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You’re in a rightly pitiful state when you make it to the edge of the closest town, flowers blooming against quaint homes and several children playing at the side of the path, their laughter greeting you warmly.
With a wrist aching in colors of blue and purple and cradled against your chest, you ride with one hand on the reins, Jaskier a few paces behind you on his own horse. The worried expression he wears, burning into your back.
Your mare, affectionately named Bandit, and to blame for your condition, walks meekly, her ears flickering back and forward at your occasional, pained mutterings. Jaskier is quick to hitch the two horses when you reach an inviting-looking inn that sits halfway down the main street.
Bandit snorts, and nips at your hand.
“You’re really something, ya know” you waggle a finger at her with a slight chuckle, “leaving me in the dirt like that.”
He lets an arm wrap around your side then, fingertips grazing your hip as you enter the fire-warmed inn. He’s quick to pull out enough coin for a room, despite your protests. The middle-aged lady behind the bar passes him a key and a knowing look.
You want to pause, so you can tell her that it’s not like that. But she winks at your bewildered expression and tells the two of you she’ll send her daughters up to warm the bath shortly.
He can’t recall a time where you’ve allowed him to feel more needed when you let him help you out of your boots and cloak without a word of protest.
You catch sight of the pleased expression on his face and think you could almost kiss him. You’re hardly able to place blame on the fire, flames whittled down to glowing embers, for the warmth that blossoms on your cheeks.
He’s standing in front of you still, hand still resting on your arm and rubbing soft circles into the fabric of your shirt with his thumb.
It seems like an innocent enough gesture until his gaze drops to your lips - soft and pink and kissable.
There’s nothing stopping you from leaning into his hold then, a moment of weakness, or perhaps strength, letting your head rest against his chest. It’s a comfortable place to be, and you don’t want to forget the way his arms move to wrap around your lower back
A sudden knock at the door has you jumping apart, and you settle on the edge of the bed to watch as Jaskier answers, stepping back to let two younger girls into the room.
They both carry a pail in each hand, steam rising as they add them to the bathtub in the corner of the room. You wonder if Jaskier catches the shared glances between the girls – did they think you two were going to share the bath?
A fleeting thought has you hoping you would – your back resting against his chest – time slowed and the world, forgotten.
They leave and come back with more hot water. The brunette lingers behind and casts an eye over the scented oils kept on the shelf. After a moment she selects two and adds them to the water.
Jaskier smiles then, a boyish smirk in your direction – you're both trying to figure out if she thinks the something between you is true love or simple loveless vows.
Eventually, she leaves the room with a small bow of her head and the door shuts firmly behind her.
The scent, rising with the steam from the bath leans in the direction of romantic. All soft and rosy and everything you and Jaskier were yet to be.
His gaze returns to you and the quirk of his eyebrow makes you think he’s heard that thought. Still sitting on the bed, you pull your socks off with intent focus.
Despite the pain, your wrist is still moveable. But unlacing your remaining clothing requires both hands and at your set jaw and constant hisses of pain, Jaskier steps forward to help.
He waits for your nod before deftly unlacing and undoing a little more of your modesty. There’s a surge of warmth that fills your veins when his fingers brush against your collarbone.
You shiver.
He notices.
He also makes quick work of your clothing. Practiced hands. He bites his lower lip when the neckline of your blouse dips into uncharted feelings.
And it was almost like all this time, his existence had been within Winter’s entirety and there you were, the sun, his sun, seen in its purest form for the first time. He wants the vulnerable sense of trust you show him burned into his heart for eternity.
Even his face flushes slightly and you bask in this feeling of both needing someone and wanting them at the same time. Unpracticed thoughts.
There’s a sharp twinge of disappointment in your chest when he turns away from you, letting you kick off your trousers and pull your shirt over your head without any of his help or longing looks. He keeps his back turned and drapes his own jacket over the desk chair while he waits.
You take such time climbing into the tub that he catches sight of you, sinking into the heat with an appreciative sigh, and Gods, if only you knew quite how badly he wanted to love all of you, completely.
He rounds the side of the tub, coming into your view and pushing his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. You force yourself to look away, nipping at your lower lip to stifle a moan.
Honestly, you wouldn’t mind those exact arms wrapping around your body, pulling you flush against him, on a backdrop of soft sheets and candlelight, his hand-
“You’re blushing,” he points out with a chuckle and you can only make up an excuse about the water being hot. He sees through your lie with a smug smile and gathers one of the soaps from the shelf – subtle tones of lavender.
Shifting the wooden stool, he settles behind you and offers to wash your hair.
“You’re taking care of me,” you mumble, arms resting on the sides of the tub and your fingertips dancing across the surface of the water.
“Happily,” he assures you, before focusing on working the braid out of your hair, carefully so as not to pull at it, or hurt you.
You smirk, his hands carding through your hair with gentle enthusiasm.
When you have to lean your head back so he can wet your hair with a pail of water, the heat that rises up your spine is hardly due to embarrassment. It’s a vastly different kind of flame you’re beginning to feel.
He works the soap, lathered in his hands through your hair, unable to tell who’s happier with the current situation. Your eyes are shut, lashes kissing your cheeks and fluttering on the occasion where his fingers catch in a stubborn tangle. Jaskier smiles to himself, at your impossible beauty in such a simple moment.
You’ve lost any sense of time as his fingers run through your hair and you’re hardly able to muffle the whine/moan that escapes through your lips when his fingernails drag against your scalp, once, twice, and then a third time.
Does he see your toes curl?
He guides you to sit up slightly so he can rinse the soap from your hair and gently squeeze the excess water out.
Jaskier’s watched you braiding your own hair on many occasions. Either a single braid down your back or one that wraps around your head like a crown.
He thinks he can manage one for you, but you’re always making complicated things look easy. As fumbling hands weave your locks into a sad braid, he fantasizes about what you would look like, hair splayed around you on a shared bed and him straddling your hips with heady intentions-
“I never thought I’d want to need someone,” you say then, breaking the thought that makes him adjust the way he’s sitting behind you.
“Oh,” he replies, and then he realizes you’re talking about him. “Well, I never thought I’d want someone to need me, like...” he drifts off as you relax further, back against the tub.
You can’t help tilting your head back to catch sight of him above you and the blissful expression on his face at taking care of you makes your eyes water, slightly. Has anyone ever cared about you this much?
It felt like the sort of thing lovers would do and in that moment, with his eyes glancing down to meet yours, there’s nothing you want more out of life – to be the lover sung of in his ballads.
You’re wondering if he feels the same... If he wants to be your lover when you both speak at the same time -
“- Do you want to join me?”
“- Do you want a hand getting out?”