Chapter Text
Geralt had thought nothing of it when Jaskier had started talking to a pretty girl after his performance. He still needed to keep up a reputation, after all, and flirting brought in more coin. It was not so unusual to see him talking to his fans.
It was unusual for Jaskier to light up the way he did, hug that pretty girl, and then walk back to Geralt without so much as a coin exchanging hands.
Jaskier noticed Geralt eyeing him suspiciously, but grinned and answered lightly. “An old friend,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.”
It wasn’t until they were back on the road and Jaskier was acting distracted that Geralt’s questions reemerged. Jaskier had said barely a word while walking besides Roach. He had hummed some bright melody under his breath while gathering firewood, but Geralt knew him well enough to know he wasn’t composing, and it was no song Geralt had ever heard before.
“What are you humming?” Geralt asked.
“Why, do you like it?” Jaskier moved to sit down next to him, and Geralt grunted in response. “It’s an old song, one that my mother used to sing to me. It was very popular in the area where I grew up.” Jaskier’s eyes looked into the distance, his thoughts miles away. A somberness had come over him, and there was a wistful yearning in his expression that made Geralt uneasy.
“What’s wrong?”
Jaskier looked at Geralt, startled, as if he’d not noticed that Geralt was still there. “My dear Witcher, nothing at all is wrong. The stars are bright, my stomach is full, the fire is warm, and I could not ask for better company. Why do you ask?”
Geralt grunted. “You’re being quiet.”
Jaskier chuckled softly. “I’m thinking.”
“That’s a first,” Geralt retorted.
Jaskier sighed, but he was still smiling. “Alright. You’re right. I met an old friend today. She invited me to play at a festival — a very casual affair, mind you, it’s not a competition or a banquet or anything of the sort — and I’m trying to decide if I should go. It’s in my hometown, and the thought of returning is making me… nostalgic. There are things I buried there, ghosts I’m afraid will come to haunt me if I dare step foot on those long-untreaded graveyards. You’ll protect me from the ghosts, though, won’t you? My dear Witcher, always keeping me safe from the ghosts and the monsters and the nightmares.”
“Jaskier—”
“You could come too, if you wanted. To the festival,” Jaskier said quickly. “It’s wonderful fun, Midsummer. There’s honey mead, and fish, flowers, and flower crowns, and strawberries, and strawberry wine. Oh, and there’s a big bonfire at night, and dancing… I should quite enjoy seeing the Butcher of Blaviken with flowers in his hair, dancing around a maypole.”
Geralt grunted at the thought. “I don’t know,” he said softly.
“You don’t know if we should go?” Jaskier asked. “Or you don’t know how to dance?”
“Both,” Geralt said plainly.
The pair sat in silence for a moment, only the sound of the crackling flames echoing through the dark forest, and then—
“You don’t know how to dance?” Jaskier stood up, holding his arms out in the way he often did when he was putting on theatrics.
Geralt looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Because it’s so easy to imagine Vesemir in ballet shoes, teaching me how to dance.”
Jaskier ignored Geralt completely, lost in his own dramatics. “This is— I mean, this is a travesty! A devastation of the highest order, Geralt! Everyone knows how to dance!”
Geralt looked back to the flames and said nothing. Jaskier put his hands on his hips, biting his lips, thinking.
“Right. Yeah. Okay. Get up.” Geralt did not move. “Geralt, get up. I will not walk this Continent a moment longer with the knowledge that you, my love, and possibly the greatest swordsman of all time, has lived nigh a century, and you never learned to dance. And to top it all off you are dating me. Even if we don’t end up going to the festival, this is a universal skill everyone must have.”
Jaskier stepped to move farther away from the fire, to give himself space, and held his hand out to Geralt. “Get up,” he said again, softer this time. He allowed a soft tender smile to grace his features, the one that he knew Geralt couldn’t resist. A heavy sigh fell from Geralt’s lips as he took Jaskier’s hand.
Geralt stood, one hand in Jaskier’s, looking at the bard for direction. Jaskier pulled Geralt closer to him, and Geralt allowed himself to be correctly positioned. Jaskier placed Geralt’s hand on the small of his back, then grabbed the Witcher’s other hand, placing his own on Geralt’s shoulder. He looked down at Geralt’s boots, making sure their feet were lined up, and looked up into Geralt’s eyes, tender and trusting. Geralt was struck with the sudden thought that perhaps Jaskier was the only person crazy enough to try to teach a Witcher to dance.
“So, the dances at the festival will probably be more complicated and technical than what I’m about to teach you, but seeing as this is your first time dancing, I suppose I’d better start with the basics.” Jaskier bent his elbow in a way that looked perfectly confident and natural, as if it were something he had done a hundred times before. Geralt vaguely wondered where Jaskier had learned to dance, but before he could ask, Jaskier continued. “In a waltz, this is a neutral position. We keep this form, always. Got it?”
A begrudging hmmm from Geralt spurred Jaskier on.
“Seeing as you are the bigger person in this pairing, you will take the leading part. Which, actually, is the easier part, so that’s great for us. Now, all you have to do is take a step forward with your left foot—”
Jaskier stepped back on his right foot, and Geralt followed his instruction. “And now, step right with your right foot, and close them together. See?”
Geralt followed his lead, completing one half of a box step. “Wonderful! Now do the same, but step backwards.” Jaskier took a step forward, using the momentum to will Geralt backwards, and Geralt did indeed step backwards into place, with a dignity and grace that made up for his lack of enthusiasm.
“Brilliant,” Jaskier said. “If I had not been to a banquet with you and seen how utterly miserable you were there, I would have never known you weren’t born to float across ballrooms. Let’s do it a few more times, shall we?”
They practiced for a few minutes longer, until Geralt could do a box step without looking at his feet. When they stopped, Jaskier took a step back and curtsied deeply.
“Congratulations,” he said. “You have successfully completed the waltz. And you have successfully seduced me.”
Jaskier’s hands found the front of Geralt’s shirt, and Geralt allowed Jaskier to pull him in close, the smell of vanilla and sweat filling his senses. Jaskier kissed him, slowly and tenderly, and when he pulled away for air Geralt pressed his forehead against Jaskier’s, breathing him in, unable to let go. He closed his eyes and stood there for a moment, just feeling Jaskier’s skin pressed against his own, listening to Jaskier’s breath.
“What a waste it would be, now,” Jaskier said softly. “What a shame if you missed the festival, and denied me the pleasure of waltzing with you. You would have nowhere to show off your new skills.”
“If you want to go, Jaskier, we will go.”
Jaskier pulled away to look at Geralt. “Really? You’d do that for me?”
Geralt hmmed. “Wouldn’t want you to hold it against me for the rest of time that I ‘denied you the pleasure.’”
Jaskier, who usually would have come up with some clever retort, seemed too surprised to even attempt a response. “Thank you,” Jaskier whispered. “Geralt, I—” Jaskier cut himself off, biting his lip. Whatever he was about to say, he thought the better of it. “Thank you,” he repeated, and Geralt smiled softly.
“You won’t regret it,” Jaskier said, and Geralt desperately hoped that Jaskier was right.