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Geralt was enjoying a morning stroll through town. As usual he had risen with the sun and had decided to go to the market early. He planned to leave as soon as Jaskier returned from whatever bed he had found himself in. He had seen Jaskier leaving the tavern with a man last evening, and since he had not returned to their shared room, Geralt could only assume he had spent the night.
Geralt could hear yelling from up ahead. It seemed to be coming from a room above the street, accompanied by something heavy being thrown. Some kind of garment was thrown from the window above before Jaskier of all people stuck his head out, leaning on the sill.
“Geralt!” he called as the witcher reached up to catch what was apparently Jaskier’s doublet, saving it from the muddy ground.
“Where do you think you’re going!” a shrill voice yelled from inside.
Jaskier vaulted out the window, though not quickly enough to avoid getting whacked in the head by a wooden spoon. It was enough to throw him off balance and instead of landing gracefully, his knees gave out and he impacted the ground awkwardly, spawling in the dirt.
Geralt went to his side, offering him a hand up. “Angry wife?”
“Didn’t know he was married,” Jaskier grumbled, taking Geralt’s offered hand. Geralt went to pull him up but stopped short when Jaskier cried out.
“Ah, shit, my ankle.”
From inside the house, Geralt could hear loud footsteps descending the stairs. It wouldn’t be long before they were faced with the understandably angry woman. “Come on, I’ll take a look at the inn.”
Without any warning, Geralt scooped Jaskier up off the road, throwing him over his shoulder inelegantly. Jaskier grit his teeth through the pain but didn’t otherwise complain. Geralt hurried away, hoping to avoid being spotted.
It seemed they were in luck as they made it back to the inn without incident. Geralt took Jaskier up to their room, sitting him on the bed. “How bad is the pain?” he asked.
“Not too bad. It hurts to move though.”
Geralt took his leg, gently pulling off his boot and sock, revealing his already swollen ankle. After a bit of careful prodding Geralt came to the conclusion that it was sprained, not broken.
“Avoid walking on it as much as possible. You should be fine in a few weeks.”
“Weeks!”
“That’s what you get for throwing yourself out of a window.”
“I’ll have you know I’ve jumped from higher windows than that and come away without a scratch. She distracted me.”
“With a wooden spoon,” Geralt smirked.
“So that’s what that was,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “Wait, if I can’t walk what are we going to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well I can’t walk, and we can’t stay here.”
“I guess you’ll have to ride Roach for a while,” he shrugged.
“Really? You’re going to let me ride Roach,” he said, his eyes lighting up.
“Unfortunately, yes.”