Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jaskier was sitting on the ground shuffling through Roach’s saddle bags. Carefully rearranging Geralt’s clothes and other necessities to make room for his own. Geralt was watching him from his own position on the ground close by, indulging the bard and listening to the array of ah’s and hm’s he was making while trying to find the right spot for a certain item. Even at a task like this, he was unable to keep silent.

They had met up at a tree near one of the crossroads just outside of Oxenfurt, which they had decided on last autumn before parting for winter. Like every spring Jaskier had made a point to remind Geralt that he simply could not carry all his belongings and should be allowed to move some of them from his bag to Geralt’s. A few years back this used to be thing they fought about every spring, but now after years of traveling together, the back and forth bickering was more of a tradition than either of them trying to make a point. And if Geralt was being honest, it did make sense since the bard had to walk besides him riding Roach all day, not that he would ever admit that to him. Jaskier was smug enough as is. 

“Are you quite done?” he tried to sound annoyed, a hand raised to hide his eyes from the morning sun.

“No Geralt. If you weren’t so sloppy I wouldn’t have to reorganize your things as well, but since someone doesn’t plan ahead…”, Jaskier began trailing off into another tangent, Geralt started tuning him out. 

In his opinion the way he organized his things was perfectly logical, it wasn’t his fault that Jaskier insisted on coordinating everything according to colour and size. Besides Geralt’s clothes were all black so he didn’t even know what Jaskier needed to rearrange. It was at this point, deep in thought, that he noticed it the first time. A small wooden box, about the size of a big walnut, deep brown, almost black in colour. Despite its simplicity it peaked Geralt’s interest. He had never seen it before and since Jaskier kept it close to himself placed on the ground, separate from the other items scattered around, it was clearly something precious. 

He was just about to ask about the box, a question about to leave his lips, when Jaskier looked up from the bag. His eyes followed the witcher’s gaze, landing on the small object beside him. Jaskier’s ears turned pinkish in colour and he quickly moved it back into his own bag, away from the one they were sharing.

He then took the rest of his belongings, shoved them into the saddlebag and briskly stood, brushing his pants down from any dirt or bugs that might have gotten onto him from sitting in the grass. 

“Well then. Let’s get going!”, with a few quick strides he stood next to Geralt and offered his hand to help the man up. 

Geralt took it and let himself be pulled up by the bard, once again a little surprised by his strength. He let the clumsy distraction by Jaskier slide, most certainly not about to push the bard on what was contained in the box. Gods knew he had his own plethora of topics he didn’t want to talk about. Nevertheless, his interest had been peaked and he admitted to himself that he was curious of the continents of said box. 

“Really, I can’t believe you always take this long for the most simplest things. We don’t have all day Geralt.”

A gentle smile appeared on Geralt’s lips, he rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. How could I.”

He moved to Roach after Jaskier handed him the saddlebag containing their clothes and other necessities, fastened it to the saddle swiftly, repeating a familiar notion. Geralt took a conclusive glance at Jaskier, who grinned back at him, before swinging one leg up and taking his seat on Roach.

Off they were for another year on the path.

*

Geralt thought he’d quickly forget about the item, as he often did with the plethora of nicknacks Jaskier returned with after staying in Oxenfurt for the season. He usually didn’t shy away from showing off his new finds, taking great lengths to talk about them to Geralt and explain his reasoning as to why he had to carry them around even though they were working with weight restrictions. Neither of them wanted to carry too much. Roach shouldn’t either. 

But no, this was different. The last few weeks Geralt had frequently caught sight of the box. Mainly whenever Jaskier payed for something, seemingly having transferred it from his normal bag to his coin purse. And well, that intrigued Geralt. What in the world could Jaskier possibly be carrying around that was this important to him. Gods knew the man liked the finer things in life, but never had he kept something from Geralt like this. 

As they often did, they stood waiting at the counter of an Inn. Geralt had just come back from a contract and fetched Jaskier after the latter had finished a set at a nearby tavern. Both of them exhausted after a productive day and ready to settle down for the evening. 

Since he was supposed to receive payment for getting rid of a small nekker infestation — the monsters, although annoying, having been easy enough to kill quickly —tomorrow morning, the responsibility of paying for shelter fell on Jaskier tonight. Geralt would’ve slept under the stars without complaint, but Jaskier had made a point to not let that happen.

“You know I really don’t mind paying, at this point I truly earn more than enough. As much as you act like we can’t afford it, we really don’t have to sleep outside anymore,” the bard said, as he was shuffling through his purse to pick out the required amount of coins. 

If he was being honest, Geralt wasn't even sure of why he still tried to argue with Jaskier when it came to this topic. Something inside of him just didn’t want Jaskier to be the sole provider of safety at night. He certainly didn’t mind the bard paying from time to time, but he still wanted to offer protection for his friend just as much. Maybe there wasn’t much logic behind his train of thought, since they wouldn’t exactly be more safer outside, but protecting them would rather be more of Geralt’s job. He shook his head, wondering why he’d started speculating about their sleeping arrangements.

Jaskier clearly wasn’t expecting an answer from Geralt and kept on talking, still picking out coins. It was then when Geralt was suddenly jerked from his thoughts, as he noticed the wooden box again, nestled in between coins.

The inkeep was still nowhere to be found, they were the only two people in the room. Geralt took their privacy as an opportunity to ask. 

“What’s that?” A small head nod in the direction of the purse was added to make clear what he meant.

“What?” Jaskier looked at him, his gaze following the Geralt’s. 

“Oh. That.” Once again he flushed, the air around him turned that sweet scent that embarrassment accompanied, mixed with something else Geralt wasn’t sure how to place.

“It’s, uh, a gift for a friend,” He waved his hand around, “Don’t worry about it!”

“Hm,” Geralt raised one eyebrow and gave Jaskier a questioning look.

Just as he was about to ask whom he was referring to, the inkeep came into view from behind a screen that separated the room. Jaskier returned to his duty of ordering them a room, greeting the owner of the establishment and engaging in light banter. Surely trying to butter her up enough to get them a discount on the price or maybe even a bath.

Returning back to his previous thoughts — with the inclusion of newfound information and Jaskier’s general depiction of emotions — Geralt came to the conclusion that Jaskier most definitely didn’t want to talk about the box. That, again, certainly didn’t stop him from wondering though, rather the opposite actually. A friend? Jaskier did pride himself in being able to befriend most strangers in a matter of minutes, but none of those would warrant a gift as cherished as this one. Any other people important to him would be in Oxenfurt, which they not long ago left from, not to mention Jaskier spent the entire last season at.

Not wanting to pry, Geralt did try to drop it, it was none of his business after all.

*

Empahasis on try, that is. No, he didn’t ask about the box again, but he couldn’t just forget it either.

Time went on. Neither Geralt nor Jaskier spoke of the item again. Yet it wouldn’t leave Geralt’s mind in peace. In fact, he thought about it more often than not. Not just the box itself, but also the little bit of information he’d gathered from the one conversation they had had about it. 

Who could Jaskier be talking about? Why was he carrying it around with himself? Why wasn’t he talking about it? Why wasn’t he talking to Geralt about it?

