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“Holy fuck!” Dandelion cried, as his foot went straight through the rotten wood. His arms flung out wide to find Geralt’s hand, and he latched onto the witcher like a leach, desperately trying to free his foot from the bridge.
“It’s okay, Dandelion,” Geralt murmured, his arm around Dandelion’s waist to steady him. “Just don’t look down.”
So, Dandelion looked down. Beneath them was a jagged canyon, sharp rocks jutting out from the raging river below; a death trap. His stomach twisted, and he had to clap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from vomiting all over the witcher. Gods, he was never going to make it across the damn bridge alive. He was going to die.
He was too young to die.
“G-Geralt, help me,” he whined, closing his eyes as the world began to spin.
Hot breath tickled his ear, and Dandelion whimpered leaning forward against Geralt’s chest as he tried to catch his breath and slow his racing heart.
“I don’t want to die.” The words came out as a whisper, a prayer on the wind.
“I’ve got you, I won’t let you go, now just steady and let me help you.”
Geralt’s hand wrapped around his foot, firm and strong yet so gentle. Really the way Geralt was talking in a low voice, like he would with Roach when she got spooked, should have been embarrassing, but the low timbre was soothing. The pressure of Geralt’s fingers brushing along his ankle was remarkably comforting and he melted against the side of the bridge, his fingers digging into Geralt’s shoulders.
“There we go,” Geralt chuckled. “Now don’t look down this time, poet.”
Nodding, Dandelion kept his eyes squeezed shut, even as Geralt’s finger’s laced with his and began to guide him blind across the bridge. Every step felt like he was walking to the gallows, and he kept remembering the sickening sound of the wood crunching as his foot sank through the planks. This time, however, they made it to the end without incident, and when Dandelion’s boot kicked a pebble on the edge of the cliff he squeaked, eyes flying open when he realised he was safe.
“All the gods,” he breathed and flung his arms around Geralt’s neck, sobbing a little from the wave of pure unadulterated relief that flooded through him. He knew he was clinging too tightly for any normal man to stand, but this way Geralt and he never complained.
And really Dandelion had just almost died so he was allowed to be a little bit dramatic. Thankfully, Geralt just held him as he clung on, his heart racing faster than lightning.
“You’re safe now, Dandelion, I’ve got you, you’re safe,” Geralt repeated, the words like a drum echoing until Dandelion slowly began to believe them.
He was safe. He hadn’t fallen to his death, mostly thanks to his wonderful best friend. A manic giggle escaped his lips as he finally pulled back from the hug. “We are never doing that again, darling. There must be a better way.”
Geralt smirked and nodded towards the horizon. In the distance, not even a half hour’s ride away… was another bridge. The stone supports of the bridge plunged into the canyon below, and Dandelion could just about make out the shape of wagons making their way across.
“Oh you bastard.”
The witcher shrugged. “Toll road.”
“Toll- you bloody stubborn mare! No wonder Roach is a nightmare, she’s just like her owner!” Dandelion cried but Geralt just laughed and carried on along the path.