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The bard is an idiot. There is no other way to explain how someone manages to fall out of a tree’s lowest branch and land on the rocky ground instead of in the pond a couple inches away. He didn’t even get the apple he was reaching for, either. Geralt groaned inwardly at the inevitable whining tag was bound to start up any second, but it never came. What did come, was a sharp, piercing scream. Eyes flying open, Geralt ran over to the bard and knelt beside him, hands flitting over his companion’s trembling form, searching for the cause of the agonized scream. No blood, except for a small cut on the bard’s temple. Nothing bad enough to warrant the bard’s reaction. “Jaskier, tell me what’s wrong,” the Witcher growled, turning the bard to lay on his back instead of his side.
Left hand shakily curling in the grass, Jaskier heaved himself up to a kneeling position. His eyes glistened with tears and his breath came in sharp pants. “My h-hand,” he managed to gasp out, holding his right arm tightly to his chest. Geralt slowly reached out and grasped the bard’s forearm gently, bringing it towards himself. He turned the arm, noting a dark bruise forming on the bard’s wrist. “I think… I think i-it’s broken,” the bard said, and Geralt rolled his eyes. There was no way he’d fractured his wrist from a fall that short.
“Don’t be dramatic, Jaskier. Your wrist is fine. Look,” he said slowly moving the bard’s hand up and down, watching his face closely for any signs of pain or discomfort. Nothing but confusion showed on his companion’s face.
“But-“
“No buts. Nothing is broken, bard.” The Witcher continued to rotate Jaskier’s hand, moving it up and down again. Then he moved it to the side.
Another scream filled the air, making Geralt jerk back as his ears rang. Tears streamed down Jaskier’s cheeks, and his arm was held tight to his chest, further protected by his knees drawing up as well. Breath hiccuping, the bard let out a pained whimper and flinched away as Geralt reached for his hand again.
“Jaskier, let me see your hand.”
“N-no! You hurt me last time,” the bard said, twisting away from Geralt. The Witcher barely held back a growled, “ give me your wrist or I will break your other one, ” and instead opted for a much more rewarding threat. One that wasn’t entirely untrue. Yeah, right.
“Jaskier, if you don’t give me your wrist, it will fester and turn black. Then, it’ll fall off and you’ll be known as the Continent’s first one-handed lutist-“ Geralt was cut off by Jaskier’s arm nearly whacking him in the face as he thrust out his hand, resolutely looking away from Geralt at an apparently very interesting patch of grass. The Witcher smirked and took the offending limb, wrapping it in a spare cheesecloth from their pack. The bard whimpered at the tug, but this was only the beginning. “Alright, I have to splint your wrist, and it’s going to hurt. A lot.” No point in sugarcoating it.
Jaskier’s eyes widened and the sharp scent of fear filled the air around them, Geralt holding back a grimace as he was forced to breathe it in. “D-do you have to?” the bard asked, tears beginning to spring up again from a seemingly endless supply. Oh gods, why did he have to start crying again. I can handle a fractured wrist, not crying, the Witcher thought, frowning as he nodded at the bard’s question. He stood and found two relatively straight branches, and got the bandages from their pack, as well as a piece of leather. He wasn’t lying when he said this would hurt.
“Bite down on this, unless you want to lose your tongue as well.” Maybe his delivery needed some work, but the point got across. Jaskier obediently let Geralt put the strip of leather into his mouth, and the Witcher studiously avoided thinking about the feel of the bard’s bottom lip on his fingers. Positioning the two branches on either side of the bard’s hand, now lying palm-up on the ground, Geralt used his “Witchery super strength”, as Jaskier called it, to hold the bard’s forearm firmly against the ground. Now for the painful part. Taking the bandages, Geralt wrapped them around the bard’s wrist and over his thumb loosely, before tightening it.
The bard’s other hand shot out to grab onto Geralt’s hand, stilling the bandages. He let out a pained whine around the leather in his mouth and shook his head furiously. Geralt was forced to ignore him, and continued to tightly wrap the bandages around the two branches and the bard’s wrist. By the time he was done, Jaskier’s muffled screams had quieted down to the occasional sniffle and whimper. The bard’s eyes were rolled back into his head as he swayed on his knees, nearly passed out from the pain. Geralt hushed him and took the leather out from his mouth, seeing deep dents where he’d dug his teeth in to stave off his screams.
“You did so well for me, lark,” Geralt praised, gathering the bard into his lap smiling softly when he felt Jaskier nod slightly from where his head was smushed into the Witcher’s neck. “We still need to find a healer to set the bones, Jaskier. I only splinted it.” Jaskier let out a small whine as Geralt picked him up like a toddler and stood, and he wrapped his legs around the Witcher’s waist, slinging his good arm around his neck. Packs placed onto Roach, he reluctantly set Jaskier down in front of him in the saddle. He didn’t get many chances to hold the bard close like that. It was always when they were both drunk enough to blame it on alcohol, or cold enough to blame it on conserving heat.
They set out towards Yennefer, Geralt knowing she’d be nearby, and not mentioning this to Jaskier. I just want to make sure the bones heal correctly. Jaskier would be devastated if he couldn’t properly use his strumming hand again, he thought, tightening his arms around the bard and mumbling something about Roach’s reins loosening as an excuse. Jaskier leaned against Geralt more firmly, his heartbeat telling the Witcher that he was sound asleep. The Witcher smiled softly and held the bard close, savoring the moment and wishing that the bard could return his feelings as well. Wouldn’t that be something? A bard loving a Witcher. A man… mutant… whatever, can dream, right?
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