Geralt wasn’t sure why that last question especially took a liking to his course of thought. The way it wriggled it’s nasty tendrils into his head no matter what other things he was currently occupied with. Always persistent. Always bothersome. 

The thing he did know, was that if he took his time and maybe just thought about why his reaction to the stupid thing was the way it was, he would probably find out at some point. But Geralt wasn’t sure he wanted to. It was always easier to push things away before they got too complicated. 

So he didn’t.

*

They just passed the gates of a small Village, not far from Novigrad, when a man wearing an unusual amount of jewelry rapidly approached them. 

Jaskier clearly hadn’t noticed him as he was still happily monologuing next to Geralt who held Roach by her reigns. Telling some story about the time he and his fellow bards at the academy had done something to upset the local priest. Geralt had tuned him out a while ago, since the bard hadn’t complained by now, the story couldn’t have been of great importance. 

Still carefully watching the advancing man, Geralt noticed something about him. A similarity, unsure of what or to whom though. He was just about to say something when the man, now standing in front of them, rudely interrupted him. There was no kindness in his voice to be heard.

“Julian!” A smile that looked almost threatening stretched across his face. “I heard you where somewhere in the area.”

Jaskier startled. He clearly hadn’t expected to be talked to, or maybe more specifically, to be talked to by the man now standing in front of him. Not only his expression, but also, Geralt noted, his scent turned sour as he surveyed the guy.

Not waiting for Jaskier to say something in return, he spoke, “One would think finding you should come easy with how you present yourself these days,” he glanced at Geralt, forehead wrinkled in disgust. “especially because of the company you keep. But nevertheless, it took me some time. No matter, we’re here now aren’t we?”

Even after years of Jaskier’s hard work to make the world view Geralt as someone noble and not a monster, he was still used to the insults. Jaskier, on the contrary, would still get impossibly rilled up from even the most subtle disrespect towards the witcher. 

Clearly his anger also shook him out of the shock that kept him from saying something sooner, “Well, Percival, maybe that is the case because I don’t want to be found. As I have made quite clear the last time I, not only spoke to you, but also the rest of the awful people you call our family. While we’re on the topic of them. I don’t think your judgment of what is fine company to keep leaves any room for you to ridicule mine. Besides,” He glanced at Geralt, something passing his eyes, too quickly for him to catch. “Geralt is perfectly pleasant to be around. Thank you very much.”

In any other instance Geralt would argue about that last bit, but now wasn’t the time.

The man, Percival, a relative perhaps, completely disregarded what Jaskier said, “We have something important to discuss, Julian. I’m sure you can decipher what this might be about, since, as much as it pains me to say, you were always the smartest out of all your siblings.”

Jaskier opened his mouth, as if about to say something, when Percival just spoke on. Once again completely ignoring Jaskier.

“Don’t try to get out of this. You know it’s important, or else I wouldn't have come looking for you,” He was almost hissing at this point, “I can see that you have just gotten here, so I will let you settle in to wherever you will be spending the night. We will meet at that tavern over there— ,” Percival pointed at some building. “—in the evening and we will discuss this further… Alone.” 

He took a step back, “Don’t say I have never been nice to you.” And with that he turned around and stalked off to wherever he came from.

*

Geralt closed the door to their room after himself. With a soft thud it slipped into its frame.

Jaskier was fuming. One didn’t have to have witcher senses to notice. The bard was pacing trough the room, clearly deep in thought. The thing that strikes Geralt as very odd though, was that he still hadn’t said a word. Not to Geralt at least. To himself he was whispering under his breath, sometimes stopping his walking, but never the mumbling. 

Geralt, doing what he did best, didn’t ask. 

Still feeling concerned he did the next best thing: He walked over to the bard and took his hand. Sometimes touch was easier than words for Geralt. Additionally, he knew Jaskier didn’t mind. It worked for them.

The second time that day the bard startled. After a small jump Jaskier looked at their interwoven hands, then at Geralt. He raised an eyebrow. A question. Jaskier sighed.

Not letting go of Geralt’s hand, he took a few quick steps over to the bed and sat down cross-legged, leaving room for the witcher, who silently lowered himself to the bed and took his seat across from Jaskier who was leaning on the headboard of the bed.

He took a deep breath, “Percival is my cousin,” pausing as if that single sentence would explain everything unsaid. Seeing that Geralt couldn’t just read his mind after all, he spoke further, “I am aware that I haven’t spoken much about my family, and I won’t go into detail, but well, It seems that they’ve decided that they want to have some kind of family reunion. By that they probably just mean me, uh, gracing them with my presence.”

This was — well it was complete news to Geralt. He had noticed that Jaskier had never talked about his relatives, but dismissed it as the bard just not thinking of it being worthwhile telling stories of. He should have known that something must have happened, Geralt suddenly felt an irrational surge of rage towards these people he didn’t and probably never would get to know. Clearly they hadn’t treated him well.

Apparently Geralt didn’t school his face enough, or perhaps after years of traveling together Jaskier just knew him that well, because the bard held his hand tighter, “Oh darling, don’t worry. I did run away on my own accord. Somewhat, at least,” The last part he said under his breath. “It was quite a mutual disdain. I really don’t care what they think of me. What I am surprised and fairly confused by though, is why they are reaching out now. I do have my suspicions of course, but…” he trailed off.

“So will you go?” Geralt spoke in a low voice after Jaskier hadn’t said anything in a while.

“I think so.” He looked at their hands again, clasped in one another. Slipping them out of each other’s grip, and rose from the bed. Leaving Geralt there, looking after him.

He walked over to where Geralt had dropped their belongings, including his personal bag, “I feel like it has to be something important and even if I don’t like what’s coming, maybe I just need to face it,” Crouching down, Jaskier started going through his bag, clearly searching for something. 

“Even though it’s been decades since I’ve last seen them, there’s still this one last thing I feel like I have to get across to them. Maybe now is the right time.” Jaskier made a small noise of triumph, clearly having found what he was searching for but, Geralt was unable to see what it was from his position on the bed. 

“But before I go, I want you to hold onto something.”

The bard was standing in front of him again, glancing down. In his left hand he held a small wooden box. The fucking box Geralt couldn’t stop thinking about. 

Geralt’s gaze shot from Jaskier’s hand to his eyes. “Why does it sound like you’re not coming back?”

Jaskier hesitated for a moment. Geralt started panicking. 

“I will. I just- Percival can be very persistent, but I will.” He spoke softer, “Nonetheless I want you to keep this for the time being. If, and I’m not saying this will happen, but if I’m not back by tomorrow morning then you can open it. But only then, alright,” Jaskier spoke, an unsure smile grazing his lips.

Trying not to focus on the strange request, Geralt said, “Can’t I just come with you? You’re not in danger are you?”

Jaskier chuckled, it sounded hollow. “No, no, they wouldn’t. And usually I’d gladly accept your proposition, but I am afraid not this time Geralt.”

He took a step forward, almost bumping his knee to Geralt’s. Jaskier handed him the deep brown box, unaware of how familiar it had become to Geralt’s eyes. 

Without another word, but with one last small wavering smile and glance at Geralt, he turned around and left. The door softly clicked into its lock after it closed behind him.

*

Geralt waited.

