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Geralt hated shopping. He usually only bothered for ingredients that he hadn’t been able to find in between towns, or to drop into the blacksmith. He picked up supplies at the inns he stayed in, or ate what he could hunt or forage in the woods. He certainly never browsed the market like this, not without Jaskier at least.
But Jaskier wasn’t there.
Jaskier was still teaching a lecture at the university, and he probably had no idea that Geralt was even in town. This whole shopping business would be a lot better if he could ask Jaskier for help, but Jaskier was the one person that he couldn’t ask for help. He sighed, pressing his fingers to his forehead. He couldn’t even talk to Roach. She was safely stabled back at the inn.
“This shouldn’t be so hard,” he grumbled to himself. “It’s Jaskier. He likes pretty things and expensive trinkets.”
The only problem was there were a lot of pretty things and expensive trinkets on the tables, and the merchants were all claiming their goods were the best. There was so much noise, so many people. He growled under his breath and clenched his fists. It was too much. It needed to be perfect. Jaskier was too important for anything less than perfect.
He closed his eyes. Jaskier. His eyes, his scent, the wind blowing through his hair, the soft warmth of his smile. He took a deep breath. His head was still spinning but it was manageable. He glanced back at the table in front of him and then up at the merchant. The poor man was white as a sheet and he reeked of fear. Geralt hummed and then pushed through the crowd to the next stall.
Daggers.
“Hmm,” Geralt scrutinised the wares. They wouldn’t be up to the standards of witchers but they looked sturdy enough to kill a bandit or two. Most importantly, they were ornate, beautiful and glittering in the light of the sun. The blades themselves were a variety of shapes and sizes, but Geralt’s eyes were drawn to a waved silver blade with Elder engraved along the length. His Elder speech wasn’t perfect, and he struggled to read the elven language but he understood enough to know the dagger was intended as a betrothal gift.
His fingers hovered over the hilt, eyes glancing up to meet the merchant’s gaze. Unless the previous merchant, they had a gentle smile on their face. Their posture was relaxed and their scent wasn’t soured with fear. He already liked them more than the first merchant.
“May I?”
They nodded. “Of course, but I’ll warn you witcher, it’s not cheap and hardly suited for your trade.”
“It’s not for me,” he grunted.
Light dawned in their eyes and their smile widened. “Oh well, in that case you ought to know the implications—”
“I know.”
He picked up the dagger and weighed it in his hands. The balance of the blade was good. He ran a finger along the edge, hissing as it cut into his skin. Blood seeped from the small wound before it healed without a trace.
The merchant’s slight hitch in breath gave away their astonishment. “Impressive.”
“A necessity in my line of work. How much?” he asked, praying to all the gods that he didn’t believe in that he could afford it. The dagger was perfect. Anything else he found now would be a disappointment.
“More than you can afford, witcher,” they admitted with a sad smile “but I might be able to strike a deal. I have work for you, if you’re willing.”
Geralt glanced down at the blade in his hands and then back at them. “I’m in.”
Jaskier was scribbling away at his desk when the doors flew open. Larissa, was standing in the doorway, out of breath and red in the face. Their hair falling from the bun at the back of their head. Jaskier looked up from his notebook, tongue still stuck between his teeth. He scratched his cheek with his quill and smiled brightly at them.
“Larissa!” he greeted warmly and placed his quill on the desk, leaving the notebook open so the ink could dry. “What can I do for you, my dear?”
“You have a visitor, professor,” they gasped, wrapping their arms around their stomach as they tried to catch their breath.
Jaskier frowned. He hadn’t been expecting anyone and his open office hours weren’t until that afternoon. His students were normally better at giving him fair warning should they require him. He pulled on his doublet buttoning it up to his chin, just in case. He had been told off by the dean on more than one occasion and he was currently on thin ice. It didn’t matter how well his lectures did, one had to wear appropriate clothing. It was all incredibly dull. It made him yearn for the road, for Geralt.
He waved at Larissa, a flamboyant flick of his wrist. “Yes yes, please, show them in.”
Larissa nodded and left the room, leaving Jaskier to ponder who his guest could be. He tried not to hope, but his love was a burning fire that couldn’t be controlled and even the smallest chance that Geralt was here set his heart fluttering in his chest.
“Oh stop it, Jask,” he muttered to himself. “He’s not here.”
“Who’s not here?” came the gruff reply.
Jaskier felt his face light up and he bounded across the room just as the witcher appeared in the doorway. “Geralt!”
“Jaskier,” Geralt greeted him, a fond smile on his lips, his eyes softer than the velvet pillows that adorned Jaskier’s bed.
“I wasn’t expecting you so soon, witcher,” Jaskier laughed, putting one hand on his hip and cocking his head. “Did you miss me, darling?”
“Hmm.”
