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Geralt had on four separate occasions been asked ‘So, how is Jaskier?’
To add insult to injury, it was by four people he had fucked.
Geralt was confused by the question. Why would he know how the bard was? He wasn’t Jaskier’s keeper. In fact, Geralt was on his way to the bard's apartment now. It was spring, and per their agreement, Geralt went to Oxenfurt every spring to collect his wayward friend.
The words echoed in Geralt's brain, however. It was Yennefer's raised eyebrow, Triss’s small smile, Tulio’s knowing smirk, and Vivanne’s nod that made Geralt think perhaps there was more to the question than what he was understanding.
1.
Yennefer had been the first to ask as she worked at her desk. Geralt had collected herbs she needed and dropped them off, expecting it to be a painless and quick encounter. He set the bag, collecting the money and as he went to turn, Yennefer's voice caught him.
“How is your bard, Geralt?”
“What?”
“You and your bard, how are you?” Yennefer looked up from her writings, raising her eyebrow as she always did.
“I haven’t spoken to him yet. Your house was my first stop on the way to Oxenfurt.”
“Ah yes. You leave him there for winter.”
“I don’t leave him, he has a successful teaching career in law and philosophy.”
Yennefer hummed in thought, turning a page and examining it carefully.
“Be careful, Geralt. Humans are such fragile things.”
“He’s not-”
“You left the keep two weeks early,” she looked up at him now. “You left early to be on time for his studies to finish. In fact, I imagine you’d even be a day early, and you’re getting all your errands done now so you can go straight to him.”
“Goodbye, Yennefer.”
“It’s ok to want to be loved.”
“Goodbye,” Geralt repeated more firmly, walking out of the house and grunting to himself slightly. She was disillusioned. There was nothing between Geralt and Jaskier. Only good friends.
2.
Triss was the second. She was tending to her garden when Geralt arrived with powders for her clients. She wiped the sweat from her brow, staining her skin with dirt.
“How’s Jaskier?”
“What?”
“Jaskier? You’ll see him soon, won’t you?”
“I… yes. I will.”
“Did you keep in touch during the winter?”
Yes. They had. Geralt hadn’t told anyone that. He hadn’t told them how Jaskier and he had exchanged multiple letters and sketches. Jaskier would complain of his new students and Geralt would complain of Lambert's snoring. And they would talk of the summer, of being on the road together, and what that would be like.
“You’re excited to see him.”
Was he? Geralt huffed, crossing his arms. What was there to be excited about? Jaskier’s constant singing and talking? Listening to the bard complain about the heat, or his blisters, or his cuts?
“I’m not.”
“Well, what do I know?” Triss gave him a small smile. “I always imagine love to be a bit like the sea. Always returning to the shore.”
“Goodbye, Triss.”
“The rise and fall of love is enough to make anyone leave their home two weeks early to be on time for the tide.”
“I see you’ve been talking to Yennefer.”
“No, we don’t speak during business months. She’s busy with courts and I’m busy with gardens. Why? Did she say something similar?”
“Goodbye,” Geralt mumbled, grabbing Roach and leaving.
3.
Tulio was standing on his porch, smoking a pipe and then grinning when he saw the witcher. The house smelt of sex and wine and cheap drugs. Tulio himself looked to be glowing in the morning haze, his bare chest exposed to the sunlight. Every scar curving on his skin. Geralt remembered Tulio’s body well.
“Ah, my favorite little Witcher,” Tulio exclaimed, giving a clap. Geralt saw Betsy and Beth jump off the porch, trotting over. The hounds were lanky and wired, looking vicious and perhaps a little bloodthirsty.
“Call your dogs, Tu.”
“Ay, dogs,” Tulio gave a sharp whistle and they returned to his side instantly. Geralt dismounted off Roach, grabbing the pouch of potions and throwing them at the man. Tulio caught it one-handed, barely moving from his seat.