His previous position on the bed had changed to one sitting at the small desk, that stood in front of the singular window of the room they had rented. The box sat in front of him, like the rest of the room, lit in dim candle light mixed with the soft glow of the few moon beams that drifted through the window.

It was taunting him. He knew that was impossible, since it was an inanimate object, but it was clearly taunting him. He most certainly knew he wouldn’t betray Jaskier’s trust and just open it. Even if it proved to be surprisingly difficult. No. Geralt would just sit and wait for Jaskier to return. He had promised after all. Both of them had.

So that’s what he did. 

His arms crossed, an almost accusing stare directed at a small box. Geralt and the box. The box and Geralt.

Hours passed. Geralt’s worrying soon turned into actual concern. Should he have gone after him? The situation was clearly of great importance, but it really hadn’t seemed like Jaskier wanted Geralt to accompany him. And who was Geralt to push himself on the bard, but after just sitting around for so long he couldn’t quite bring himself to justify his carelessness. 

After a few more minutes of berating himself and thinking of all the horrible things that could have happened in his absence, Geralt was about to get up from the table and go after the bard when he heard familiar footsteps crossing the threshold downstairs. 

Jaskier.

Relief flooded over him and he quickly stood. As over eager as he was, Geralt slightly bumped the desk and just as he reached for the box, not wanting to have it in his possession any longer than necessary, it toppled over and tumbled to the ground. 

It hit the floor with a soft thud, cushioned by the bit of carpet it fell on, and to Geralt’s horror, sprang open. 

The sound of metal rang from the spot where it bounced from the carpet to the nearby wooden ground. And a small circular object rolled directly towards Geralt’s feet, almost as if he was a magnet and not the person who’s gaze it wasn’t supposed to meet.

A ring. It was a fucking ring. 

The thing Jaskier was hiding from Geralt — the thing he was going to give somebody — was a ring.

Footsteps.

After the initial shock, Geralt remembered that Jaskier was just about to enter their room. He crouched down to the ground, quickly picked up the box and its contents. His fingers brushed over the delicate detail etched around like a band and an engraving on the inside of the ring. Not having time to actually look at it, he shoved it into it’s container and rose from the floor. 

As he heard the door open, Geralt carefully schooled his expression. He turned around to face his friend. And well. Jaskier looked like he had been crying. His eyes fell on Geralt, clearly surprised that he hadn’t gone to bed yet, a small smile appeared on his lips.

Just as Geralt was about to say something, Jaskier practically threw himself at him and two strong arms wrapped around his shoulders. A small gasp escaped Geralt’s lips, not having expected the sudden rush of another person pressing against him.

He quickly recovered from the startling gesture and slowly rose his own arms around Jaskier, pulling him closer. Geralt buried his face in the space where Jaskier’s neck met his shoulder. Trying hard to dismiss his feelings about the ring. Now was not the time. 

A few seconds passed. 

“They finally did it. They disowned me.”

Geralt thought such news would be accompanied by the salty scent of sadness, but after taking a quick breath he could only smell exhaustion and deep content. He pulled slightly back, not enough to break their hug, but enough so they could look one another in the eyes. 

“What happened?”

“This might take a bit more explaining than just the events from tonight.” Jaskier dropped the arms wrapped around the witcher. Feeling an odd pang of something, so did Geralt. 

The bard strode over to the bed and placed himself in the same position as the one he sat in just a few hours ago, although according to Geralt’s deception of time it could've easily been days.

“Sit with me?” he padded the space on the blanket close to him.

Geralt obliged. After he settled down, he nodded. A silent request for Jaskier to start speaking.

“Alright,” he huffed, “As you might have noticed, my family and I aren’t — weren’t — really, uh, agreeing on a lot of things. To keep things short, they weren’t good people. They weren’t directly cruel to me, not physically at least. And Melitele knows there are people who had to endure a much more difficult upbringing than me,” glancing at Geralt he added, “Especially you Geralt. I don’t want to seem like I'm whining, but the way they treated anybody they thought of being lesser than them — I just couldn’t tolerate it. Under different circumstances I would’ve left sooner, but with our status that turned out to be a bit difficult.”

Geralt hadn’t known that Jaskier had refrained from telling Geralt of his family, no, these people, because he didn’t want to seem like he was feeling sorry for himself. He knew that these things could not be compared to one another. One’s own feelings are not lesser than the others if both are hurting the same.

“Jaskier—“

“No, let me finish. I want to —“ Jaskier inhaled deeply before continuing, “I’m a Viscount, Geralt. Was. And my relatives really care about what other people think of our family. We were off each others backs for a while after I left for university at Oxenfurt. I was supposed to return to Lettenhove after completing my studies, but I, well, kind of just ran away?”

Lettenhove? That actually rang a bell. Geralt remembered quite a few years ago that Jaskier and him had traveled that area, but after he requested for them to not go there. Reasoning his request with him having previously meddled with a few too many, still married, spouses and not being keen on meeting their wives and husbands respectively. At the time Geralt hadn’t questioned it, he’d been glad to not have to rescue Jaskier from any unpleasant situations. After that one time they hadn’t come close to Lettenhove again, wether that was a conscious decision or not, he wasn’t sure.

He also knew that the Leaders there, the family Pankratz, were known to be quite gruesome, not respectful of their people and over all greedy. So nothing like Jaskier.

“My stage name, worked well enough to keep them from finding me, or maybe they had just accepted me not returning, I don’t know. And then I met you, and off we were. I didn’t think I’d ever hear from them again. Until today,” he continued talking.

“That brings us to a few hours ago. Like I said, the man who talked to me was my cousin Percival. A nasty leech of a man if you ask me. He always tried to one up me in my fathers eyes. Which wasn’t really difficult if you consider that I didn’t want to have anything to do with the man,” Jaskier trailed off. Geralt took one off his hands in his again. A reminder to stay focused. 

Jaskier gave him that sweet little smile again, “I met him at the tavern like he asked me to do. To be honest I thought he was about to drag me away and they’d force me to take my fathers place. And I was right, but thank the gods not the way I thought I was. Yes my father had died. My Parents had children late, meaning i’d have to take over once he… Actually, I’m surprised he hadn’t bit the dust sooner. But instead of Percival giving me no options, he gave me an ultimatum.

“I could either come with him, not make a fuss and take my father’s place — Apparently the people there still believe I live at court and are waiting for me to take over — Or he could disown me on the spot and report back to them that I had died from some tragic accident. 

“Maybe the more noble option would have been to take my rightful spot as a leader and try to change their way of running the lands, but I don’t think I could have done much. The court is deeply corrupt and I’d probably have been killed off as soon as I would have tried to make a difference.”

Jaskier gently squeezed Geralt’s hand. “So of course I took my way out. I don’t care for the status or money. Let the last two decades be an instance. Percival had always wanted the place more than I did, so why not. I can’t say he’s a good person, but he’s definitely way less of the monster my father was, so maybe he’ll be able to fix some of Lettenhove’s issues.”

His gaze drifted from their interviewed hands to Geralt’s eyes. “I hope you don’t think less of me because of my decision. I like the life I built myself, I can’t just loose that.”