Jaskier rolled his eyes and pulled Geralt into a hug. “Well, I missed you and your grunting.” He pulled away all too soon and licked his lips, trying to still his beating heart. It was racing far too fast and he knew that Geralt could hear it. It was a miracle that Geralt hadn’t realised why already. “What brings you to Oxenfurt, Geralt?”
“I have something for you,” Geralt grumbled, not meeting Jaskier’s gaze. He pulled on the straps that held his sword on his back, and Jaskier would almost say that the witcher looked… nervous?
That couldn’t be right?
He’d seen Geralt take down all manner of monsters and men… why would he be nervous of him?
“Riiight, well… here I am, at your disposal!” Jaskier gestured widely and gave a little bow, winking at his witcher, trying to make light of the situation before his own nerves could get the best of him.
“It’s umm… well… fuck,” Geralt growled and pinched the bridge of his nose, then he pulled a bundle of cloth from his pocket and handed it to Jaskier.
Jaskier tentatively took the packet. It was heavier than he expected, solid under his fingers. He narrowed his eyes and glanced at Geralt. “What is it?”
“Open it.”
Jaskier nodded. That would make sense. It was a gift after all, but why would Geralt be giving him a present? It wasn’t even his birthday. He wasn’t sure that Geralt even knew when that was. “It’s not going to kill me is it?” he teased gently.
Geralt rolled his eyes and scoffed. “It might if you don’t hurry up and open it.”
Jaskier gaped. “Well now! That’s just rude! Impatient brute.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt warned with a low snarl.
“Ok ok!” he snapped, his hands shaking as he pulled back the cloth. His heart would stop pounding and his legs felt weak. He gasped quietly as he saw the bejewelled dagger resting in the fabric. “Geralt?”
“Look closer,” Geralt muttered, his golden eyes were watching Jaskier with such intensity that he wanted to melt into the floor. It was almost too much. Whatever was sparking between them was about to change Jaskier’s life, he was sure of it. It felt too momental to be simply a gift.
He passed the cloth bundle back to Geralt and slowly unsheathed the dagger. The silvery blade glittered in the candlelight. Jaskier stopped breathing as he traced the inscription with his fingers. It was written in Elder but Jaskier had had the best education Lettenhove could offer, and with the rumours going around about his mother’s fidelity and the elves, no one was surprised that Elder Speech was one of the languages he’d been forced to learn.
He swallowed and finally sucked in a shaky breath. “Geralt… Is this? Do you know…” he trailed off, tears were welling up in his eyes and his voice failed him, too thick with emotion.
“I know,” Geralt said softly, bringing a hand up to cup Jaskier’s cheek.
Jaskier whimpered, leaning into the touch.
“It’s. It’s not a proposal,” Geralt said quickly but continued before Jaskier heart could break. “More of a proposal… to propose?”
Jaskier felt like crying, honestly it was a miracle that he wasn’t already. He’d loved Geralt for years, decades even. He’d given up on Geralt ever loving him back a long time ago, and now Geralt was… courting him?
It was archaic, a tradition found only in the depth of the library of Lettenhove and Oxenfurt. He felt like he’d stepped into a fairytale.
“Am. Am I dreaming?” he stammered. It felt like the only logical explanation.
“Don’t think so,” Geralt said with a shake of his head.
Jaskier nodded, then spun round on his heels with his hand buried into his hair. When he met Geralt’s gaze once again he narrowed his eyes. “And you’re not joking?” he asked, waving the point of the dagger in Geralt’s face.
Geralt chuckled and gently lowered the dagger with his hand. “No, Jaskier.”
“Oh cock!” Jaskier swore and then clapped his hand over his mouth. “You really mean it?”
Oh praise Melitele! Fuck it, praise bloody Lilit too. Praise any good that was listening in.
“I mean it,” Geralt reassured him with a heavy sigh. “and I’d really appreciate an answer?”
“Fuck, bollocks, shit!” Jaskier whined. “I mean. Yes, on all the gods, Geralt. Of course, it’s yes! Do you have any idea how long I’ve loved you?”
Geralt winced, his smile faltering. “Sorry, it takes me more time. Never even thought I could, not until you.”
Jaskier giggled, fucking giggled, and placed his hand on Geralt’s cheek. “Oh darling, you have nothing to be sorry for. I would have stayed by your side and loved you in whatever way you allowed me to, even without shiny trinkets and nearly proposal.”
“Hmm,” Geralt smirked “shall I take them back?”
“Don’t you dare!” Jaskier shrieked and ran from his witcher, keeping his new engagement dagger safe and sound. “It’s mine now, Geralt!”
Geralt laughed and ran after him, only stopping when he had Jaskier trapped against a wall. The dagger remained in Jaskier’s firm grip, forgotten as their lips crashed together.