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Geralt lay awake under a thin blanket in an inn room, the window cracked to allow the summer night breeze to aerate the room. He could still hear the sounds of the tavern below, a lively group of townspeople carrying on their merriment well past sunset. He had spent the better half of the day battling what very well might’ve been the largest kikimore he’d ever had to face off against, and had returned to Jaskier quite literally singing his praises. Geralt had allowed himself to be gandered at for a moment, as Jaskier insisted that nights he did so doubled their income from his performances, before heading up to bathe and sleep. Jaskier had started to follow, but Geralt told him to stay, that they wouldn’t leave first thing in the morning so he’d have a bit of time to sleep in if he chose. Jaskier had perked up at that like a dog with a bone, and practically bounded back up in front of the crowd, to his and their delight. He had played a few more pieces before a woman took over. She had a light, airy voice, and sang a song about the sea, another about a barmaid and a stablehand, one about a homesick knight, and then one last song.
Why do you build me up
Buttercup?
Baby just to let me down
And mess me around
Geralt’s lip twitched in amusement as the girl sang. She had a vaguely familiar voice, and the use of the name ‘Buttercup’ left Geralt assured that she was very likely some jilted lover of Jaskier’s who was taking her opportunity to shame him publicly. Geralt wondered how much of the audience had come to the same conclusion.
To you, I’m a toy
I’ll never be the boy
You adore
Mhmmhm…
Although you’re untrue
I’m attracted to you
All the more
Why do I need you so?
As she sang, some of the rowdiness of the night died down, and understandably so, as her previous songs were soft, and this one now melancholy. Jaskier would likely be having a fit. Content of the song aside, Jaskier preferred to leave his audiences with a lively buzz from rousing songs to continue the merriment off the stage as well.
I-I-I need you more than anyone, baby
You know that I have, from the start
So you build me up
Buttercup
Only to break my heart
As her song came to a close, there was a fair mix of applause and immediate chatter that followed, and Geralt heard a door slam only to be opened and closed again, albeit more quietly, and he heard footsteps outside the window.
“Prissy-” Despite being on the second floor, Geralt could easily pick out Jaskier’s voice. Geralt imagined he could likely pick out his voice in a crowded concert hall. He had a feeling that Jaskier didn’t realise how close they had stopped to their particular room.
“Don’t ’Prissy’ me,” The woman who had been singing snapped. Ah, that was why he recognised her voice, then. Jaskier, despite his flings, had frequently mentioned a woman named Priscilla, who Geralt had only seen once or twice. Jaskier had mentioned, back when he and Geralt first met, that once he had had his fill of adventure and novelty, he’d one day settle down with her. Geralt considered rising and closing the window, but with his hearing it’d likely do very little. He could let them know that he could hear, but this seemed like a spat that Geralt really, really didn’t want to insert himself into. Besides, Jaskier would likely complain to him about it in the coming days anyways, so it wasn’t like it was secretive.
“You and Valdo?” Jaskier asked. “I can take a poetic lashing, but dating him? Just to get back at me?”
Priscilla snorted. “Yes, him and no, not to spite you. He actually cares for me, wants to be with me.”
“What are you talking about, of course I care for you! And I know you still feel for me, or else you wouldn’t have made such a scene.” Jaskier argued. Geralt could practically picture the way he’d flail his arms about while talking, driven to physically manifest his emotional energy. “I don’t want to fight with you, love, I’d much rather we be happy together while we can. I’ll only be in town for another day or so, why don’t we put this aside and-”
“Aha! But that’s precisely the problem,” Priscilla cut him off. “As much work as your honeyed tongue puts in, you’ll never be able to commit to those words, you’re never around long enough to be able to.”
Jaskier sputtered. “Wh- B- Priscilla, we’re bards, we’re meant to travel! You yourself have been all across Redania and Temeria and Kovir!”
“Yes, I have, but the difference is that I still come back home, visit friends and family, I write. When was the last time you wrote to me when it wasn’t to tell me to expect you within a few days, and to put my life on hold just for the chance to get to have you to myself for even less time than I spent waiting? Do you know what Valdo did?”
“I don’t care what that overgrown to-”
But Priscilla pressed on. “Valdo invited me to go to Attre with him in the fall. He wrote me to ask where he could find me, and he came here to ask. He wants my company while travelling, not just when he wants to chase a familiar skirt.”
“Oh, now you’ve gone too far.” Jaskier said sharply. “You aren’t a skirt, Prissy, and I resent the accusation.” Jaskier’s tone softened as he continued. “I really do love you, I’m sorry I’ve made you feel otherwise. You’ve ruined me for all other women.”