Geralt's eyebrows drew together. Think less of him? “Jaskier why would I — You know I —“ he cursed himself and his incapability to speak his mind and feelings. Pushing past his boundaries he spoke, “Don’t say that. I’m glad you made the choice you made and came back.”

It wasn’t much. Unsaid words hung in the air between them, but Jaskier understood nonetheless. They had been traveling together for years after all. If he wouldn’t be able to read Geralt at this point, he’d been long gone.

Jaskier smiled. “Yeah. Me too.”

They slept closer to one another that night. Still, Geralt tried to keep his distance, at least a little bit. Jaskier had a ring to give away after all.

*

The next day Jaskier seemed impossibly more cheerful, like years worth of guilt had been lifted off his shoulders. Geralt was, of course, very glad that the bard was feeling better, but his feelings toward the matter were tainted by a certain object.

Before they settled down for bed yesterday, he had presented Jaskier the ring box he had left in Geralt’s care. He’d hastily taken it and shoved it into his bag, away from Geralt’s eyes once more.

Like so often, his ears turned slightly pink. “You didn’t open it did you?”

Technically speaking he hadn’t, so Geralt just shook his head, underlining it with a grunt.

“Good, good,” he said and carried on to talk about something different, clearly changing the subject deliberately.

After that Geralt tried to dismiss the topic from his mind, again, and rest for the few hours they had remaining.

But now, the following day, he had more than enough time to think about the stupid ring. It had turned out the village they were staying at, wasn’t in need of any help regarding monsters, after stocking up their supplies at the local merchant they set up to be on the path again. 

Comfortable silence hung between them as Geralt rode on Roach and Jaskier walked beside him. The familiar sound of Roach’s steps mingled with the low tune the bard was playing on his lute. Geralt couldn’t recognize the melody which meant he was composing something new, possibly inspired by the events of yesterday. Despite Geralt’s insistence that he was annoyed with Jaskier’s constant song writing, he kept close attention of what he composed. He knew from experience that even though Jaskier wrote something completely new every few days, he only performed a faction of his whole repertoire. It seemed his ballads were almost like a diary, Geralt wondered how many he never got to hear.

Of course after being left to his own thoughts, only assisted by a somber tune, Geralt’s mind wandered to the box. More specifically its contents. He tried to focus on what it had looked like. The half a second in which Geralt actually held the ring obviously hadn’t been enough time to take a proper look, but it did offer some information. 

The ring was silver in finish, decorated with delicate buttercups winding around one another. On the inside had been an engraving, but Geralt hadn’t been able to look at it before the door opened. He may not be as well versed in jewelry as in other crafts, however, even his untrained eyes could make out the fine craftsmanship and recognize it as quite expensive. Clearly whoever the ring would be for was very dear to Jaskier. It was a gift of undoubtedly romantic intend.

Bitterness nestled in Geralt’s stomach. He was no stranger to Jaskier’s romantic escapades, but even with the bard calming down in recent years, no-one came to mind who would be worthy of such a meaningful gift. Jaskier gave away his love freely and passionately, but never for a long time. He was, with the exception of the winter months, a traveling bard after all. Still, maybe that had changed. Perhaps there was somebody who nestled themselves in his heart enough for him to want to stay. The ring could be a promise for change. The reason why Jaskier had even entrusted him the box yesterday, was probably so that Geralt himself could deliver it to the recipient in case Jaskier hadn’t made it back.

For all Geralt knew, these past few months could be a goodbye on Jaskier’s part, his beloved somewhere on the path they were trudging. And then when they finally reached wherever they lived, Jaskier would leave Geralt.

And that’s when it clicked. Something in his brain finally shifted into the right position. Geralt didn’t want Jaskier to leave. That was nothing new. What was new on the other hand was that Geralt loved Jaskier. Geralt loved Jaskier. But no, it wasn’t new was it.

Now that he thought about it, quite a few things made sense. He’d never been the type to be touchy, always too afraid to hurt the other person. It wasn’t like he’d been shown much affection in his upbringing, so how was he supposed to know. But things changed when Jaskier wormed his way into Geralt’s life. The realization of his feelings surprisingly didn’t feel like a plunge into cold water, but rather like stepping into a warm bath. Not unexpected, but a welcomed feeling. 

Until his brain caught up that is.

“Geralt? You alright?” 

Jaskier stood a few meters in front of him. Apparently he had, at some point, stopped Roach and now both the horse and Jaskier were staring at him. Roach side eyeing him like, well, a horse and Jaskier looking at him with mild concern.

Schooling his face from whichever expression his newfound emotion brought with itself Geralt said, “ Yes, sorry. Just, uh, got a bit distracted.” He fumbled over his words.

“Ooookay. Let’s carry on then. Alright darling?”

Geralt hummed in agreement and with a soft kick set Roach into motion once again. Jaskier returned to walking next to him as well. Moving again, Geralt tried to pay closer attention to his surroundings as to not let his mind drift and tip the bard or Roach off to the whirlwind that his mind was right now.

What the fuck was he supposed to do now. His track record of loving people most certainly wasn’t very extensive, not to mention quite complicated. Geralt couldn’t just confess. Jaskier had after all, quite clearly, a beloved. Of course Geralt knew that people were able to love more than just one person, but even if that were the case, he wasn’t sure if he was worthy to be Jaskier’s anything. Even just being his friend felt sometimes too much. Like Geralt couldn’t give Jaskier back as much as he rightfully deserved. As Jaskier gave him.

There was no easy solution to this. So Geralt kept silent. At least yearning was something he was familiar with after all.

*

Not even a few days later the gods forsaken Caingorn mountain happened.

Of course Geralt regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Jaskier stalked off and Geralt — well, Geralt had expected to meet him where they had left Roach at the base of the mountain. But the only other living being that greeted him there had been his horse. Jaskier could be surprisingly fast when he wanted to be, decades of walking alongside Geralt riding Roach now made that clear, as he was nowhere to be found.

Geralt knew Yennefer was a lost cause, he deeply regretted lashing out at both of them, but was determined to hurry after Jaskier. He didn’t know how much longer he had until the bard left him for whoever would receive the ring and thus didn’t want to waste any more time of them spending apart. Geralt would just have to swallow his pride and — for once — apologize to his friend.

The seriousness of the situation made itself clear when he noticed the significant weight drop of Roach’s saddle bags. Jaskier had taken his things with himself, which meant he’d been truly hurt. This wasn’t just one of their stupid arguments that maybe resulted in a few days of silence and passive aggression, no, Jaskier had left with the intend of not coming back. Guilt settled in Geralt’s stomach. He felt awful.

He mustered his surroundings, in search of anything the bard might have left behind, then his eyes fell on a familiar wooden box. Positioned on a big rock next to Roach it looked almost comically small. Geralt’s heart dropped. Why would he —

Quickly, he moved to the rock. His hand landed on the box before another thought was made. Geralt grasped it carefully in his hand and stared at it. There was no doubt in his mind that it was the box Jaskier so carefully kept from him over the past few months. But why had Jaskier left it here. Out of all the things he carried with him, the way he acted because of it, it should be at the top of the list of things he’d take with him. It was a gift for somebody after all. 

