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The first time Geralt heard and recognized the sweet, lovely cadence coming from the inn; he thought of turning back around. He would have, he’d rather spend the night in his bedroll on the floor next to a fire than getting inside the tavern. But he had a person in his charge now. He looked to his right, where Cirilla was watching the door with curiosity, sensing his hesitation.
“Aren’t we coming in?” she asked with a small voice, looking up at him.
“Hmm” Geralt grunted as a response, before opening the door and allowing her to come through.
The noise and smell that filled Geralt’s nostrils at opening the door and entering the inn where almost overwhelming, like every time he went into a place like this: the smell of ale, the foul stench of vomit and sweat, the thunderous noise of shouts and laughs and loud conversations… the voice of a bard singing, trying to stay on top of it all. The voice of this particular bard. It seemed that fate was trying to admonish him by throwing the bard into his life again, and he would’ve snorted in disbelief if he didn’t know that Jaskier was very real indeed. He felt a pang in his heart when he remembered the last words he’d said to him, but willed himself to ignore it.
Geralt sighed while he led Ciri towards the counter, noticing how she tried to hide her almost white hair inside her hood, attempting to conceal her high birth amongst commoners. One can never be too careful.
As he was walking amongst the clients he tried, he really tried, but he couldn’t help stealing a glance at the bard singing. Jaskier was in front of a crowd of patrons, seemingly distracted with his lute and his foot propped on a stool. It had been months since he’d last set eyes on the bard, and he couldn’t deny that deep inside, he was glad to see him alive and well. Geralt knew Jaskier had seen them enter, as the moment his gaze fell on him, the bard was staring and sending daggers through his eyes. He hadn’t forgotten, then.
Geralt averted his gaze and focused on the bartender at the counter, he needed a room to spend the night with Ciri, who was now eyeing the bard with great interest.
“Beer, water, and some bread and cheese” he almost barked to the bartender, who seemed between terrified and curious of the witcher “and we need a room for two.”
He disappeared to the backroom for a second, and when he returned, he was carrying what he’d ordered him; along with an old-looking key.
“Room 4, first door on your right” he whispered, nodding to the pair of them before disappearing again, taking orders from the rest of the patrons. Geralt sighed and passed the jug to Ciri, who drank avidly, while he took a sip from his own ale. They both took a piece of bread and shared the cheese, their stomachs thanking them for filling them with food after so long, particularly in Geralt’s case. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d eaten.
Jaskier had finished singing. Geralt noticed that the level of noise had reduced and he almost thanked the quietness of the conversations, now that the music had stopped. Almost.
“Well, well, well, look who’s come back… do you have a new pet now, Geralt?” Jaskier had navigated through the room full of people until he was standing behind the pair. Ciri looked at him for a second before casting his eyes down, and Geralt refused to turn around to face him.
“She’s not my pet” he answered, voice rougher than he intended, as he took a last sip of his ale “I’m protecting her”
“Why why, because you’re just so good at that job, aren’t you?” Jaskier tried to sound petulant and distant but there was a hint of hurt in his voice Geralt couldn’t ignore. He slowly turned around, careful to favour his right leg and avoid putting so much weight on the injured one, and looked at him.
“Good to see you too, Jaskier”
“Fuck off, Geralt” Jaskier said, his tone with more venom he’d ever thought the bard able to produce.
Geralt knew they needed to talk, and he also knew this was no place to have a private conversation.
“Look… Ciri needs some rest, let’s go to our room and talk, shall we?” it wasn’t for Geralt to ask for anyone’s opinions, or to suggest a course of action. He just did his own thing and expected people to follow his lead or leave him alone. But he really, really wanted to rest; and Ciri looked as if she could very well use a night on a bed too.
Jaskier looked at the girl, understanding now dawning on him. He’d never met but had heard the name of the Lion Cub of Cintra; and judging by the age of the girl, he realized this must be the Child of Surprise Geralt claimed all those years ago in Pavetta’s betrothal. He’d accepted destiny and his role as the child’s protector then, after spending years refusing to comply with it. Without further words he followed the pair towards the back of the inn, away from the loud noise and into the rooms.
Geralt went in first, leaving the door open for Ciri and Jaskier to come in. The room was almost bare, save from a cot next on the corner furthest from the door, and a slightly bigger bed, big enough to accommodate two people, in the centre of the room. A simple trunk on the foot of the bed completed the almost non-existent furniture.
“So… this is Cirilla, the Lion Cub of Cintra? Queen Calanthe’s granddaughter?” Jaskier asked, resting his back against the door with his arms crossed in front of his chest and eyeing Ciri from head to toe.