“How is lover boy?”
“Who?”
“Julek, the dandelion?”
“He’s not my lover, Tulio.”
“And I am not a virgin,” Tulio grinned. Geralt rolled his eyes, coming to stand at the steps that led into Tulio's home.
Tulio was most certainly not a virgin.
“I haven’t seen him yet.”
“Oh, you better hurry then,” the man tutted. “His bed will be getting cold.”
“Jaskier can fuck who he wants.”
“I heard he takes no lovers for the entire winter,” Tulio came and stood on the steps so he was looking down on Geralt. Geralt was nearly sure Tulio was a god. The man’s body really did glow in the morning light. “He takes no lovers and writes letters to a mystery person. No one knows who, except the letters are delivered by magic and he always gets flustered when a new one arrives.”
“Jaskier is a very popular performer.”
“Geralt, Geralt,” Tulio stepped down, still towering over Geralt but not so much. He took Geralt's cheek in his palm and tutted. “You never were good at lying.”
“Why would I lie to you?”
Tulio smirked, pressing a kiss to the space between Geralt's eyes.
“Have fun, won’t you? I will be gone for some time.”
“Where are you going?”
“The Fae have called me back. Goodbye, my silent prince.”
Geralt looked up at Tulio, nodding slowly.
“Goodbye, Tu.”
4.
Vivianne was sitting in her armchair by the fire, wrapped in her thick blankets while Geralt stirred the tea carefully.
“So I threw the knife at them.”
“Vivi,” Geralt tsked.
“What else was I meant to do, ta?”
Geralt looked at the lady before him. His old friend, how she was aging. Geralt remembered Vivianne in her youth. How she ran barefooted through forests, bow, and arrows like an extension of her body. She was always one with nature.
Humans are such fragile things, Yenn echoed in his head.
“You can’t throw knives at strangers.”
“I can if they’re scaring my birds. And they were scaring my birds,” she said firmly. Vivianne’s hands shook as she held her teacup, but Geralt never remarked on it.
“I’m sorry to hear they scared the pheasants.”
“How is Jaskier?”
Geralt choked on his tea, hitting his chest and looking at her.
“What? We were talking about my birds. I thought the natural progression of this conversation was to be about Jaskier.”
“Why?”
“Because he is your bird.”
“He is not my bird.”
“Name me one song he wrote that is not about you.”
“Her Sweet Kiss.”
“Just because it’s called Her Sweet Kiss doesn’t mean it’s not about you,” Vivianne pointed out. She took a sip of her tea, closing her eyes. “I do not think I will see next winter.”
“Vivi-”
“And if I hear you are not happy with Jaskier, I will haunt you,” she smiled. Vivianne opened her hand and Geralt took it instantly, not gripping but holding onto it with emotion.
“My sweet Witcher.”
“Vivianne,” he echoed gently. With tenderness, Geralt pressed a kiss to her knuckles and Vivianne answered with a smile.
“Do not look so sad, Geralt, I go to seek the great unknown.”
“I’ll visit your grave.”
“A pilgrimage I hope. And you can bring Jaskier. I won’t see it as any disrespect. I just want to see you happy.”
“I am happy.”
“You’re happy because you’re going to him,” she corrected.
Geralt looked at the dancing flames. He felt Vivianne holding his hand, her wrinkled skin against his scarred.
Quietly, Geralt stood. He pressed one last kiss to the woman’s temple and left to see his bard.
5.
Geralt stood at the door of the tavern silently. Jaskier was sat by the fire, lute in hand and plucking chords.
“Please, Professor Pankratz! One more!”
“Which one?” Jaskier asked the crowd. There were a series of answers but the loudest was one called Inkpot Gods.
Jaskier hummed, closing his eyes as he found his rhythm. He nodded his head, then he began to sing, and how Geralt had missed it.