Geralt’s brows were tightly knit together. Against his better judgement he opened the box for the first time to properly look at the ring. The design hadn’t changed between now and the last time he had been able to glance at it. The engraved buttercups still looked as delicate as ever, but subtle enough as to not look too pompous. It was a well crafted item. Must’ve cost quite a bit.

With a frown Geralt turned it in his fingers, once more his fingers slid over the engraving on the inside. He moved the ring from the shadow his body created against the sun. 

Always right beside you.

Some people might think of Geralt as simple since he didn’t speak much, but he wasn’t a stupid man. He knew who these words were directed at. Geralt broke down. The gods forsaken ring was for him.

All the times Jaskier had flirted with him weren’t just the bard joking around. Geralt noticed that in recent years there had been an increase in his teasing and lingering glances, but he had written them off as being silly jokes between friends and Jaskier’s willingness to jump into bed with most people. Yet Geralt had just been too stuck up to see, to understand his own foolish feelings and talk to the bard. And when he finally did, he had convinced himself that there was somebody else.

Now Geralt had to make a decision. He had broken Jaskier’s heart on that mountain, yelled at him and disregarded years of friendship. So he changed his plans and didn’t hurry after him. Jaskier deserved better. 

Geralt’s next few days were spend at the base of the mountain. The dwarfs had left a while ago and Yennefer probably portaled herself off the top before any of them. He was alone in a way he hadn’t been in decades. Mourning what could have been he wallowed in self-pity. Geralt kept the ring close, never taking it out of it’s box for too long, not wanting to risk loosing it.

Geralt was many things, but at the top of all he was consistent. At the dawn of the third day of his self-pity break, Geralt packed his things and left in order to start looking for a new contract. As much as it pained him, he had to follow his duties as a witcher and live as long as the path needed him.

Not wanting to store the ring away he took one of the leather bands stored in his supplies, thread it through the rings middle and and bound it’s ends together, creating a necklace. As a reminder. Of what Geralt was not quite sure. He slipped it over his head. Safe from sight and worldly elements, he placed it under his shirt. Sensing the cold metal brush his skin Geralt felt another twinge of guilt and loss.

Unable to rest his eyes up the mountain range in fear of feeling too much he mounted roach and rode off.

*

Months passed and Geralt just didn’t think about him. He searched for his child surprise and didn’t think about him. He found said child and didn’t think about him. He reunited with Yennefer and didn’t think about him. Ciri got taken away from Geralt and he didn’t think about him. 

But as much as he tried to tell himself, lie to himself, of course he still did. Anywhere he looked he was reminded of Jaskier. Every time Geralt even just heard a tune, he pictured Jaskier’s hands strumming away at his lute. The simplest buttercup would remind him of how Jaskier’s eyes would light up whenever they fell on something he considered beautiful. He was everywhere, but also not.

*

All those thoughts didn’t matter right now. For the first time in months, Geralt was about to see him again. 

As he was on his way to the jail cell Jaskier had landed in — Geralt hadn’t even questioned how it came to that — he went over the things he wanted to tell Jaskier. Geralt was aware of the fact that Jaskier most surely didn’t want to see him ever again, but this was about Ciri. And maybe an opportunity to make things right between them.

Finding Ciri had changed him. The first few weeks of them traveling together had been silent. Geralt didn’t know how to talk to a small girl, after a while he came to regret not even trying. More often than not he caught her crying, trying to hide red eyes and her runny nose from Geralt. And Geralt once again cursed his inability to communicate. From then on out he tried, properly tried. The girl had gone through way too much, she had lost so many and Geralt felt— knew— it was his responsibility to give her her hope back.

He taught her many things, but she did just the same for him. Not expecting a child to understand what he was doing, without explaining, didn’t work. It just ended in both of them being frustrated at one another. In her words, Geralt now knew how to “use his words”. She often teased him with that phrase, both of them aware of how painfully accurate it was.

Just as Geralt crossed another corner he reminded himself of what he owed Jaskier. He would try his best at a proper apology and hope the bard would hear him out. Still, Geralt most certainly wouldn’t mention the ring. Now was not the time. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but hope for Jaskier to join him long term again, after things would be resolved. He wasn’t very optimistic of Jaskier returning his feelings after all these months… after yelling at him for things he never did, but he still felt the need to explain himself, separate from the apology that was long overdue.

Unwilling of wasting any more time, he took one of the guards down, an easier solution than sneaking past. Then Geralt heard Jaskier. He was singing some stupid ditty directed at said guard, but Geralt didn’t care about the words, the only thing that mattered was the sweet, familiar sound of his friend’s voice.

Another corner was taken. He pushed at a door and his feet pulled him into the cell. Whatever Jaskier previously said died on his lips, as soon as he turned around and saw it was Geralt who stood in front of him. 

“— Geralt.”

His eyes roamed over him, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Jaskier didn’t look particularly pleased to  be seeing him. Geralt, on the other hand, couldn’t have been happier, current situation notwithstanding. He noted that over their months spent apart, Jaskier had acquired a new look. Geralt would have been a fool to deny that it didn’t suit him, but the fact he hadn’t been there to notice the changes while they were happening still settled uncomfortably in his chest.

Neither of them said anything for a bit, just staring at each other, unsure of how to proceed. Until —

“Oh fuck it”

And then Jaskier hugged him. Geralt immediately forgot all of the things he wanted to say.

*

On their way to find Ciri and Yennefer, things were different from when they last travelled together. Jaskier somewhat set the tone and Geralt was surprisingly happy to oblige.

They took a short detour to a stream, as Jaskier had demanded. Having recovered from their first meeting, Geralt quickly garbled out an apology. One not quite as extensive as he had wanted, but Jaskier's current position of angry and quite bare chested had left him a bit distracted. On top of that they were rudely interrupted by a familiar group of dwarves.

After that they didn’t speak of what happened again, neither one mentions the ring. They’re friendly enough, but Jaskier was clearly holding back, both negative and positive emotions. Only speaking when it was necessary and never with too much warmth or coldness. Geralt didn’t know what to think of it, he knew there were words unsaid, particularly about a certain item. He would get to it, he promised himself— and Jaskier— when the time was right.

Only he felt it never was. Like so often, Geralt came to regret putting the conversation off, seeing that soon he actually didn’t find the time. 

Things happened fast. They found Yennefer and Ciri. Geralt sent Ciri and Jaskier to Kaer Morhen. Sorrowful of the fact that this was how his first time at the place Geralt would describe closest to his home would be. Jaskier deserved to meet his family under better circumstances. 

As it so often did, their situation only got worse after that.

*

After the whole fiasco with Voleth Meir Jaskier had actually believed that Geralt had been deliberately avoiding him, but Jaskier had quickly realized that the man was just trying to keep his distance from pretty much everyone besides Ciri. Melitele knew he deserved a bit of a break, he had his brothers to mourn after all. And Jaskier accepted that of course. Besides, it wasn’t like they had much to talk about anyways. 

After a week or two Geralt was apparently ready to face other people again and everyone continued with their previous occupations. Seeing everyone return to how things seemingly were before Jaskier had joined them, threw him for a loop. It was abundantly clear that he didn’t fit in. 

