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“We’ll be passing by Willock afternoon. We can get a warm meal and then be on our way before it gets dark,” Geralt said. You’d been journeying for a week now. The first four days were alright but on the fifth you’d woken up covered in blood. You wished it was from an ambush but tragically it was just your courses which usually came with fair warning but not this time. You’d been able to wash in the river and change and the men you traveled with were none the wiser but it was getting harder to hide the pain. Jaskier had asked a few times if you were alright when he caught you wincing or pressing a hand to your side and you’d successfully waved him off so far. The chance of staying at an inn, getting a proper bath and rest and, gods willing, a warm meal, was one you couldn’t afford to pass up.
“Let’s stay,” you said. Jaskier looked up from his lute in surprise as Geralt looked down at you from Roach, a similar expression on his face. You never spoke up or suggested different plans, always trusting Geralt to guide you through it. You’d hoped the fact that you were usually so lasses-faire would work in your favor.
“We have to keep going if we want to make sure we get to Posada in time,” Geralt said, and then turned back towards the road. Roach halted, hearing the sound before Geralt did. A sniff. And then, seconds later, another. Geralt turned back around and looked at you, your head bowed and the hood obscuring your face. But he saw the tear fall onto the front of your cloak and he sighed heavily.
“Y/N are you alright?” Jaskier asked, reaching out a hand to touch your arm comfortingly. You snatched your arm away and bit out a “I’m fine” and started marching ahead determinedly.
“We can stop in Willock,” Geralt said. He didn’t know why you were crying or what was going on, but he was smart enough not to question it. “One night won’t put us too far behind.”
When you didn’t say anything Jaskier piped up, “Oh that’s excellent! I for one am exhausted and a night at a proper inn will do wonders for my morale. Not to mention my overall wellbeing.”
You walked the rest of the way to Willock in silence and when you walked through the doors of the inn you’d be staying at you felt hopeful.
“Jaskier, I’ll be right back but could you please order me potato soup, brioche, and a strawberry tart,” you said before hurrying off to the privy. When you returned Geralt was still in the stables with Roach but Jaskier sat at the table, waving you over.
“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” He asked as you took your seat gingerly.
“I’m just tired,” you said, giving him a reassuring smile.
“You’ve looked a bit pale. You would tell me if you were sick, right?” he persisted.
“Yes Jaskier, I promise,” you replied, “There is nothing abnormal going on.”
Before he could press further your food arrived.
“Stew,” you said.
“Yeah that’s what you wanted right? Stew and bread and, oh damn I forgot that last thing…”
The pain and stress and frustration of the last three days came to a boil as you watched him nonchalantly shrug and move to eat his food, glancing back up at you when he felt your burning glare.
“I said soup. Potato soup. Soup with potatoes. And brioche. And a strawberry fucking tart.”
Jaskier froze bent over his bowl, a spoonful of steaming stew halfway to his lips. He had seen terrors untold but he had never seen anything like the way you looked at him.
“I’m sorry but it is… soup, yes?” he offered. You laughed and Jaskier recoiled from the sound. It was a biting laugh, incredulous and angry and filled him with uncertainty of what was going to happen next.
“You had one job, Julian,” you said, your voice low and dangerous, “You. Had. One. Job.”
“I can see if they have-”
You were on your feet and moving off to the room before he could finish his sentence, your anger ebbing into despair. It was a stupid thing to be mad about, you knew that deep down, but you wanted this one thing and he didn’t even seem to care. You threw the door closed behind you but it caught on Jaskier’s outstretched arm as he followed you, his concern for you just barely outweighing his survival instincts begging him to stay back.
“Right, something is wrong and I’m not leaving here until you tell me what it is,” Jaskier demanded, hands on his hips as he regarded you severely. When you turned around to face him he saw your eyes were red and puffy and tears streamed down your face. His face went ashen and you watched the anger melt off of him in an instant.
“Why are you crying?” he asked, moving closer.
“Because I’m fucking bleeding, Jaskier, is that what you want to hear?”
“No! Of course not! Where?? I’ll get Geralt!” Jaskier sputtered, wheeling to run after the witcher as you grabbed his arm to stop him. That was the last thing you needed, Geralt finding out.
“Jaskier it’s my bloody courses. No pun intended,” you explained. He stopped and turned back to face you. You waited for a look of disgust to overcome him or for him to recoil from your touch but instead a dawning realization showed on his face.
“Oh Y/N, dearest, of course,” he said, “Oh I’m so stupid.”
You usually would have chastised him for saying that but you felt no such urge to do so currently. He pulled you into a hug that you entered at first begrudgingly but then burrowed your face into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist as he held you tight, rocking you slightly in a way that should have felt silly but was actually rather soothing. Too soon he pulled back and gave you a determined look.
“Right. We’ll handle this. First of all, we are not leaving in the morning, we will wait until it is done,” he said.
“But Geralt-”
“I will handle Geralt,” Jaskier said in a tone so commanding you nearly swooned. “I don’t know how you usually manage this but I think you should slip into something more comfortable while I find you some potato soup, bread, and something sweet. I will then bring it back here to you where I will either stay to keep you company or leave you to eat in peace.”
“That sounds nice,” you said. Jaskier gave you a smile and then hurried out the door. He made it halfway to the bar when Geralt stopped him, a tray in hand.
“Ah yes Geralt, just who I needed to find,” Jaskier said, pulling himself up to his full height, “We are not going anywhere for the next 24 hours.”
“I know,” Geralt said simply.
“Right! Good! Well! That… is all!” Jaskier said, taken aback, and moved to head back to the bar when Geralt stopped him with a free hand.
“Take this to Y/N,” he said, holding out the tray that held a bowl of potato soup, a beautiful looking golden roll, and a bright red strawberry tart.
“How did you know?” Jaskier asked.
“Hmm,” Geralt answered.
“Well why don’t you take it to her then?”
“She doesn’t want me to know. But I’m assuming you forced her to tell you,” Geralt replied. Jaskier took the tray from Geralt’s hand.
“Well, regardless, thank you. I’ll make sure she gets it. You big softie,” Jaskier muttered the last words under his breath and hurried back towards you before Geralt could respond.