“And I can hear him break
And he doesn’t understand
And I wish I could take his hand
But where I’m going is for me and me alone
And I can hear him sing
If I don’t make it back from where I’ve gone
Just know I loved you all along
If I don’t make it back from where I’ve gone
Just know I loved you all along,
Everyone!” Jaskier shouted, and soon the entire tavern was singing with Jaskier, a few drumming and a few dancing.
This was not what life was like on the road for his bard. Geralt knew that. Because Jaskier’s performances were so fleeting, he never knew his crowd yet here he knew them all.
“Geralt!” Jaskier’s voice was as clear as a lark. And before Geralt could react, Jaskier was before him, arms around him.
Geralt stood still, then looked up, blinking to focus. Yet Jaskier’s own eyes narrowed. He tilted his head, a silent observation.
“When did she die?” he asked quietly.
“Two mornings ago,” Geralt whispered. Vivianne had died peacefully as he had wanted. He had scattered her ashes into the wind and continued on his way. He had woken to see her so perfectly still, her eyes closed and her face finally showing she was in that final peace. She had left him to the great sleep she would know.
How Geralt missed her.
“I am sorry, Geralt,” Jaskier said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. Geralt looked at his feet, swallowing the emotion in the back of his throat. She had died peacefully.
Tears were burning out the corners of his eyes. Geralt didn’t realize they were outside until he felt the breeze tickle the back of his neck. Jaskier had led them to the space by the river, setting Geralt on a rock and kneeling in front of him.
He needed it, Geralt realized. He needed to be outside with Jaskier to breathe.
“I only met her once,” Jaskier observed. “She was horrible. Exactly the sort of person you’d chase after in your youth.”
“She made brilliant apple pie.”
“I’m sure she did,” he smiled softly.
“How have you been, Jaskier?” Geralt asked quietly. His bard laughed, the noise was like music to his ears.
“I’ve been well, Geralt, how have you been?”
I’ve missed you, Geralt thought. I missed you every day.
“I miss Vivi,” he admitted, barely above a whisper.
“There is a courage in stars, you know? An act of courage to continue even after death. How light carries on endlessly, even after death and there is an infinite of sorts. It is so rare and beautiful it is to even exist. She had mastered both. To exist and to have courage.”
Geralt stopped, looking up at Jaskier. He wanted to ask Jaskier to say it all again, but he had nothing to write it down with.
And so, with that courage of the stars, Geralt kissed Jaskier.
~
+1
By the coast, there is a house on a hill. The house has a garden filled with flowers and trees, a little waterfall with a plaque to remember the names of people they had loved and lost along the way.
‘Vivanne
Tulio
Essi
Tarquin
Leo’
Each name had a flower after it. The trees offered shelter from the wind and the flowers grew towards the light.
On the porch of the house sat a grey-haired bard, smoking a pipe. Jaskier had his feet on the table, rocking in his chair without much concern. Somewhere in the distance, his husband was off harvesting and getting ready for the autumn.
Before, as the autumn approached, they settled their goodbyes.
Before, as the autumn approached, they prepared to leave.
Now, they simply harvested their crops and bought more blankets.
Jaskier sat contently, smoking his pipe.
“What do you say, old girl? I think we did rather well?”
The breeze swirled around Jaskier, pressing against his skin.
I was most sad I wasn’t there to see it.
“You did see it,” Jaskier smiled.
I know. But I would have seen it in person if you had both hurried up.
“Tsk. Death has made you grumpy, Vivi.”
Was I ever anything else? The breeze grinned.
Jaskier looked up at the sky and then took a deep breath. “Time to find peace now, my dear,” Jaskier whispered.
The breeze shuffled, and as soon as it was there, it was gone.
And the soul it had carried with it.
Jaskier closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the soft song of the sea rising and falling until he felt a warmth against him.
“How are you, Jask?” Geralt asked softly.
“Oh, I am very well, dear heart,” Jaskier smiled, looking at his husband and kissing him back.