[ Whatever had been the end of that sentence - justice, or revenge, or something similar - Maia is surprised, and a little touched, at what appears to be genuine concern from the other man. It was one thing, for his household and guards and subjects to be concerned over his safety as their ruler. This, though, can only be motivated by worry about Maia, rather than worry about Edrehasivar the Seventh. He answers, without delay: ]
An emperor is never truly safe, of course, but yes. He is dead.
[ Then Maia adds, informally and with a touch of humor in his voice (because the truth is, it's not funny at all to him, so it is easier to talk about flippantly): ]
He tried to stab me at my birthday party.
[ It had been a suicidal act, one of pure loathing and desperation. But Maia has had just about his fill, thinking and speaking about Eshevis Tethimar. Fortunately for him, Geralt seems willing to answer his questions, to speak about himself at length without needing to be prompted and questioned. Maia has always been more comfortable, listening rather than speaking. He does not interrupt (although really, Geralt doesn't look that old to him!), taking it all in and waiting until Geralt is finished to respond. It sounds like the sort of tale his mother would have told him, when he was young: stolen children and evil magic, cruel training and mysterious rites.
As Geralt speaks, Maia's excited fascination ebbs, gives way to an expression of quiet sadness. Not pity, not fear, but a kind of empathetic hurt. His life and the life of this man could not be more different. And yet Geralt speaks so clearly, so candidly of his fate, that Maia almost feels he can imagine it. He has always been sensitive to injustice, to suffering that is forced upon the weak and the defenseless. ]
We... do not blame you, for resenting such treatment. We did not realize you were not given a choice.
[ The more people he speaks to in this place, the more Maia is beginning to wonder if the same problems plague every world, regardless of other differences. Hypocrisy, gossip. Institutions which took people like this man, or people like Maia's own mother, chewed them up and spit them out - took away their chance of being anything different than what they had been shaped to be. ]
This... this tradition, of Witchers, and their training, are they... are the gods involved? Are these ancient laws held to be sacred?
[ The all too obvious caution with which Maia asks these questions somewhat hints at his reason for doing so. His disapproval is not exactly well concealed. But even if Geralt had sounded critical of some of those practices, there is, Maia knows, a wide gap between criticizing one's own culture, and hearing that criticism from an outsider. If, despite all complicated feelings, Geralt has some sort of spiritual investment in all of this, Maia will be politic enough to keep any criticisms and opinions to himself. ]
no subject
An emperor is never truly safe, of course, but yes. He is dead.
[ Then Maia adds, informally and with a touch of humor in his voice (because the truth is, it's not funny at all to him, so it is easier to talk about flippantly): ]
He tried to stab me at my birthday party.
[ It had been a suicidal act, one of pure loathing and desperation. But Maia has had just about his fill, thinking and speaking about Eshevis Tethimar. Fortunately for him, Geralt seems willing to answer his questions, to speak about himself at length without needing to be prompted and questioned. Maia has always been more comfortable, listening rather than speaking. He does not interrupt (although really, Geralt doesn't look that old to him!), taking it all in and waiting until Geralt is finished to respond. It sounds like the sort of tale his mother would have told him, when he was young: stolen children and evil magic, cruel training and mysterious rites.
As Geralt speaks, Maia's excited fascination ebbs, gives way to an expression of quiet sadness. Not pity, not fear, but a kind of empathetic hurt. His life and the life of this man could not be more different. And yet Geralt speaks so clearly, so candidly of his fate, that Maia almost feels he can imagine it. He has always been sensitive to injustice, to suffering that is forced upon the weak and the defenseless. ]
We... do not blame you, for resenting such treatment. We did not realize you were not given a choice.
[ The more people he speaks to in this place, the more Maia is beginning to wonder if the same problems plague every world, regardless of other differences. Hypocrisy, gossip. Institutions which took people like this man, or people like Maia's own mother, chewed them up and spit them out - took away their chance of being anything different than what they had been shaped to be. ]
This... this tradition, of Witchers, and their training, are they... are the gods involved? Are these ancient laws held to be sacred?
[ The all too obvious caution with which Maia asks these questions somewhat hints at his reason for doing so. His disapproval is not exactly well concealed. But even if Geralt had sounded critical of some of those practices, there is, Maia knows, a wide gap between criticizing one's own culture, and hearing that criticism from an outsider. If, despite all complicated feelings, Geralt has some sort of spiritual investment in all of this, Maia will be politic enough to keep any criticisms and opinions to himself. ]