finding an apple in the grass, wiping it on his trousers and examining it critically. ‘He’s asking her to forgive him for his various foolish words and deeds. He’s apologising to her for his impatience, for his lack of faith and hope, for his obstinacy, doggedness. For his sulking and posing; which are unworthy of a man. He’s apologising to her for things he didn’t understand and for things he hadn’t wanted to understand—’
‘That’s the falsest lie!’ said Ciri, straightening up and tossing the fringe away from her forehead with a sudden movement. ‘You’re making it all up!’
‘He’s apologising for things he’s only now understood,’ said Dandelion, staring at the sky, and he began to speak with the rhythm of a balladeer. ‘For what he’d like to understand, but is afraid he won’t have time for…And for what he will never understand. He’s apologising and asking for forgiveness…Hmm, hmm…Meaning, conscience, destiny? Everything’s so bloody banal…’
‘That’s not true!’ Ciri stamped. ‘Geralt isn’t saying anything like that! He’s not even speaking. I saw for myself. He’s standing with her and saying nothing…’
‘That’s the role of poetry, Ciri. To say what others cannot utter.’
‘It’s a stupid role. And you’re making everything up!’
‘That is also the role of poetry. Hey, I hear some raised voices coming from the pond. Have a quick look, and see what’s happening there.’
‘Geralt,’ said Ciri, putting her eye once more to the hole in the wall, ‘is standing with his head bowed. And Yennefer’s yelling at him. She’s screaming and waving her arms. Oh dear…What can it mean?’
‘It’s childishly simple.’ Dandelion stared at the clouds scudding across the sky. ‘Now she’s saying sorry to him.’
A Time of Contempt, Andzrej Sapkowski
gethporno:
Because
bomberqueen17 asked:Geralt and Yennefer turned to face the causeway between the ponds, which were white and yellow with water lilies. Ciri hid behind a ruined wall and watched them through a crack. She had imagined that Dandelion, the famous poet whose work she had read countless times, was still asleep. But she was wrong. The poet Dandelion wasn’t asleep. And he caught her in the act.
‘Hey,’ he said, coming up unexpectedly and chuckling. ‘Is it polite to eavesdrop and spy on people? More discretion, little one. Let them be together for a while.’
Ciri blushed, but then immediately narrowed her lips.
‘First of all, I’m not your little one,’ she hissed haughtily. ‘And second of all, I’m not really disturbing them, am I?’
Dandelion grew a little serious.
‘I suppose not,’ he said. ‘It seems to me you might even be helping them.’
‘How? In what way?’
‘Don’t kid me. That was very cunning yesterday, but you didn’t fool me. You pretended to faint, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I did,’ she muttered, turning her face away. ‘Madam Yennefer realised but Geralt didn’t…’
‘They carried you into the house together. Their hands were touching. They sat by your bed almost until morning but they didn’t say a word to each other. They’ve only decided to talk now. There, on the causeway, by the pond. And you’ve decided to eavesdrop on what they’re saying…And watch them through a hole in the wall. Are you so desperate to know what they’re doing there?’
‘They aren’t doing anything there,’ said Ciri, blushing slightly. ‘They’re talking a little, that’s all.’
‘And you,’ said Dandelion, sitting down on the grass under an apple tree and leaning back against the trunk, having first checked whether there were any ants or caterpillars on it. ‘You’d like to know what they’re talking about, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes…No! And anyway…Anyway, I can’t hear anything. They’re too far away.’
‘I’ll tell you,’ laughed the bard. ‘If you want.’
‘And how are you supposed to know?’
‘Ha, ha. I, my dear Ciri, am a poet. Poets know everything about things like this. I’ll tell you something else; poets know more about this sort of thing than the people involved do.’
‘Of course you do!’
‘I give you my word. The word of a poet.’
‘Really? Well then…Tell me what they’re talking about? Tell me what it all means!’
‘Look through that hole again and tell me what they’re doing.’
‘Hmm…’ Ciri bit her lower lip, then leaned over and put her eye closer to the hole. ‘Madam Yennefer is standing by a willow…She’s plucking leaves and playing with her star. She isn’t saying anything and isn’t even looking at Geralt…And Geralt’s standing beside her. He’s looking down and he’s saying something. No, he isn’t. Oh, he’s pulling a face…What a strange expression…’
‘Childishly simple,’ said Dandelion, finding an apple in the grass, wiping it on his trousers and examining it critically. ‘He’s asking her to forgive him for his various foolish words and deeds. He’s apologising to her for his impatience, for his lack of faith and hope, for his obstinacy, doggedness. For his sulking and posing; which are unworthy of a man. He’s apologising to her for things he didn’t understand and for things he hadn’t wanted to understand—’
‘That’s the falsest lie!’ said Ciri, straightening up and tossing the fringe away from her forehead with a sudden movement. ‘You’re making it all up!’
‘He’s apologising for things he’s only now understood,’ said Dandelion, staring at the sky, and he began to speak with the rhythm of a balladeer. ‘For what he’d like to understand, but is afraid he won’t have time for…And for what he will never understand. He’s apologising and asking for forgiveness…Hmm, hmm…Meaning, conscience, destiny? Everything’s so bloody banal…’
‘That’s not true!’ Ciri stamped. ‘Geralt isn’t saying anything like that! He’s not even speaking. I saw for myself. He’s standing with her and saying nothing…’
‘That’s the role of poetry, Ciri. To say what others cannot utter.’
‘It’s a stupid role. And you’re making everything up!’
‘That is also the role of poetry. Hey, I hear some raised voices coming from the pond. Have a quick look, and see what’s happening there.’
‘Geralt,’ said Ciri, putting her eye once more to the hole in the wall, ‘is standing with his head bowed. And Yennefer’s yelling at him. She’s screaming and waving her arms. Oh dear…What can it mean?’
‘It’s childishly simple.’ Dandelion stared at the clouds scudding across the sky. ‘Now she’s saying sorry to him.’
A Time of Contempt, Andzrej Sapkowski