The other witcher’s were nice enough. None of them directly approached him, or really acknowledged him for that matter, but neither did they just ignore Jaskier. He was just kind of there. Another person Geralt had brought with him.

Yennefer on the other hand, was… surprisingly pleasant? Geralt barely talked to her as well, but it was clear that whatever had happened when Geralt, Ciri and Yennefer were portaled away mended some of the distrust he felt towards her. Not that they were openly together or anything, Jaskier actually really didn’t know what was going on there, and most certainly didn’t want to for that matter. Being around Geralt was already painful enough as is.

And so, he and the sorceress got closer. Jaskier told himself it was only because she was the only other familiar, adult face at the keep, but he knew it was more than that. Even if they did not directly speak of it, they both had their heart broken by the same man and that somehow bonded them. At least a little bit.

More often than not they spent evenings in each others company, with the addition of some spirit either one of them could find in the endless depths of Kaer Morhen’s extensive array of cupboards. And these certain nights proved to be the most bearable ones. The other ones were always riddled with horrible nightmares filled with fire and heartbreak. Jaskier knew he often screamed whilst twisting and turning during these bad dreams. He always woke up with a sore throat — nobody ever came to check up on him, he couldn’t blame them.

Yennefer was also the first to notice the burns on his hands. Nasty looking blisters ran up the tips of his fingers, some even reaching the palm of his right hand. The skin around them was red and angry. Not having immediate access to medical help after suffering from burns this severe would have been bad enough, but it being weeks without anything was detrimental. Jaskier knew this, but he’d rather have lost his fucking hand than ask for anything from Geralt. It wasn’t like he had an instrument to play anyways.

Knowing this, Yennefer hadn’t even scolded him for his carelessness. She just looked at him with somber eyes, a bitter smile curled at the corner of her lips. Without another word she grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him after her. 

Both knowing their way around the keep by now, they quickly arrived at the familiar witcher lab. She gently pushed him down to take seat in of the chairs pulled close to the large table at the centre of the room.

She then turned around to shuffle through the expanse of glasses and boxes.

“Next time you want to loose a limb, just ask me alright. I might even know ways more painful.” 

There was little humor in her voice, clearly she wasn’t happy about the situation. Yennefer’s hands worked quickly, stripped from the uncertainty that accompanied her the first few days after she had gotten her chaos back. 

Jaskier rolled his eyes, “I’ll keep that in mind, dear.” He felt almost embarrassed that Yennefer had to drag him here, something inside of him just hadn’t felt like he deserved to ask for this.

After Yennefer whispered a short incarnation at the bowl she had used for whatever concoction that was now swirling inside she put it down on the table and pushed it towards Jaskier.

“Rub it in thrice a day for at least two weeks. Thicker in the evening and before you go to bed wrap your hand in some bandages. Usually it would only take a few days, but apparently somebody likes to suffer,” Her voice sounded snarky, a worried undertone barely noticeable.

“Thank you. I — I’m sorry.” Jaskier didn’t quite manage to look her in the eyes.

“Don’t. You know it wasn’t your fault. I am actually sorry that I hadn’t noticed sooner.” Yennefer looked like those words weren’t easy for her to say, yet sincere nonetheless. 

“Besides, how could I possibly go on without my husbands dreadful music.”

Jaskier grinned at her, “I knew you liked my music.”

Following this event they spent almost every evening together. Yennefer usually helped Jaskier wrap his hand for him, both of them just enjoying each others company. 

Then there was Ciri. Their travels together, although short and driven by anxiety, had been notably nice. Definitely less awkward and silent than the few days he had spend with Geralt on their way to her. 

The both of them actually knew each other a bit. Jaskier had made a habit of coming to Cintra around her birthday. He liked to keep an eye on her and Geralt never said anything when he disappeared around that time for a few days. Wether that was because he knew and didn’t care or knew and just didn’t want to say anything, Jaskier didn’t know. The lioness, although hesitant at first, since Jaskier was the man who had brought the witcher who claimed her granddaughter — a nice example for people who didn’t just blame him for things he was around for — allowed him to play for the Princess. 

And so, from early on, Princess Cirilla and Jaskier had become familiar with each other. He couldn’t visit every year, sometimes Geralt and him were just too far away, Jaskier would have had to leave him for weeks if he wanted to arrive in time for her birthday,  but he was there for most of them. 

Calanthe forbid him to tell her of the whole situation with Geralt, which he of course respected, but  that hadn’t stoped him from sneaking other stories towards her curious ears. He often told her stories about the things outside of Cintras walls, All carefully edited to be free of a certain white haired witcher.

As pleasant — if one could consider it to be pleasant under their circumstances — their hike up to Kaer Morhen had been, after the Deathless Mother had possessed Ciri, like Geralt, made herself scarce. 

Unlike Geralt, she didn’t leave her room again after a week. Which was completely understandable in Jaskier’s eyes. What had happened to her, what she still had to deal with, was horrible to say the least. No child should ever got through the things she had and has to endure. Jaskier just wished he could help her in some way. As sweet as Geralt turned out to be as a father, Jaskier couldn’t help but think that another human-adjacent person would do her good. But he wouldn’t push, it wasn’t his place.

Lastly, Geralt. He’d often thought about how it would be if they’d ever see each other again. Depending on his current mood they’d either kiss and start traveling together again or Jaskier would turn him down until Geralt came back weeping on both knees and then he’d just leave. He knew neither one to be realistic, but at least he could credit himself for his creativity.

After Geralt had fetched him from that dingy, disgusting cell in Oxenfurt, things had been fine, albeit awkward for a bit. Their situation changed fast when things settled down at the keep. Obviously things were bound to change since Geralt was now a father and all, what Jaskier hadn’t expected was to be flat out avoided. Geralt had gone back to his same old self with everyone but Jaskier. And well, that actually really fucking hurt.

He’d made himself scarce in a way that would take a while for someone to notice. Not directly malicious, but painfully either way. He never just left the room Jaskier entered or spoke over him, but it felt just the same. Like he wasn’t even there. Whenever Jaskier tried to conjure a reason for this behavior his mind drew blank. There was absolutely no sense in how he acted.

But the worst thing was the fucking ring. The ring Jaskier had commissioned the winter before the year they would travel up that cursed mountain range. The ring he’d wanted to give Geralt as a promise. The ring he’d wanted to confess his love with. It plagued his mind. Not knowing what Geralt had done with it was bad, but asking would be worse. With how Geralt was, he’d probably not even thought about why Jaskier had had left it behind and sold it to some merchant, getting a pretty good sum of coin from it. It had been costly enough after all.

After the third day of Geralt acting like this, Jaskier, well, Jaskier just couldn't take it anymore. Yes, Yennefer had been nice enough, but he clearly didn't have a place. Everyone had their respective fields, but what about him? Just a bard without his instrument, so pretty much useless. 

Unsure of where he’d even leave to, he started his track back to the cold room he was given. He could hardly go back to Oxenfurt, not for a while at least. But there were other elves, in different cities who might need the Sandpiper. And so he started packing. It wasn’t much anyways. All his belongings were still in Oxenfurt, and would hopefully remain there until it was safe for him to return. 

