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Geralt closes the door of Ciri’s bedroom and breathes a sigh. What a day. It’s a wonder that the girl found sleep. Yennefer’s potion surely helped. Maybe he should ask her for one, too. Booze may be the better choice, though. He likely won’t get more than water from a burn in the foreseeable future.
He steers towards the kitchen when he passes Jaskier’s door. He hasn’t checked on him since the battle. Guilt gnaws on Geralt’s heart. He sent Jaskier here with Ciri, brought him into danger. And for what? The Deathless Mother could have killed him, or the basilisks she unleashed. Jaskier is used to monsters but this is way bigger than anything he encountered during the years walking the Path with him.
Hesitantly, Geralt knocks. Jaskier’s “Just a moment” sounds weird, but Geralt waits patiently until the door opens with a creak.
“What can I do for you?” Jaskier chirps. He sounds off, his face hidden behind a curtain of hair.
“Just wanted to make sure you’re alright,” Geralt says, shifting on his feet.
“Still in one piece. Just a bit tired,” Jaskier replies. “Thanks for asking.” His voice sounds flat. Geralt has no chance to read him.
The witcher is exhausted, barely managing to stay on his feet. He has half a mind to just swallow whatever Jaskier is trying to serve him, but they’ll leave the next day, and he doesn’t want to part as badly as they did last time. Who knows if they’ll ever meet again?
He grabs Jaskier’s chin tenderly and pushes it up. Red-rimmed eyes come into view, cast down to the floor.
“Did you cry?”
Jaskier shrugs. “What difference does it make?” This time, his hurt isn’t even thinly veiled anymore.
“I didn’t know this would happen,” Geralt tries.
“I know. Destiny’s a bitch. I just don’t get why you sent me here. You obviously have no use for me.”
Geralt swallows hard and evades Jaskier’s gaze. “I trust you. Whom else should I have sent?”
Jaskier purses his lips. “It’s alright. Now that I did my part, I’ll make sure to get out of your hair.”
“Wha—?” Geralt exhales sharply. “You listened in on us.”
“Wanted to make sure you’re okay, but you were already with your family, so I retreated to this lush place.”
“Jask.”
“Don’t, Geralt. I know when I’m not wanted. Don’t belittle me or our friendship by making up excuses for why I can’t go with you. I know I’m too colourful, too loud, too obnoxious—”
“You’re not,” Geralt all but growls.
“I don’t belong here. And I don’t belong to your little family. I don’t have powers. I’m not even useful for earning coin as my name is too closely connected to yours. I’d put you all in jeopardy.”
Geralt nods. Jaskier always understood him, even without words. He wishes he could give him more than a soul-crushing hug. He can only hope that it tells the bard everything he wants him to know.