Chapter Text
Witchers aren’t affectionate. Why would they be? They are raised with swords and pain, not hugs and love. Witchers don’t like animals. Why should they? Their horses are for practical use and all other animals are only good for food.
Geralt is different though, Jaskier has observed. First off, Roach, and all of the previous Roaches clearly hold a special place in Geralt’s heart. Jaskier wouldn’t dare vocalize that though unless he was hoping for a punch in the gut so Geralt can prove how unaffectionate he really is.
But see, that’s the thing. The thing is, Witchers aren’t supposed to be affectionate. However Geralt, in his own particular way, undoubtedly is. Unfortunately, the Witcher is truly inept when it comes to handling affection and processing emotion. All of this is to say that Jaskier could have predicted this. “This” being Geralt standing helplessly as he holds the cat currently purring in his arms.
The cat showed up at the tavern Jaskier had been playing at and Geralt, being the secretly affectionate man that he is, had slipped it some scraps. When it proceeded to climb onto Geralt’s lap he froze in shock and then, after furtively looking around the tavern to see if anyone was watching, Geralt began softly petting it with a finger.
Of course, when Geralt did his survey of the tavern he didn’t cast his sight toward Jaskier so the bard delightedly observed the entire interaction. By the time he finished singing and sauntered over to Geralt, the cat was curled up with its eyes closed, purring under Geralt’s ministrations.
“Who’s your friend there Geralt?” Jaskier asked with unrestrained glee. At his approach Geralt froze and scowled, quickly setting aside the cat and standing up.
“Let’s go bard,” Geralt growled, ignoring the angry yowl in his wake.
Despite its mistreatment, the cat proceeded to follow Geralt and Jaskier out of the tavern and into the inn, slipping past the innkeeper and up to the room with the two travelling companions. Once they entered, the cat promptly climbed up Geralt and into his arms.
So now here they are, Geralt standing like a deer facing a wolf and Jaskier in a fit of laughter on the bed. After several moments of joyous chortling, Jaskier calms down enough to look back at Geralt, only to start breaking into giggling again at the sight.
Who knew all it took was a tiny cat to bring a Witcher to his knees? “Geralt, I know this is foreign to you but I believe it wants you to pet it,” Jaskier remarks with a fond smile, finally calmed down enough to speak.
“Hmm,” Geralt frowns, slowly walking to sit on the bed as he cradles the cat like it’s something precious. Watching the Witcher softly pet the cat as though it would break under his fingers, Jaskier finds his chest grow tight. The dichotomy between the great looming Witcher in all black leather and the tiny gray kitten currently lying in his arms was already too much. Factor in Geralt’s soft expression and quiet words as he caresses the animal and Jaskier would dare anyone to try not falling just a bit in love.
Of course, Jaskier is much more than just a bit in love with the Witcher, but it’s tender moments like this that reinforces the all-consuming want he feels in his heart. Geralt deserves soft things. And not for the first time, Jaskier wonders what would happen if he shows Geralt how soft he personally can be. Shaking off the thought, Jaskier contents himself with witnessing this rare peaceful moment, composing in his head as he is unwilling to look away long enough to write down the ballad forming in his mind.
If you could see what’s before my eyes
The growl and snarl is just a disguise
You would see a soft dear heart
That has been too often torn apart
Of course, Geralt refuses to keep the cat. “I already have one helpless thing to look after,” he grunts when Jaskier asks the next day. Jaskier is too much of a coward to show how self-sufficient he truly is. But watching Geralt’s hunched back as he walks away from the cat meowing forlornly in his wake...Jaskier hates himself just a bit.
***
Yet not as much as Geralt pretends to hate him, Jaskier concludes as he drifts down the mountain months later, Geralt’s shouts echoing in his mind. He’s spent enough time with the Witcher to know that his words came from a place of pain and confusion, so unused to feeling that he resorts to the solace that anger provides. And who better to direct that anger towards than a willing scapegoat who hands his heart on a platter for the Witcher daily?
So he’ll give Geralt space and they can both lick their wounds. Because even if Jaskier is certain Geralt doesn't truly believe what he says, in the end he did vocalize it and the words stung like a dozen bees. And just like being stung, he'll heal, it’ll just be uncomfortable and a bit miserable for some time. At a loss of what to do next, Jaskier follows his instincts.
After Jaskier knocks on a cottage door in a cozy village on the coast, a severe looking woman with chestnut hair in a bun opens the door, mouth pinched in a frown. As she sets her eyes on Jaskier though her expression melts into one of joy.
“Julian!” she exclaims, crushing the bard into a hug. “It is so good to see you my boy! Come, come.”
