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"Do hum…" Geralt clears his throat.
Jaskier’s head jerks up. He was quietly composing his next song, but something at the edge of Geralt’s voice makes Jaskier immediately uncomfortable. Geralt was often annoyed or grumpy, yes. But he never sounded nervous around Jaskier. He narrows his eye. Geralt is sitting by the fire, so it’s easy to see him illuminated by the orange light. He’s stabbing the ground with a piece of wood. Strange. Geralt usually has an eerie calmness to him. Jaskier twirls his own quilt a few times before settling it down on his journal. Their eyes find each other for a second, Jaskier raises one eyebrow in a silent question, and Geralt’s eyes fall back on the ground.
“Burn Butcher Burn… One of yours?” Geralt asks without meeting Jaskier’s eye.
Jaskier has stopped singing that song since they started travelling together again a few months back, but other bards must have picked it up. Geralt probably heard it a few weeks back when they had separated for a few days. Jaskier had caught a nasty cold and had to stay put for a week while Geralt had gone a couple of villages over to clear their contracts.
“Yeah. Mine”, Jaskier answers, his voice a little unsteady.
They fall silent. Jaskier can see the hurt in Geralt’s eye when he looks back up, and he knows his own reflect the same pain back at the Witcher. The song was nasty, but it was honest and raw. He hates that he performed it instead of keeping it tucked hidden between the pages of his journal, but at the same time, he can’t say he completely regrets it. He still feels the grief of their old friendship, flawed as it was. They are friends again, but it’s different now. He’s less carefree than he used to be.
“Sorry,” they say in unison, then freeze. They aren’t apologising for the same things, but they still need both to hear it, and it’s been too long coming. They don’t need more. They know what the other is sorry for, and more words can’t fix what’s broken between them. That simple word encompasses everything they can’t say. It’s the acknowledgement that has meanings. Because it’s said now, during a quiet time, nothing rushing them and pushing them forward, forcing them to move on. It’s the fact that they are looking at each other, seeing each other’s pain plainly in the light of the fire. It’s enough.
“Maybe it’s time to retire it for something else”, Jaskier proposes after a bit. A peace offering of a sort.
“A new beginning”, Geralt answers.
“Something different”, Jaskier confirms. He smiles tentatively. Geralt doesn’t, but he nods slightly, and Jaskier can see his shoulder relax.
Something new, something known but different.
Something new, starting again.
Like them.