Chapter Text
There was a crowd gathered in the village’s main square. People of all ages had packed themselves tightly into what space they could find between the stalls, murmuring among themselves as there was a lull in the music that had seemed to draw them all in.
It had, at the very least, been what had drawn Geralt’s attention.
He coaxed Roach forward with care, keeping close to her as she grew more agitated by the sheer number of people they had come across.
The source of the music was blocked from their view by the crowd, as more than a few parents had chosen to hoist their children up onto their shoulders to keep them close. But he could tell from where he stood on the very outskirts of the square that it was definitely a lute he was hearing being plucked by skilled hands.
He could feel his gut growing tight already, and he soothed himself by running a hand down Roach’s flank.
As the song wound down, ending with a soft flourish, the crowd reacted in rowdy delight. Cries went up for another song amidst the clapping and cheering. It was nearly deafening, and it drowned out any sign of the one voice Geralt was hoping he’d hear. By the time the playing picked up again, any introduction the player may have made had been swallowed by the noise, despite Geralt’s best attempts to hear it.
He tried, and failed, to stamp down the feeling of disappointment that stirred up in his chest. Especially when he found he couldn’t hear the voice of the singer as the rest of the crowd began to sing along.
Roach tossed her head with a whinny, shifting back a step. He tightened his grip on her reins and ducked his head to hide his features when the noise drew more than one set of glaring eyes to settle on him.
He wanted nothing more than to turn and leave. The crowd was making him just as uneasy as Roach, and the noise was beginning to be painful. And that was without mentioning the way his stomach had begun to roll at everything he could smell on the breeze. The stench of sweat after a long day of working the fields clung to many of the men, the sickeningly sweet tang of the fruit and vegetables in the stalls slowly going bad, the rich aroma of baking meat drifting out from the tavern. It all made him feel a little ill.
Geralt forced himself to remain firmly rooted in place until the performance wound down and the crowd began to slowly disperse. They gave him a wide berth as soon as he was noticed, his very presence seeming to destroy their good moods from the music as they scowled and glowered at the intrusive witcher simply standing at the side of his horse in their precious village.
Ignoring the typical hatred, even as it rankled his already frayed nerves, he slowly cut his way toward the bard.
It was Jaskier, Geralt was sure of it now, still engaged in meaningless conversation with a few of his audience members as he gathered both his lute and the coins that had been tossed at his feet. Geralt could only see the man’s back and the way he tossed his head back to laugh at something a rosy-cheeked girl had said to him.
As he got closer, Geralt could begin to pick out the honeyed tone of Jaskier’s voice above the din, and oh how he found himself aching at the very sound.
One of the girls noticed him then, her big emerald eyes widening. It immediately caught Jaskier’s attention, and then he was turning and locked eyes directly with Geralt. There was naked surprise on the bard’s face, the way his mouth fell open and his chest rose with a sharp intake of breath.
Geralt’s grip on Roach’s reins tightened along with his stomach.
“Geralt…”
“Jaskier.”
“Gods, Geralt, I… I wasn’t expecting to see you here!” Jaskier recovered slowly. He pulled the strap of his lute over his head stiffly, never once breaking eye contact. Stepping forward slowly, Jaskier took in the sight of the witcher before him, and Geralt felt a wash of unease crash over him as he worried over what the man might find. But Jaskier’s shoulders only lowered as he lost some of their tension.
He knew he should say something but his throat felt dry.
Jaskier stopped in front of him, his hands nervously rising to fiddle with the strap even as he offered Geralt a small smile. “I’ve a room at the inn here, if… if you’d be inclined to join me for dinner tonight? I’m meant to perform again for them there, to pay for the room and board and all, but I could bring food up to the room after, so we can sit and, and talk without having to deal with all the people. If you’d like, that is?”
“Yes,” Geralt managed to say. He nodded his head toward the street. “I have things to do first. I can meet you tonight.”
“Yes, alright, good,” Jaskier said with a smile. “I’m holding you to that, Geralt. I’m expecting you.”
They went their separate ways, as Geralt truly did have things he needed to do before he could attempt to apologize. His supplies were running rather low, as he’d been struggling to stay focused over the past months since he’d last seen Jaskier. Having the bard in the same village hadn’t seemed to help that either, as his thoughts often drifted back to the last time they’d been together. To the pain he had caused them both with his actions.
He found that by the time it was growing dark and needed to go to the inn, he was itching with the urge to turn and leave the village altogether. He fought it down as he walked through the streets, knowing just how important it was to speak with Jaskier, one way or the other. It was the least he could do.
With Roach left safely in the care of the inn’s stablehand, and no other reason to delay it further, Geralt walked into the inn.