“Ciri” the girl simply answered “I’m just Ciri. I’m not even sure I can be called the Lion Cub anymore…”
“Of course you can. You’ll always be the Lion Cub of Cintra” Geralt answered, his voice with a soft tone that surprised Jaskier and even himself “lay down and try to sleep, Ciri. We’re away from the battle; the soldiers of Nilfgaard won’t be looking for you here”
Ciri nodded and claimed the cot in the furthest corner, shrugging her blue cape off and climbing under the covers. Geralt busied himself with taking his sword from his back and his armor off and leaving it neatly on the floor close to the bed. He then went to the washbasin and threw some water on his face and arms, trying to clean some of the dirt and blood. While he did this he ignored Jaskier, even though he could feel his gaze on his back the entire time. He was stalling, he knew, but now that he was in the same room with Jaskier he really didn’t know what to say or do.
When he turned around, Jaskier was silent, still resting his back against the door and curiously observing him. He was very still, which didn’t bode well for the witcher, as he knew that when Jaskier was still and silent it meant something was very wrong.
“You wanted to talk, so talk” Jaskier said in a stern tone.
If he didn’t know better, Geralt would’ve said the bard had spent too much time with him; his voice sounded angry and he almost barked the order, without expecting any other outcome but exactly what he’d said.
And yet, Geralt didn’t know what to say.
“Maybe… you should start by saying sorry?” Ciri prompted. Geralt looked at the girl lying on the bed, she was completely under the covers except for her face, and she was looking at them with curiosity. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, a clear sign she was trying to understand what was going on.
“Hmmm” Geralt said noncommittally, but all three occupants in the room knew it was all false pretense. He really had no clue where to begin.
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Ciri continued. She was slowly building up her confidence to trust again, to speak her mind again. Not long ago, she was a chatty, sometimes annoying girl; but so much had happened since then. Yet she felt she could trust Geralt. She didn’t know anything about the Law of Surprise but there was something in her heart, something that told her she and him were bound to each other, and that she could trust him “you did something that bothered the bard, and he hasn’t forgiven you. Maybe it will take time for him to forgive. But the first step is admitting you were wrong, and accepting it”
“Very observant” Jaskier smiled, and ignoring Geralt he crossed the room in a few steps and kneeled by the bed, in front of Ciri “Jaskier, at your service”
“Nice to meet you, Jaskier” Ciri said, a small smile adorning her beautiful features.
“So, now your destiny is bound to this brooding witcher?” Jaskier whispered, getting closer to her. He already knew it was true; of course, he was there to witness Geralt claiming the Law of Surprise. But he hadn’t known he had had the intention of actually claiming the child all along.
“Yes. It’s not that bad, really” Ciri answered in a whisper as well, not knowing that even though they were murmuring, Geralt could hear everything they were saying. Damn heightened senses.
“Isn’t it? Well, you’ll tell me in a few days. Or hours, perhaps. He really does try your patience” Jaskier said, and Ciri giggled. It was the first time Geralt heard her giggle, and he promised himself it wouldn’t be the last.
“Jaskier. Let the poor girl sleep” Geralt commanded with a rough voice. With a wink of his eye and a smile Jaskier stood up and turned around, his previous soft eyes turning into a fierce expression.
Geralt knew this was all his doing. He’d never seen Jaskier so mad, even when they argued – which was a lot – Jaskier always was the first to forgive him, always the first to apologize for the harsh words exchanged in their arguments. This time, though, he was giving the witcher a hard time, and he knew he deserved it.
His mind went back to Yennefer. On that day months ago he’d help save a baby dragon but he’d lost everyone else. He’d lost the two people he’d loved most in his life, and he’d had to learn to live with the consequences. Now he had the chance to at least get one of these people back, and he couldn’t mess this up.
Jaskier sighed, noticing how Geralt’s mind seemed to be far away from here. He looked down at his worn out boots, and started talking.
“Look, Geralt. I know you. We’ve been fr... we travelled together for years” neither of them failed to notice how Jaskier had been about to say the word friends but changed his mind at the last second “I know you spit words when you’re angry or frustrated, I know most of the times you don’t really mean what you say. But that doesn’t mean it hurts any less…”
Jaskier was still looking down while Geralt was observing him.
“You weren’t there, Geralt” Jaskier’s voice sounded upset, and Geralt hated himself all the more for it “you weren’t there on the nights filled with nightmares. You weren’t there on the days I woke up thinking I’d died, or worse, that you’d died. And you weren’t there in the nights I thought you would’ve been better off if I did…”
Geralt said nothing still, but Jaskier saw him grimace, as if the mere thought of him leaving this world was painful to him. He’d been with him for long enough now to be able to read his body language, he knew Geralt wanted to take all he said back. But he had to hear it for himself.
