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It had been several hard months since Geralt had seen Jaskier. He had been in towns recently where other bards performed his songs, but no sign of the Bard himself. Geralt thought about giving it another week or so then trying to contact Yennefer to see if she could track him down. Just to be sure he was safe.
The Witcher was telling Roach about his plan when his peace and quiet was destroyed by a shout of “GERALT!” Jaskier came bounding around a bend in the road, wearing an absolutely ridiculous royal purple outfit, carrying his lute on one arm and surprisingly, a pack on the other. “Fancy meeting you here, friend! Where are you headed?”
The Witcher grunted and moved Roach over slightly on the road and slowed her down enough to let the bard catch up and immediately started into a story of his most recent heart break. A lovely countess who showered him in affection and generously paid for some new outfits, before throwing him out on his back side when her husband returned from a visiting town. “And she never mentioned a husband! How was I to know?” Geralt said nothing, but felt tension he didn’t realize he was holding melt out of his shoulders. He fell into a lull of sound and let Roach lead them into the town.
At the inn, they fell into their old habits of deciding to share a room to get a bath included. Jaskier was excited to try out some of his new songs in the tavern, and Geralt sat in the back, brooding attractively. The bard only drew attention to him when he began his series of Witcher songs, coming over to sit on Geralt’s knee. The White Wolf rolled his eyes and made a small show of pushing the bard off his leg, while using his other hand to make sure that Jaskier didn’t actually fall, or lose his place in his song. The crowd’s loud cheers and coins filling the bard’s lute case showed their appreciation, and Jaskier took a bow and then gestured to Geralt. He was surprised when the room clapped for him too. Witchers can’t blush, but he certainly felt warmer.
Jaskier ordered both of them a hearty dinner and shrugged off his adoring fans to talk merrily to Geralt, asking questions and taking his grunts as full responses. Dinner done lead to a hot bath they shared and then to bed. When did having Jaskier’s weight next to him become something to miss? As if the bard could sense his thoughts, he rolled over and put his head on Geralt’s shoulder and threw an arm over Geralt’s chest. The Witcher meant to push Jaskier off, but instead found himself pulling Jaskier closer and closing his eyes.
In the morning, a runner approached them at breakfast and asked Geralt to come to the Mayor’s house for a job. The man described people going missing near the swamp at the north end of town, and Geralt headed back to the tavern.
“But I need to go with you! How will I get my stories for my new songs?”
“I’ll just tell you about it when I get back,” Geralt replied, flatly.
“No you won’t! You said that last time, and then your story was, ‘I stabbed it and it died.’ NO ONE CAN MAKE A SONG OUT OF THAT, WOLF!”
“Jaskier, they’re drowners. There are probably more than one of them. What if one sneaks up behind you and I can’t get there in time? I can’t have you injured or killed because you wanted to watch me work. I’m sorry, you’ve got to stay.”
Jaskier made a show of fussing around, but Geralt knew he would stay put. On his way out, the bard came over and hugged him, whispering, “don’t get hurt, we just found each other again.”
“Hmm.”
“I know that means that you’ll be fine and you want to come back to me, but I mean it.” Geralt smiled into Jaskier’s hair and left for the swamp.
There was more than one drowner. A vicious pack that took hours to kill. Geralt was injured and exhausted as he whistled for Roach to come pick him up. She whinnied in his direction, clear disgust on her face. “I know girl, but if you get me home- back to Jaskier he’ll clean me up. Come on, help me.”
Jaskier, decked out in a deep emerald green, was already charming the patrons of the tavern when Geralt stumbled in, drenched, sluggishly bleeding, and barely standing. “Oh Valley of - GERALT! Oh, good patrons, I’m sorry, but this night’s song will have to end early! I have a Witcher to care for! Thank you all for understanding and we’ll see you tomorrow!” The bard hopped off the table he had been standing on, swung his lute behind his back, skipped over to Geralt, put an arm around him and deftly helped him up the stairs. He called for a large bath to be drawn, and went to his own bag to get out herbs for it. While the maids were bringing in the water, Jaskier quickly rid Geralt of his armor, grabbed the Witcher’s bag, and began to go through it to find the right mixtures of potions and salves. Geralt had forgotten how much he taught Jaskier in the last few years, ‘you were showing him how to care for you because you wanted him to care for you.’ He thought to himself as he watched.
“Geralt, you’re running low on potions. We’ll have to find an apothecary tomorrow to reup your supplies. All right now, go on and get in the bath and I’ll get you cleaned right up. Geralt stripped out of the rest of his clothing off and slipped into the warm water with a sigh. Jaskier took off his doublet and his beautiful pants, leaving him in his small clothes to properly bathe Geralt. His hands, firm but gentle on the Witcher’s muscles, soothing and caressing while checking for more wounds. He coaxed Geralt into moving forward in the bath so he could tilt his head back, using his hands to rinse out long white hair, fingers smoothly unknotting the strands as he went. Geralt made a low rumble in the back of his throat. “Purring for me, Wolf? You must be worn out. Want to tell me about your heroics now, or tomorrow?” Jaskier quietly inquired.
“Hmmm. Tomorrow. Too tired now. This is… nice, Jaskier.”