~~~
To say that Jaskier had been surprised to see Geralt emerging out of the crowd would have been the fucking understatement of the century. He would have been less surprised if Valdo freaking Marx had strolled up to tell him, in full sincerity, that Jaskier was his biggest inspiration!
Jaskier would also be lying if he dared to say that he felt anything but gratitude when Geralt had accepted his offer to try to actually talk together for once about what happened. Even if set Jaskier’s every nerve alight with fear that it would somehow turn out worse than that fateful conversation on the mountain in which he’d been sent away for apparently being just… the actual worst.
He could barely focus as he ran through his set a few short hours later. He tried desperately to lose himself in the flow of the music, to the intensity of a crowd eager for every bit of joy he could present them with. It should have been easy to simply plant his feet so he couldn’t see the door and play to his heart’s content.
But of course, his traitorous little heart made it impossible to do anything but physically ache for the next time the door swung open because Geralt was coming there to look for him. Why else would Geralt have come to this town in the middle of nowhere, which was out of the way of his usual path?
Because there are always monsters out there to kill, his mind cruelly taunted.
The next note was more forceful than he intended, and his voice shook, but he was talented enough to make it look like it was intentional.
Focus , he told himself.
He plastered on a smile and threw himself into being the bard he was expected to be.
The last thing he needed to do was think about how not long before he’d been cast aside, it had finally begun to feel like they were making progress in their relationship. While he wouldn’t exactly call it romantic, it was beginning to ever so slowly shift into something beyond friendship. And gods above, was he excited by that. He craved it, even, and in those moments of weakness after leaving Geralt’s side he found himself revisiting the first time Geralt had allowed himself to fall into bed with Jaskier.
It had been after a hunt that had ended well for once, and Geralt had been so quietly pleased with himself, riding the high of a job well done that hadn’t ended in death and misery, that he’d let Jaskier’s flirtation land for once. He hadn’t been brushed off as he usually was, and Jaskier had delighted in the way Geralt actually allowed him to care for the stubborn witcher the way he truly deserved. And the discovery that Geralt of Rivia, the famed White Wolf himself, was an omega?
Well .
Jaskier had really thought they’d both enjoyed it.
Then the mountain happened and… Jaskier wasn’t sure what to think anymore.
All he knew was that the whole thing had become one giant tangled mess that throbbed and ached in the center of his chest and even looking at it made him hurt all over again.
Despite that, though, he knew that the moment Geralt asked if he’d accompany him again, if he ever did , Jaskier wouldn’t hesitate. Perhaps he was simply a sucker for heartache. But the idea of watching Geralt walk out of his life a second time felt like it would be the end of him.
Jaskier, Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, the greatest travelling bard to have ever lived, Master of the Seven Liberal Arts, killed by a broken heart foolishly gifted to a man who would never love him. Oh, the delicious irony. Valdo would laugh himself sick at the news. At least that way one of them would gain something from it.
It had been such a mistake. Even though he’d enjoyed it, had thought Geralt had too, they never should have broached being anything but friends. If he could just bring himself to accept that, curse his cruel and traitorous heart, then maybe, just maybe, Geralt would accept his company again. He hoped, at least. He wanted nothing more.
He glanced toward the door just as it opened and his heart, the damn thing, skipped a beat when Geralt stepped into the room with his cloak’s hood still in place.
With the rest of his body apparently eager to join in betraying him, he couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He kept his eyes on the witcher as Geralt made his way to the back of the room, to a table that would give him the best view of all of the exits, as always. The selfish little voice at the back of his mind delighted in the fact that he finally had Geralt back in the audience to listen to his work.
If he skipped a song or two in his set to get to the end quicker, well who besides him was to say?
He made his way over to where Geralt was sitting as soon as he could, resting his palms on the table and leaning forward. “Shall we take dinners upstairs then, Geralt? If you want to head up, it’s the first door on the right. I’ll just give you the key, then go order something for us to eat. I should have more than enough to order a bath for you afterwards if you’d like.”
“Hm.”
Jaskier’s smile was thin as he dropped the key onto the table. Turning on his heel, he tried to ignore the way irritation was welling up. It was just how Geralt was, he was quick to remind himself. He didn’t mean anything by it, even though Jaskier was offering him an olive branch.
Jaskier plastered on a smile as he charmed the innkeeper’s comely daughter into giving him a little more than he’d paid for his and Geralt’s meal. She flushed an appealing shade of pink down to her bosom at a few sweet words and added the freshest rolls and two full mugs of the good wine he’d overheard her father boasting of to a wealthier patron. Batting her lashes at him, she pushed the tray across to him which he accepted with a curling smile and a promise to try to pay her a visit before he moved on.
Geralt had already retreated upstairs by the time he had their food, and Jaskier was rather grateful when the door was opened just as he reached it. He slipped inside to set the tray down on the lone table.