It was quiet for a long moment, long enough that Geralt almost thought that they had left, whether separately or together, but then Priscilla sniffled heavily, and spoke again.
“It doesn’t matter if I’ve ruined you for other women, and if you really do love me, then that’s worse, you know. Because it means you love me, but not enough. Not enough to stay, not enough to choose me over that… that Witcher.”
“What?” Jaskier practically yelped. He immediately dropped his volume and continued, “What does Geralt have to do with this?” Geralt, suddenly much more awake than he was previously, asked himself the same question. He intentionally avoided inserting himself into Jaskier’s drama, and yet he was still being pulled in. How very Jaskier of it all.
“Don’t play coy, Buttercup,” Priscilla’s voice was tight, but Geralt couldn’t tell if it was from the crying or her frustration with Jaskier. It was likely both. “It’s because of him, after all, isn’t it? You used to visit more, you’d write often. You used to speak of wanting to run off and be together, but now you’ve found someone else to spend all your time on, to run off with. And your songs. You never write about me anymore, did you even realise? Because I did.” Jaskier tried to cut in and speak again, but Priscilla continued. “Where you once sang of eyes like emerald jewels and summers by the seas, now you sing about- about eyes like golden sunsets and stars shining through the trees! While you’ve gallivanted about sharing your rooms and meals and time and attention with him, I’ve been left behind, forgotten, made to look like a fucking fool while I wait around for you to maybe one day decide to return to me.”
“Priscilla, Geralt and I aren’t romantically entangled.” Jaskier said it very slowly, as though she were either quite slow, or he was very uncomfortable, choosing his words carefully. Geralt would wager the second, if he was inclined to do so.
“Maybe not,” she conceded. “But that doesn’t matter, because either way you’re obsessed. As long as you have the choice between him and someone, anyone, else, you’ll always pick him. Am I wrong?” There was a heavy silence, and Priscilla gave a tearful, choked, hollow laugh. “Well then. Well. Jaskier, you choose me tonight, or you choose him. And that will be that. I won’t wait for you anymore. I can’t. You stay with me, or this is goodbye.”
The silence returned, oppressive and stagnant. Footsteps distanced themselves from the spot, and Geralt abruptly noticed that he was holding his breath, and wasn’t sure when he had begun to do so. He exhaled, long and low.
Geralt laid there for a long while, and despite wanting nothing more than to sleep, couldn’t. The spat between Priscilla and Jaskier that he overheard wasn’t anything like previous lovers’ quarrels Geralt had known Jaskier to get into before. The way Priscilla had spoken, the way she brought up Geralt himself… He really didn’t know what to make of it. He laid there long enough that he assumed Jaskier had gone with Priscilla, decided to stay with her instead of continuing to travel with Geralt, and Geralt found himself feeling… Well, he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. He did know, however, that waking in the morning to Jaskier telling him that he’d no longer accompany him as he traversed the continent was an unwelcome, daunting prospect. But maybe that’s what he deserved, he thought, for getting too comfortable with the bard’s presence. Being a witcher was lonesome work, and he’d do well to remember that.
Just as Geralt had decided he’d leave town before sunrise to avoid any sort of conversation at all, and just leave Jaskier to his new life, the door to the room creaked open. Geralt cracked open a sliver of an eye, just to confirm that it was in fact Jaskier, who was noticeably doing his best to keep quiet to not wake Geralt, before sliding it closed again. If Jaskier didn’t want him to ‘wake up,’ then he’d oblige. Jaskier puttered about the room, footsteps falling as soft as he could as he changed into his night clothes and put away his belongings. Jaskier, the loudass he was during the day, always did his best to not wake Geralt when he stayed up later, despite Geralt’s enhanced senses making it a nearly impossible task.
Jaskier settled into the empty space in the bed next to Geralt gently, shifting the blanket over himself before pulling it up further over Geralt as well. He could feel Jaskier’s short breaths graze his arm, and smell alcohol, tears, and the wildflowers he always smelt of. Jaskier’s breaths slowly evened out, and he was soon asleep. Geralt opened an eye again, and saw Jaskier’s cheeks, still ruddy either from drink, arguing, or crying, and his hair falling in his eyes in a way it only ever did when he was asleep.
Geralt felt terribly selfish for being so pleased that Jaskier didn’t take up Priscilla on her ultimatum. He felt terribly selfish for draping his arm over Jaskier’s midsection, pulling him just a bit closer. For the tiny curl of a smile that wedged its way onto his face, despite how hard of a night Jaskier clearly had. For the way Jaskier’s head found its way onto his chest, and his sleeping expression softened just that little extra bit.
And for the way he knew, without a doubt, that Jaskier would be leaving with him the next day.