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Geralt held the delicate flower in his fingertips, the petals dusty against his hands. The world was cruel which wasn’t a new thing for him, his whole life had been trauma, war, blood, steel and most of all loneliness. Up until he met that stupid man. He chuckled under his breath. Dandelion was a fitting name, at first he’d only ever seen Jaskier as a pest, a lurker and a follower seemingly following him only for his own fame and benefit. He was merely a weed for the witcher. A nuisance
Then he began to see the beauty, the perseverance of someone constantly ignored and brushed aside. This small childlike ball of energy, forever by his side even after Geralt had constantly done everything to drive him away. He saw himself in the young man, but also someone so vastly different it fed his soul with an energy he didn’t know he was allowed to have. He didn’t deserve Jaskier and he never would.
He remembered their wedding day, Jaskier in an obnoxiously lavish cloak, flower crown adoring his head as he flounced around playing music much to everyone's chagrin. No one dared ask him to stop, Geralt glaring darkly at anyone that dared approach his groom. Geralt had been forced to dress up, however he put his foot down at the pink fabric Jaskier had almost thrust upon him. He felt uncomfortable in the thick tunic he wore, but being told he looked handsome, paired with a kiss, settled his nerves. The event was always for Jaskier, however the witcher had to admit he enjoyed it equally as much, if not in his own way.
Ciri, gods, the girl adored him. After she returned back with them both, the poor girl was traumatised. Geralt knew he should be able to help, his brain also racked with memories that haunted his dreams. However whenever she woke screaming, he froze, not knowing how to help her. Jaskier took it in his stride, rushing to her bedside and soothing the screams away. The man sat by her bed, singing softly with his voice, that only got better with time. He’d stand in the doorway, the soft glow of a fire lighting both their faces making Geralt fall more and more in love with both of them.
The sex? Yes the sex was good. But it wasn’t the pleasure of it that held a place in his memories. It was Jaskier’s laugh every time the moment broke. On one occasion Jaskier was changing positions and his leg cramped. He fell flat on his face, sitting up and laughing a joyful laugh, snorting as he sat stark naked on the floor. Looking up at Geralt he had just smiled, telling the witcher he loved him. It was those moments he remembered the most. The ones where neither of them were performing in their expected roles.
“Geralt!” A voice called from across the clearing. He turned and smiled softly, watching the figure approach quickly. Standing his held his arms open, accepting the hug.
Ciri looked up at him, thumb brushing the small tear that had formed there. They broke the hug and he could see her own tears.
Holding hands, Ciri placed the bouquet of dandelions on the small gravestone, squeezing Geralt’s fingers.
He crouched, brushing the engravings softly with his thumb,
“I’ll see you soon my love.”