Chapter Text
"What about this, sir?" The woman holds up a delicate bottle of sweet mountain-laurel and orange oil. "It's been gaining in popularity recently, and I wouldn't be surprised if it became the scent for this year."
Unfortunately, Jaskier can smell it from where he stands, without having to lean forward or sniff at all. "No, it's a bit too strong. My friend has a sensitive nose, you know? Some flowers, they- Well, anything which isn't to that strength, if you please. Perhaps something a bit more musky?"
After a few more tries, Jaskier gives up on his idea. There simply isn't much interest in subtle scents at the moment, which means even Jaskier's favorite city merchants don't have appropriate gifts at the moment. He'll have to switch to something else, much as he hates giving up. He'd finally gotten Geralt to accept and even enjoy being touched, and even managed to work in some of his simply made oils when massaging the stress out of Geralt's back after a rough day. Getting something with a soothing scent would be a perfect way to compliment it.
Even though he's grumbling to himself, he doesn't miss the chance to pick up a bottle of fine wine. If nothing else, Jaskier can give Geralt hot food and good alcohol, two things which require much more effort on the road.
Jaskier makes sure to pick an excellent tavern to play in, and order some of the best selection ahead of time. By the time Geralt arrives from checking things around the city, there's a fine cut of pork waiting for him, supplemented with herbed yams, boiled apple, and a fresh little loaf of bread with a generous pat of butter.
Jaskier plays long that night to cover everything he didn't pay for, though he spends time making sure Geralt is enjoying himself when he looks over.
It's late by the time he's done, and Jaskier trudges up to the room wearily. Geralt is still up, cleaning and mending his armor. Since it seems like such a good opportunity, Jaskier shucks his outerwear and brings out the nice vintage he bought earlier. Geralt seems to enjoy it, at least as far as Jaskier can tell, though with his own exhaustion and the strength of the wine, he ends up giggling far too easily, too early, and Geralt has to tuck him in bed.
Ah well. Jaskier promises himself he'll do better next time.