“I know what I’m like, Geralt, I’m not an idiot” Jaskier sighed “I know I can be annoying and tiresome, and I… I don’t know how to fight, I get scared easily. But… I thought I was fine. I thought we were fine” he made a gesture with his hands to signal the space between Geralt and himself.
“We are!” Geralt exclaimed; his tone harsher and his voice louder than intended. He saw Jaskier flinch at his tone and immediately took a step back, willing his shoulders to relax, and looked at the bard, softening his voice “we are, Jaskier”
“I don’t think we are anymore, Geralt. Too much has passed between us… I just… want to live in peace…”
Jaskier turned around and made for the door. Geralt didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t good with words, and he rarely opened up about his own feelings. Witchers had a reputation of not having emotions, reputation they generally never felt the need to refute; as it could come in handy in certain situations. But they felt. Geralt did feel, a great deal if the desperation and terror of seeing Jaskier turning his back on him, leaving him, was anything to go by.
He acted on instinct. He grabbed Jaskier by the wrist, keeping him in place, and in a split second he was right behind him. He passed his arms around the bard’s torso until his back collided with his chest, keeping him in place.
“What the fuck are you doing? Geralt, let me go, let the fuck go…!” Jaskier was struggling to break free, but all to no avail, as the witcher was ten times stronger. He tried to keep the struggling bard from hurting him or himself as he thrashed in his arms.
“Not until you listen to me”
“I don’t have to listen to you, you bastard! You… you pushed me away, you insulted me and blamed me for every fucking thing that happened to you. Well, guess what, Geralt, turns out you bring stuff on yourself! You lost Yennefer, and you lost me too!”
Geralt was trying to keep Jaskier from escaping and he was struggling a bit, but he noticed the way Ciri’s eyes on them when she heard Jaskier mentioning Yennefer. She wasn’t sleeping, then. Geralt made a signal with his head, telling her they’d talk about it later, and focused on making the thrashing bard calm down.
“Jaskier be still, for fuck’s sake” he huffed, panting under his breath. Under normal circumstances keeping him still wouldn’t be a problem, but he was bone-exhausted and still felt pain in his leg injury, so it wasn’t easy.
“Leave me alone!” the bard exclaimed, and then suddenly he went completely still. Geralt frowned at the sudden change, and opened his eyes wide at Jaskier’s pleading tone “leave me alone… please…”
“Jaskier…?” he inquired.
“I’ve… I’ve spent months trying to forget you, to forget we ever met…” Jaskier voice was full of anguish, thick with emotion, and despite not seeing his face, Geralt knew he was about to start crying “I couldn’t even make myself sing your songs, and… and now you come back here and… and ex-expect everything to go back to normal…”
“No, of course not” Geralt whispered, his tone softening and his voice growing deeper. He relaxed his death grip on the bard a little, and since Jaskier wasn’t moving, he allowed his hand to travel to Jaskier’s arm, going up and down in a gentle motion.
Jaskier’s breathing was becoming elaborate so Geralt took everything he’d buried in the deepest corner of his heart for decades, and simply let himself be guided by it. He started humming and shushing to his ear, knowing Jaskier would notice the rumble reverberating in his chest. Very slowly he turned the bard around in his arms, not stopping shushing as he maneuvered him.
Now that Jaskier was facing him and they were mere inches away he could really see how deep he’d fallen. His clothes looked as if they’d been resewn several times, it seemed he was short on coin to buy new ones. He was thinner than Geralt remembered, and even his hair seemed to be thinning, despite only being a year since he’d last seen him. But the worst were his eyes, they had a sunken, hollow appearance. Jaskier had always been jovial and loud, and his eyes had always been an open door to his soul: Geralt could read every single one of his emotions in those orbs. And yet now… they seemed almost empty, except for all they carried was pain and agony. They were full of tears; the bard had tried to stop them but it was futile.
With no words, Geralt simply pulled Jaskier until his face collided with his chest, and strongly embraced the young man. He was as stiff as a board, completely tense against the witcher’s body, but Geralt went back to humming while his hands went up and down the bard’s back.
Slowly, painfully slowly, Jaskier’s defenses started to crumble and soon he was openly sobbing against Geralt’s chest.
“Shhh it’s all right, I’m back… I’m right here…” Geralt kept mumbling, over and over.
“No, it’s not… it’s not fair…!” Jaskier exclaimed, sobbing and starting to move against Geralt “you’ll just leave me again to fend for myself, or you’ll just screw up again and then lash out at me, because I’m the only fucking person that puts up with you except for Roach…!”
Jaskier tried to disentangle himself from Geralt, but the witcher quickly tightened his hold on him again, not very strongly but just enough to stop him from moving away.
Geralt tried to think of a way to make Jaskier understand, and Ciri’s words resonated in his head. She was right, he’d fucked it up and it was on him to make things go back to the way they were.