Jaskier hummed ‘Toss a Coin to Your Witcher’ until Geralt growled. With a laugh, the bard rinsed out his hair once more, then had the Witcher sit up and handed him a cloth and soap to clean himself. While Geralt finished in the bath, Jaskier changed into his night clothes then gestured to the chair in the room for Geralt to sit in, gently drying his hair and pulling it back into a braid going down his back. While he was drying, Jaskier filled Geralt in on all the town gossip he had learned by spending his day in the pub. Finally dry and relaxed, Jaskier applied the last bits of salve to Geralt’s wounds and they went to bed.
The bard gave Geralt room on the bed, pushing the the far side of the bed. “I don’t want to bother any of your injuries, I’m okay over here.”
“Well I’m not,” Geralt grunted, pulling at Jaskier. He winced a little and Jaskier scolded, “Geralt! I told you. Here, if you insist…” He manhandled (as much as a human can manhandle a Witcher) Geralt into turning onto his side, facing the door, with Jaskier behind him. The Bard scooted up behind the Witcher and gently wrapped his arm around his middle, tucking his face into Geralt’s shoulder blade. Geralt could feel Jaskier’s breath on his back.
He couldn’t remember a time in his life where he felt so… safe. This was ridiculous, he thought to himself. Jaskier couldn’t protect him, and yet, that was the only word that he could muster for his feelings. Witchers don’t feel. They don’t have emotions, because emotions lead to connections to people who could be used against them, right? Isn’t that what he was taught? But Jaskier… it was too late. Just the idea of him being hurt was enough to make Geralt start to slightly shake, waking Jaskier up.
“Hey, Wolf, are you okay? Is it one of your wounds?” He started to get up, but Geralt held his arm against his chest, preventing him from moving very far. “No, I’m fine.”
“Well if you insist, but you can talk to me if it’s something else, you know that right?”
“Hmm.”
The next morning, Geralt woke in the same position, with Jaskier spooned up behind him. Again, he was struck with the strangest feeling of safety. He felt warm, but also, happy. When was the last time he had felt happy? He couldn’t remember. Deep in his thoughts, he didn’t realize that Jaskier had woken up until his arm tightened around his chest and he spoke into Geralt’s shoulder, “Morning Wolf. What are you thinking about so loudly?”
“I don’t know,” He grumbled.
“Geralt, I don’t know why you won’t just talk to me. We’re friends. I just want to help.”
Geralt lifted Jaskier’s arm so he could roll over so they were laying face to face. Jaskier pillowed his hands under his cheek and gave him his full attention Geralt couldn’t hold his eye. “Lark, listen to me, I don’t know how to tell you about what I’m thinking about.”
Jaskier brought out his hand and slowly rubbed up and down Geralt’s arm. “Oh, well, is it good or bad?”
“I don’t know. It seems bad, but it doesn’t feel bad.”
“All right. Why would it be bad?” Jaskier prodded.
“I’m a Witcher. There are things we don’t do. We don’t feel, we don’t get involved in human affairs, we don’t have emotions because they’re dangerous. We need to be in control all the time.”
Jaskier blinked, then made a face. “I know that’s what you were told, but Geralt, you have to know that you do feel. You forget that I’ve known you for years. I can read your body language like a book. I see when you don’t think a child is being treated well. I notice that you sometimes “forget” and leave some of your coin if the family paying you seems poor. You hide your emotions, but you feel so deeply, sometimes you take my breath away. Why would that be bad?”
Geralt felt hot all over. “I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you. I’m afraid that I’ll lose you.”
Cornflower blue eyes raised to meet honey gold ones. “This is about me? Geralt, nothing bad could happen to me. You will always protect me, and I’ll always protect you. Or I’ll try to. Or if I can’t, I’ll take care of you afterwards. I promise.” He moved his hand on Geralt’s arm to over his heart, feeling the slow, steady beat. “When you see me, do you feel worried?”
Geralt covered Jaskier’s hand with his own, interlocking their fingers. He looked down at them, “No, little Lark, I feel happy. I want to keep you close and protect you. I want you to help me make my potions and eat meals with me and sleep next to me. What would you call that?”
A small sob broke the silence and Geralt’s head snapped up to see huge tears falling from Jaskier’s eyes. On instinct he pulled Jaskier to his chests and held him. “I’m sorry little Lark.”
“You’re sorry?! Geralt you just told me you love me! Don’t apologize! You love me! I’ve loved you for years! YEARS, Wolf!” There were still tears, but now there was also a smile.
Geralt moved his hand up to cup Jaskier’s cheek. “Lark, can I kiss you?”
“Gods, yes, Wolf. I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for this moment! Kissing my Witcher! Geralt, why aren’t you kissing me right now?”
“Bard, you have to stop talking,” Geralt replied, then slowly leaned in, bringing their lips together in the most tender of kisses. Jaskier melted into him, twining his arms around Geralt’s neck, pulling himself closer. Once the kiss broke, Jaskier looked up at the Witcher, “I”ll never talk again if you keep kissing me like that.”
“Promises, promises, Lark,” Geralt smiled.
“Hey! What are you implying?! I’ll have you know I’m a delight and people are lucky to have me around. Word is, a Witcher fell in love with me, and that takes charm,” Jaskier huffed, but returned the smile.
‘Love,’ Geralt thought. Who would have thought?