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“If life could give me one blessing it would be to take you off my hands!”
After Geralt stormed off, Jaskier sulked back to camp. He didn’t pack his things, he just picked up his lute and tried to play, tried to take comfort in the thing that could never let him down: music, but the melody escaped him. It didn’t help that the song he was currently writing was about his feelings for the white haired witcher.
Geralt was angry. That was all. He was angry and Jaskier was there. Yes, the things he said hurt, but Jaskier would give him the opportunity to apologize. He would wait.
Three days later he was sliding down the mountain back to Caingorn. He needed food and was in desperate need of a bath, besides, he was sure Geralt would check the town for him if he came back to the campsite and saw that he left. He was sure of it.
It had been a week. Jaskier sat on the edge of his bed in the inn, strumming his lute. The song he had been working on was finished, but it bore no resemblance to what he had in mind when he started writing it. Nonetheless, Her Sweet Kiss was already a favorite among his audience at the tavern, although he still preferred the original lyrics over the finished product. But at this point in time his first draft was redundant. It wasn't true to the reality he was living anymore, and Geralt was always complaining about how his songs weren't truthful.
Jaskier began to sing quietly, his voice heavy with emotion. “If I were a man of more reason,
“If I were a man of resolve,
“I’d leave you behind,” He shuddered a breath, glad there was no one around to hear the way his voice cracked as he sang.
“Get my fair peace of mind,
“From a bottle of grain alcohol.” With a sigh the grip on his lute loosened a bit and he moved his arms out of the playing position. Geralt wasn’t coming back for him; he knew that by now. He wished he had taken the advice he had written in his first draft, that he could have left first; Geralt wouldn’t have had the opportunity to hurt him by leaving him behind if the bard had left of his own accord.
He took a deep breath to steady himself before standing up and packing his things. He couldn’t just stay here playing at this one tavern for the rest of his life waiting for white hair and yellow eyes to walk in. No, he had dreams and aspirations and he would not let Geralt steal those away from him like he did the past decade.
With his lute strapped across his back and his bag of possessions in his hand he left the room and walked into the tavern, stopping by the bar to let the innkeeper know he was leaving.
“Bard, you staying another night to wait fer yer friend? Business has been great these past few days with yer playing each night!”
“No…I made up my mind: it must come to and end, this waiting business. I’m afraid I’m off. You’ll have to make do without me.”
“Sad to see you go, but yer always welcome to play here if you find yerself back in the area.”
Jaskier smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. If there was one town he was sure he would never want to come back to, it was Caingorn. However, he thanked the innkeeper and assured him he’d remember the offer and then left.
+++
Fuck Yennifer for getting caught and then leaving him behind. (He was so sick of that.) Fuck fire fucker for torturing him. And fuck Geralt for…well everything. For doing whatever it was that made fire fucker search for the witcher, for being such a big part of Jaskier’s career that to this day – even with Burn Butcher Burn currently being his most popular song – he is still referred to as “the witcher’s bard;” no doubt that’s why fire fucker thought he would know where Geralt was in the first place. And most of all, fuck Geralt for leaving him behind and unprotected from crazy mages.
Don’t get Jaskier wrong, he could make it on his own. Hell, he had made it on his own. Yeah, his songs were still about the witcher, but they weren’t singing his praises anymore. In fact, Burn Butcher Burn was the closest any of his music had come to naming him recently. Even beyond his music he had found purpose as the Sandpiper. He was making a difference, and he was doing it on his own. He didn’t need Geralt of Rivia.
That being said would desperately like to get out of this prison cell. He can’t even sing in here without the posted guard complaining. At least he wasn’t calling his voice a filling-less pie, but still… If the guard was going to complain to him about his singing, then he was going to complain to the guard about making such a racket outside his cell and interrupting his singing.
“Good sir, you would not know talent if I shoved it up your,” standing up Jaskier finally took a look at who he was talking to, but faltered when he saw white hair and yellow eyes walk in. “Geralt- “
The witcher just looked at him, silent as he had always been, when he wasn’t taking Jaskier’s heart and ripping it in two that is. The moment couldn’t have lasted for more than a couple of seconds, but it felt like forever to Jaskier as he considered everything.
On one hand he was angry at the witcher – one would just have to listen to his latest song to figure that out – but on the other hand Geralt was here and looking at him with those yellow eyes. Gods, he had never been good at saying no to those eyes.
“Fuck it.” Jaskier pulled Geralt into a hug and sighed.
‘Look at me now,’ he thought to himself, ‘I guess I never learn.’ He had sworn to himself that even if, and for the sake of his sanity it was a big if, if he were to see Geralt again, then he would absolutely under no circumstances let him into his life again. But here he was. He didn’t know how, but it was as if he suddenly lost control.
Seeing Geralt again made him feel like there was a fire within his soul again. Not a destructive and harmful fire like the ones that fire fucker had used to torture him a couple days ago, but a warm and comforting fire. A fire that let him know that he was safe, that he was alive. Not just surviving, but living. His muse had found his way back to him. That’s all it took. One look and he forgot everything. Here he goes again, unable to resist Geralt.
Pulling away the witcher speaks. “I’ve missed you, too.” And…fuck; does it show that much, just how much the bard has missed him? Does he know that Jaskier was broken-hearted? That he was blue since the day they parted?
“What are you doing here?” The bard says, trying to hastily build back the walls that had been demolished a second prior. At the very least he could not let Geralt know that he could never let the witcher go.
“We don’t have time; we need to go.”
“Are you sure?” There was an edge to his voice as his anger came back to him.
“Yes.”
“Last time we saw each other, you basically told me to fuck off. Remember? And then you left me. On. A. Mountain,” Jaskier’s voice was rising with every word he said. He had to. This could be his only chance to let Geralt know that he had been sad and angry about the things he had done. “Have you seen these boots? I mean, I pretty much slid all the way down that hill back to Caingorn!”
“Jaskier- “ Geralt interrupted.
“Don’t fucking Jaskier me. I’m talking to you; this is how this works.” Even angry he was unable to resist taking a couple steps closer to Geralt, who then put a hand on his shoulder, forcing the bard to take a second and really look at him again.
“I need your help.” And there it was. That one sentence paired with one more look and, again, Jaskier forgot everything.
“Fine.” Here he goes again, unable to resist him. Unable to say no. He really had missed Geralt, despite everything. Yes, he had been broken-hearted ever since they had parted on that mountain, but he could never truly let go of his feelings for the witcher. And he could only hope that Geralt was wondering why he ever let him go, but he could never know.
But for now, Jaskier was just happy to know that their goodbyes don’t mean forever anymore.