"The best the kitchen has to offer. Rich stew with only the largest chunks of root vegetables they could afford and hints of meat, a couple of small rolls I think were cooked this morning, and a generous mug of wine to finish it off," he said, setting his hands on his hips. He avoided turning to look at Geralt. "If you're still hungry I might be convinced to see if I can get them to scrounge up some more."
The witcher hummed quietly and a few short footsteps brought him so close that Jaskier could feel the warmth of him through his doublet.
"Thanks," Geralt murmured.
He took his share from the tray, though to Jaskier's surprise he left the wine where it was.
Odd , he thought. He could've sworn he'd seen Geralt indulge in several glasses of wine before. He'd just have to remember to get beer next time, if Geralt was going to turn his nose up at wine all of a sudden. Jaskier definitely wasn't going to let it go to waste.
After collecting his own mug, Jaskier sat down against the headboard of the bed so he was facing Geralt. He took to nervously shovelling spoonfuls of stew into his mouth to keep from speaking too soon, settling in to watch.
It was quiet for some time, beyond the pounding of his own heart in Jaskier's ears and the scraping of spoons on the clay bowls. By the time one of them dared to speak, there was a small pile of meat chunks left untouched in Geralt's discarded bowl, and beads of sweat had formed at Jaskier's hairline.
"You… said you wanted to talk?" Jaskier murmured, picking at the crust of his roll just for something to busy his hands with.
"Hm. Need to."
"Well… Here we are!" He couldn't help but laugh, throwing his arms out to either side.
Geralt didn't turn to look at him, keeping his amber eyes firmly focused on the wall. He clenched and unclenched his fists a few times.
"About what happened on the mountain…"
"Ah." Even expecting it, Jaskier's throat was tight. "The mountain, yes… That was awful, wasn't it? Both of us saying or doing things we hadn't meant to…"
"Both?" Geralt responded with an arched brow. To Jaskier's relief, the Witcher turned his face toward him. Enough of a relief, in fact, that he reached forward to snag one of Geralt's hands to squeeze in a selfish desire for comfort.
"I could hear your voices all the way back in camp. Not any actual words, mind you, but I knew your voices were raised. I did some thinking afterwards, once I was less… upset, and really I should have expected it."
He felt Geralt draw back slightly so he squeezed tighter.
"You were both upset and I walked in right after. And we both know I can be a bit much. I should've given you space!" He laughed again. Feeling his eyes begin to prickle, he closed them.
"Jaskier…"
"I thought you truly meant it. I thought I'd really driven you away forever, that I'd never see you again. I'm just glad to be wrong this time."
Geralt shifted, putting his leg up onto the bed so they were facing each other.
"I shouldn't have said it," he said, low and stiff. “Didn’t mean to.”
“I know.” And truly, Jaskier did. They wouldn’t have stayed friends for this long if he hadn’t understood what Geralt really was like. So he smiled and patted the witcher’s hand. “We all make mistakes. I should know better by now than to misread signals as tied to my profession as matters of the heart are! And I should be better at knowing not to, what was it you said? Hide my sausage in the wrong pantry? We’re friends, Geralt, I should’ve been content with that and better known my place! I value our friendship far more than a simple story and I’d just… I’d be happy to go back to things being the way they were before.”
Something like distress crossed Geralt’s features, twisting the corners of his mouth down in a way Jaskier hadn’t expected. It made him rethink what he’d just said, and once he had he felt his eyes widen.
“Not to say that it was that bad of a mistake, to have slept with you! Heavens, no, it was more than pleasant really, I can definitely say I enjoyed it, it’s just… It’s a good thing you can’t get pregnant, hm? Because that way there doesn’t have to be consequences of having done it!” he said desperately, forcing a laugh to try to cover how sick he felt.
Jaskier could practically feel the tremulous bridge between them cracking away with every word. He let his gaze fall as Geralt withdrew his hand to clench around his knees instead.
Why did it always feel like Jaskier was guaranteed to make some kind of mistake to make things worse? Maybe Geralt had even been right about him being the cause of all their problems.
It’s because you are a mistake , his mind whispered viciously.
He swallowed back a sob and tried again. “Listen, Geralt… Why don’t we… Why not start over? I’d intended to return to Oxenfurt. I know it’s early, but I think it’d be good for me to just settle down for a little while. Why don’t you join me for the journey there?”
Geralt nodded. He pushed himself to his feet and fetched his discarded cloak from where it hung over the end of the bed. He pulled it into place over his shoulders.
All while keeping his back to Jaskier.
“Come find me when you’re leaving,” he said flatly. He left before Jaskier could even manage to say a word.
He left Jaskier with the sense that somehow, everything had gotten even worse than it had been before.