Jaskier, having gathered his few things quickly, made the decision to at least say his good-byes to Yennefer and then be on his merry way. As if thinking of the Witch materialized her right in front of you, she stood at his door just as he opened it to leave his room. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Jaskier just about suppressed a scream trying to escape his lips, “Melitele’s tits! Warn a guy, would you?”

She crossed her arms, “I most certainly will not. Again, what the fuck are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” He shook the small bag in his hand, “Leaving.”

Yennefer looked at him, a scowl written on her face, “No you aren’t.” Then she shoved him back into his room and slammed the door shut.

Stumbling back Jaskier shouted, “What in the —“ He tried to push the door open. It wouldn’t budge. “Yennefer did you just lock me in? Yennefer?!” No answer came.

Great, so he wasn’t even allowed to make his own choices anymore. Fucking wonderful.

Jaskier kept trying to open the clearly, and probably by magic, locked door. His efforts stayed unrewarded, but thankfully after about two minutes it opened by somebody else’s hands.

Expecting Yennefer to be on the other side, Jaskier took a step forward, “Look, I appreciate you wanting me to stay, but locking me up sure as fuck won’t make me want to do that. Besides I already made up my mind. So please would you — Geralt.” Jaskier felt the weird sensation of déjà-vu.

Geralt pushed himself into the room, closing the door behind himself. “Yennefer said you were about to do something stupid, what’s going on?”

Jaskier felt his blood boil, “Something stu — So the first time you speak to me in weeks, after, mind you, you dragging me away from the life I built myself, is because I am about to do something stupid?” He took a step back, reevaluating how to get by the very large witcher who was blocking his way. “Besides, it very much isn’t. I was just about to leave and finally be out of everyones hair.”

Geralt looked distressed, “Leave? What? Why?”

Geralt’s complete lack of awareness of Jaskier’s current state, although not surprising, was like lighter fluid to a burning house. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me Geralt!” He didn’t yell, just nearly so. Jaskier studied his face for anythig besides confusion… he found nothing. Feeling defeated he spoke, “Everyone has a place here besides me. I was glad to help when I was needed, but this clearly isn’t the case anymore. You barely talk to me, so does everyone else besides Yennefer.”

The anger left his voice, “I don’t know why I’m here.”

Geralt looked around as if the words he was searching for where hidden somewhere in the room. “Jaskier. I— I’m sorry. For this, for the mountain, for everything.”

“The mountain?” Jaskier cut in. “Geralt I’m not angry about that anymore. You apologized. I got the whole thing out of my system in multiple ways. I don’t need another apology from you. I just want you to acknowledge me again. Not in the way how things used to be preferably, a little bit more respect would be nice.” 

He sighed, “And if you can’t do that for me then please take a step to the left and let me leave.” There wasn’t a single trace of humor in his voice.

“No.” Geralt deadpanned.

“No?”

Having finally pulled together what he wanted to say Geralt said in a determined tone, “No Jaskier. I don’t want you to leave. I won’t make you stay, but please know that you are wanted here. I’ve been trying to work things out — with myself — but every time I want to actually say all the words, they desert me.” His eyes cast down, filled with regret. “I am sorry Jaskier. Truly. I will try my best to make clear to you that I want you in my life. Things will change.” He drew his hand, offering it to Jaskier like they used to whenever they discussed something of great importance. A reminder of the good times they had spent together.

Jaskier let out a breath that had been kept in out of surprise. He knew not to get his hopes up, but his heart fluttered nonetheless at the caring words. Against his better judgement he took Geralt’s hand, “Alright. I will stay.”

Geralt gave him the sweetest little smile.

*

Months passed. And things — things actually got a lot better. Geralt clearly must’ve had a talk with the other witcher’s, which was a thought mortifying enough, that Jaskier quickly expelled it from his mind and definitely would never mention. Regardless, suddenly everyone was a lot more welcoming. Jaskier never blamed them for their nonchalant way, but having others to talk to was nice.

Most of them left after winter ended, as they had another year on the path ahead of them, but not all of them. Geralt, Ciri, Yennefer and Jaskier stayed at the keep. So did Vesemir — Jaskier actually wasn’t sure why, he was still quite intimidated by the oldest witcher, unsure of where they stood — and Eskel, still recovering from the leshen that had attacked him. 

Eskel, as it turned out, was quite good company, being a little more talkative than Geralt and a lot less reserved with information about contracts and other adventures. Having similar interest in poetry they often fell into comfortable conversations.

Yennefer had been briefly offended at the fact that he would leave her at the keep, but it hadn’t taken them long to get back to their usual, somewhat loving, ribbing. She, in her own way, had been understanding of Jaskier’s uncertainty in his position, having had a similar experience after she lost her magic.

One afternoon he’d even been surprised by a new lute resting upon his bed. Quickly deducting it was Eskel who had found one lying about in one of  Kaer Morhen’s many corners and Yennefer who had repaired it, Jaskier practically threw himself at the both of them, drawing them in a tight hug. Although not as well made as the one Filavandrel had given him over two decades ago, the lute proved itself to be exactly what he needed to settle in at the keep.

Geralt, apparently, also had a talk — he was getting quite good at that Jaskier noted — with Ciri, since the girl finally started leaving her room again. They returned to their training. Geralt guiding her through the physical aspects of the witcher training and Yennefer educating her as a mage. 

Jaskier was happy to see the Princess, although still somber at times, return to her self assured ways. She could be quite witty, if not cunning and Jaskier was reveling because of the newfound side to her. Almost proud whenever she came up with a good comeback.

They even took up music lessons after Ciri had asked him how to play a few tunes one time after he sang lullabies to her. Which he came to do often to assure her a good night of rest. She proofed to be exceptionally well at the flute, Jaskier was glad to teach her. Ciri seemed to be pleased about the new skill and spending time doing something that reminded her of the time she spent living as Princess.

To Jaskier’s delight, Geralt kept his promise. They returned to their usual banter with the new addition of Geralt clearly trying to be more pleasant. The domesticity of staying under a roof together sometimes still made Jaskier’s heart beat fast, but he was mostly content with what he had. 

Yet here was still one, rather odd thing that left a niggling sensation in his mind. From time to time Geralt would just step into a room Jaskier was in — always when he was alone — and just look like he was about to say something. But every time, without fail, he’d close his mouth again, turn around, mumble some kind of apology and leave in a hurry.

To put it simply, it was driving Jaskier mad.

Not for the first time he found himself in the kitchen with Yennefer and Eskel, discussing the matter. It had been a slow day for all of them. After breakfast the witcher’s and Ciri decided to skip training for the day, so Jaskier and Yennefer settled to do the same. But one of them had to prepare at least one warm meal at some point, which left them with Eskel actually cooking dinner while Jaskier and Yennefer talked, seated in front of each other at the kitchen table.

“He just keeps doing it and I don’t know why! Otherwise we’re perfectly normal with each other. I genuinely don’t understand what’s gotten into him,” He huffed while looking at his right hand placed in Yennefer’s left. She still insisted on checking up on his burns from time to time, despite them having healed up nicely. The burns had been gone quickly, leaving a thin sliver of scars behind. Only sometimes reminded of what he had to endure by a dull ache settling in his joints.