“Jaskier, please listen” Geralt whispered, his voice hoarse as he took Jaskier’s chin and made him look at him in the eyes “I… I didn’t mean everything I said, and I hope you’ll have it in you to forgive me one day…”
The bard stopped thrashing for a second, which allowed Geralt to adjust his grip. He wasn’t ready to let him go yet.
“You… you said…”
“I know what I said” Geralt interrupted “and… I’m not good at apologies. I only know I regretted what I said as soon as I left that damned place and was able to think straight. I was hurt and angry, and had just lost someone I deeply cared about… and I lashed out at you.”
“You’ve… you’ve been saying mean things to me ever since we met” Jaskier sobbed through his tears “you… you said my singing was like ordering a pie with n-no filling…”
Geralt had the decency of huffing apologetically.
“You know as well as I do that that’s not true” Geralt offered, one hand travelling to the bard’s face and touching his wet cheek with the tip of his fingers in what he intended as a sweet gesture “for what it’s worth, I don’t think that about your singing. I just hadn’t slept in days and was short on temper”
“You’re always short on temper” Jaskier answered, his voice still strained but sounding a bit lighter and with no real malice.
Geralt allowed himself to sigh, believing for the first time since the conversation had started that perhaps, only perhaps, he could make this right. They stood there in each other’s arms for a while, Jaskier hiding his face against Geralt’s chest while the witcher went back to humming and held him, gently rocking them from side to side, which helped Jaskier calm down, until he felt a bit like himself again.
Suddenly, Jaskier removed his face from his hiding place and looked up to stare at Geralt’s amber-coloured eyes, now seemingly darker in the room lit only by the fireplace.
“I’m going to ask you a question Geralt, and I want you to answer honestly” Jaskier warned. Geralt could only nod “do you want me to leave?”
“No” Geralt answered quickly, he didn’t even have to think about it. However, he then took a deep breath and looked, really looked into Jaskier’s eyes, attempting to convey what he wasn’t good at saying out loud “I want you here, Jask. I really do.”
Jaskier would only admit this to himself, never out loud, but he could swear he swooned every time Geralt called him by his nickname. He knew that was his own undoing, and the witcher knew it well too.
“You idiot” Jaskier whispered as he punched Geralt’s chest playfully and he huffed, before going back to his previous position against his chest.
“I’ve been called worse” Geralt joked, which prompted a soft giggle from Jaskier.
Geralt rested his face against the bard’s hair, breathing in, inhaling his scent of fresh herbs and wood, allowing his nostrils to be filled up with it. He’d missed that scent just as much as he’d missed the scent of lilac and gooseberries from Yennefer. Both scents transported him to a place of peace, regardless of the monsters he had to face that day; those scents always brought him strength. He rubbed his face against Jaskier’s hair, trying to impregnate himself with the scent. He felt his throat constrict and didn’t know what was happening until he felt something wet coming from his eyes, something he tried to hide against the bard’s head.
“I missed you” Geralt almost choked, his voice so rough and low Jaskier would’ve thought he’d imagined it. But he hadn’t. He could feel Geralt’s strong arms surrounding him, his hands desperately grabbing his clothes as if telling himself he wasn’t leaving. He could feel him smelling the scent on his hair; he could feel how his body was sinuously moving against his, as if he didn’t want any part of his body to be parted from him.
Jaskier knew what was happening, he’d been expecting it to be honest: he’d noticed how he was limping and had noticed the dirt and exhaustion in his face. Geralt had been under extreme physical conditions, added to the fact that now he had a child in his charge and had to decide what to do with her. All of that had finally taken a toll on his emotions, however deep inside him they were kept.
He embraced Geralt further, trying to infuse him with calm and safety. Neither of them knew how it had happened, but the longer they’d travelled together, the more they started to feel that whenever the other one was, it meant safety. Regardless of the monsters surrounding them, as long as they were with each other, they were safe. Jaskier knew this, and tried to show Geralt how that still held truth.
“I’m not going anywhere, broody old man” Jaskier mildly joked, but both knew he wasn’t joking. He’d be there for as long as Geralt wanted him to be.
And if Geralt woke up in the middle of the night in the bed with Jaskier’s body tangled against his own, marveling at the sight of the bard sleeping soundly next to him and getting impossibly closer to him, no one would know. And if Geralt smiled a true, genuine smile when seeing the bard, realizing he was his to have and to hold, after thinking he’d lost him forever, no one would know. And if Geralt held him a bit more fiercely, and if he hid his face against Jaskier’s neck and hair, whispering endearments and his name again and again in desperation and relief, well. No one would know.
Ciri smiled from her cot and went back to sleep, the image of his newly adopted protector and the strange bard cuddling together in bed still in her mind. No, no one would ever know. Except her.