Pulling the bard in, Jaskier can only stumble through the entryway wearing a sappy grin as he goes. “Marya,” Jaskier sighs. “I have missed you.”
After tugging the bard into another hug, Marya searches Jaskier’s face before crooning, “What weighs on you my pup?”
At the question Jaskier sags. He should have known he couldn’t get anything past the old crone. Marya practically raised Jaskier; she was certainly more of a mother than his birth parent was. She has been his confidant, teacher, friend, and warm embrace when he has had none. Marya was the one who encouraged Jaskier to pursue his passion of music when everyone else thought him a fool. She has been the one constant in his life, the one person he hasn’t had to buy with a smile or song or coin. Well, the one person other than Geralt. But that wound was still too fresh.
Bustling about, Marya puts some tea to boil as she waits for Jaskier to collect his thoughts, ushering the bard into a chair. Allowing himself to be moved like a puppet, knowing the look he’ll get if he doesn’t, Jaskier relaxes with a soft smile as he watches Marya ready some tea and biscuits.
Finally, she settles across from Jaskier, placing a cup of tea and two biscuits before him. “Eat. Drink. And tell me what ails you child,” she commands with a gentle squeeze of his hand.
Breathing in the tea, Jaskier smiles and closes his eyes. It transports Jaskier to days and nights spent curled by her side before a fire, listening to her weave tales as she gently stroked his hair. Blinking open his eyes, he looks at the kind, wise eyes gazing back at him patiently. Blowing out a sigh Jaskier steals himself and begins telling the story of the Witcher in Posada.
By the time Jaskier finishes his tale, the moon is high in the sky and the duo had gravitated from the table to the small fire burning in the corner. Resting by her feet as Marya rocks in her chair and runs her fingers through his hair, Jaskier feels lighter than he has in ages. Between finally unloading his hidden infatuation with his travel companion and being in the presence of the most important person in his life, Jaskier could purr with contentment.
Silence falls on the pair as the fire crackles beside them. Finally, Marya speaks. “Sounds like you’ve met quite the man Julian.”
“Hmm,” Jaskier responds, leaning his head back into her hand and closing his eyes.
Chuckling softly Marya tugs teasingly at his hair. “And it sounds like you’ve turned into quite a strong wolf.”
Huffing out a laugh Jaskier replies, “He’s more wolf than I.” Turning to look at Marya he adds quietly, “I’ve never told him.”
Widening her eyes in shock Marya leans closer to the bard. “Whyever not child? If anyone were to understand, would it not be he?”
Resting his head in his surrogate mother’s lap Jaskier moans, “He’s a monster hunter Marya! Why do you think?”
Sturdy hands that speak of years of labor firmly lift up his head. Stern eyes pierce into his own mournful ones. “Julian Alfred Pankratz,” she says severely. “You are not a monster. And from what you’ve told me of this Witcher fellow, he wouldn’t see you as one either.” Eyes sparkling with mischief she adds, “In fact, it seems like he could use someone like you.”
Frowning in confusion, Jaskier tilts his head. “What do you mean Mar?”
Grinning with childlike glee Marya says, “Well, your Witcher seems to like cuddling with fluffy things. And he clearly enjoys talking to them.”
Recalling the stories he told of Roach and the stray cats and dogs Geralt has encountered, Jaskier eyes widen, a slow smile starting to cross his face. “You wicked, clever woman.”
Cackling Marya winks, cuffing Jaskier under the chin. “And don’t you forget it!” Sobering, Marya clutches Jaskier’s face between her hands. “Your Witcher snaps like an injured wolf. But he clearly loves you like one of his pack. Perhaps he needs time to realize that.”
Standing up and dusting off her apron, Marya begins puttering around her cottage. “Now, you will rest here and then keep your beautiful lute safe with me. I will look after it, my love.”
Mind reeling, Jaskier leans back on his heels. He knows that Geralt cares for him; he can practically smell the love on him. Jaskier has just been patiently waiting for the Witcher to catch up and realize it himself. Maybe this separation will do just that. Jaskier’s heart already aches from being apart from him; perhaps this is the perfect middle ground. Contemplating Marya’s insinuations, cautious hope begins to bloom inside Jaskier’s chest. It may just work.
The next day, Marya lays a gentle kiss on a russet colored wolf who stands at her waist. “Be safe. Be smart. And give that Witcher a little nip in the butt for me.” When the wolf sneezes in response Marya chuckles. “Fine! I’ll just do it myself when I meet him.” With a happy whine, the wolf rubs his head against Marya’s hand before jumping up to lick her face, racing away as the woman chases after him in joyful outrage. Time to find his Witcher.