Eskel just hummed from his place at the cauldron positioned over the cooking space. Clearly occupied with his task of preparing todays warm meal.

“I’m sure he’ll come around. The whole talking about things-thing seems to be working for him,” Yennefer shrugged, they had gone over this several times before.

To her dismay Jaskier started gesturing with his hands. “You keep saying that, but it won’t just make him magically appear and talk about it, you know.”

There were footsteps outside the archway that connected the kitchen with the hallway.

“Eskel, you were on laundry duty last. Where the did you put my shirts?” Whatever Eskel was steering in that cauldron must have been smelling quite strongly since after entering the kitchen Geralt seemed quite surprised to not only see Eskel, but both Yennefer and Jaskier in the room as well.

Hoping that Geralt hadn’t heard who or what their conversation was about, he turned around to look at him. The reason for Geralt’s shock now being quite clear as he stood shirtless in the archway. 

The sight wasn’t new to any of them, Jaskier’s eyes quickly landed on something tied around Geralt’s neck next to his medallion. It didn’t take him long to recognize what it was.

His eyes stayed fixated on it for a few seconds before they slowly drag back up and meeting Geralt’s. Both of them just stared at each other for a bit. Jaskier slowly putting puzzle pieces together while Geralt looked impossibly caught off guard. Under different circumstances it would have been funny.

Jaskier rose from his chair and pointed a finger at Geralt, “We are going to talk. Now.” In a few quick strides he pushed past Geralt, not waiting for him to follow.

Behind him, Jaskier heard a familiar voice say “fuck” and then footsteps hurrying after him.

Unsure of what exactly would come now, but wanting this to be a private conversation, Jaskier decided to move them to his room. At least it lay far enough away from the others in case that there would be any shouting, even if two of them were witcher’s and definitely still able to hear them, Jaskier liked to pretend.

Rounding the corner, he walked into his room, as did Geralt who shut the door behind himself. Once again Jaskier turned around to face Geralt. He couldn’t have looked more worried, face scrunched together in apprehension. Jaskier wasn’t having it.

Not wasting any time he said, “I know you’ve been meaning to say something to me for possibly months now and I can’t help but think that that might be connected to a certain ring I haven't seen in over a year. Explain.”

Geralt looked at him for another excruciatingly long moment, just as Jaskier was about to say something again, he drew in a breath, “I kept putting it off.”

“What?”

“I kept putting it off.” Geralt spoke again, as if the one phrase would explain everything.

Jaskier wanted to burry his face in his hands. “Geralt you can’t expect me to understand what you mean by that. Kept putting what off? Telling me you didn’t want me that way? You made that quite clear a while ago.” He drew his arms around himself in order to keep himself from ripping his own hair out. “I just want to know why you kept the fucking ring.”

Geralt looked just as frustrated as he felt. Unlike Jaskier it wasn’t directed at the other man, but himself. “No, not that. I kept putting off telling you how I felt because you are a poet. You deserve to be coddled. You deserve to be confessed to. Gods, you were going to do it by giving me a ring. How am I supposed to compete with that. I love you, Jaskier“ Jaskier jumped at the words. “you just deserve so much more than a few simple words. Besides, after I fucked things up, I wasn’t even sure if you still felt the same.”

“You didn’t know wether— Geralt! Why do you think I’m still here? Yes, teaching Ciri is nice, but you asked me to stay. And I did! Of course I still love you, you bastard.”

“You do?”

Jaskier threw his hands up in frustration, “Yes!”

For a few moments neither of them knew what to do next.

As if somebody flicked a switch they both surged forward, enclosing each other in a tight embrace. Jaskier hurried his face in the space were Geralt’s neck met his shoulder. 

“You are so, so stupid. I thought you just hadn’t understood and sold the ring off somewhere.”

Pulling impossibly tighter Jaskier added,“And I don’t need a big confession. If I wanted somebody to write poetry for me I wouldn’t have fallen for you.”

Geralt drew Jaskier closer, his arms enclosing him. “Of course I understood, I’d been worrying about that stupid box for months.”

Jaskier raised his head from where it had been hidden. “You had?”

“I was convinced you were going to leave me for somebody else. After Caingorn I just took it as a reminder as to not get too close. I thought you’d be safer that way. It took me way too long to understand that you are perfectly capable of making your own decisions.” As he spoke, Geralt brought his hands up to Jaskier’s face, softly cradling him.

“Well I’m glad you do. Geralt, I want to stay. I chose you and all the shit that came with that choice. Child surprise and terrifying Sorceress included.”

“Still,” He cast his eyes downward, “I am sorry for what I did. How I acted.”

A small smile was playing at the corners of Jaskier’s mouth, he shushed Geralt, “Alright, you can stop saying sorry. This, in addition to you becoming a chatterbox, is so unlike you, I’m honestly getting concerned.”

Geralt chuckled, a low sound rumbling deep in his chest.

Jaskier brought one hand to Geralt’s chin and raised his head so they were looking each other in the eyes again, “Can you please kiss me now?” 

With a soft nod Geralt drew closer. The hand Jaskier had positioned on his chin, buried itself in Geralt’s hair while the other stayed at his shoulder, one finger curled around the leather band that held to ring he had commissioned so many months ago. Their lips met unhurried, but nonetheless filled with passion and anticipation. Jaskier felt like his heart was about to jump out his chest.

He contently sighed into the kiss, Geralt took it as an opportunity to deepen it. Slowly pressing in with his tongue, a motion Jaskier was just as happy to return. Unable to suppress the smile that kept trying to worm its way onto Jaskier’s face the kiss eventually came to an end with Geralt planting little kisses at each corner of his mouth. 

Geralt drew back from his giggling partner, he himself beaming as well and asked, “Like that?”

Jaskier lifted one hand to his chin, acting as if deep in thought, “I’m not sure. We might have to try again. Assess the situation and all that.”

“But only since we have to,” Happy to indulge the bard Geralt pushed in close once again, they kissed until their lips felt numb. When breathlessness started to take over they were forced to stop.

Still looking delighted, Jaskier stepped back, dropping his hands from their position on Geralt, instead taking one of his hands. He started dragging him towards the bed when Geralt spoke, “Jask, as much as I’d love for us to take this to bed right now, it is the middle of the day and I’m pretty sure everyone is waiting for an explanation as to why you dragged me off.”

Jaskier threw his head back, a slow look drifting over the witcher, “Don’t be crude Geralt. — Besides, as if that would ever stop us. But no. Its still early spring, I’m cold and could go for a pre dinner nap. So you shall be my personal heater for now. If you're amendable to that of course.” He gave Geralt a sheepish smile.

One of Geralt’s eyebrows drew closer to his hairline, clearly not having expected the bards restraint. Without any further thought, he followed him to bed. They quickly settled down in a familiar — not unlike their now developed relationship — and uniquely new way. Jaskier lay half on top of Geralt, his head resting on his chest. Their limbs carefully tangled together. Geralt inhaled contently and planted a kiss on the crown of his bard’s head. 

Jaskier’s right hand settled sandwiched between them, softly holding the ring between his fingers, slowly stroking over the words engraved on the inside.

Always right beside you.