Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Geralt was traveling along the main road from Caingorn to Redania. South, away from the Dragon Mountains. He was making his way towards Kaer Moren, now that the mornings dawned with a chill and the sun sunk below the horizon earlier every day. Though there were shorter paths he could take, they consisted of steep climbs through mountain passes with little cover from weather or monsters. The main road on the other hand was wide and well-trodden making it easy on Roach’s hooves, and the tall firs that lined either side of the path were sparse enough that most dangerous creatures kept away from the path. It was the most practical choice, he told himself, for his journey south, and if he happened to come across a certain bard along the way, then at least Geralt would know he had made it down the mountain safely before he went on his way.

He hadn’t seen Jaskier in almost a week, not since Geralt had yelled at him on the overlook near the dragon’s cave and Jaskier had turned back towards camp alone. Geralt had fully expected him to be sulking there when he returned himself hours later, after his anger had simmered down and he had started feeling foolish, but the camp was empty and Jaskier’s scent was already faded.

With the shield of his anger gone, the journey down the mountain was too quiet and his thoughts were too loud. The absence of snatches of song and constant chatter began to itch under his skin. He finally had the peace and quiet he had longed for but after years of Jaskier trailing behind him, instead of being a relief it just felt wrong and unfamiliar. Damn bard. No one had ever been able to get so far under Getalts skin that they annoyed him even when they weren’t around. And on top of everything else, the longer he continued down the mountain without meeting Jaskier, the more worry began to creep in and replace the annoyance. Shouldn’t he have reached him by now? Or was Jaskier faster than he remembered? Geralt recalled the first few years he had followed him. The complaining and wheedling him for a rest had never paused. But he realized that hadn’t been the case for a while now. In fact Jaskier seemed to keep pace with him these days, even when Geralt wasn’t consciously slowing to let him keep up. He certainly wasn’t any less clumsy though, and there was no way he could hold his own against a hungry monster. The image of Jaskier wielding his tiny silver dagger against a wyvern came to mind and Geralt shuddered. Foolish bard, taking off on his own. And Geralt was a fool for letting him go. The image of Jaskier’s face after Geralt had snapped flashed in his mind, the one he had been trying to push away with little success, crumpled features, eyes shining, his face completely bare and caught off guard, as if he had never expected Geralt to lash out in that moment. What the hell was he doing? Running from his own mistakes and pushing away everyone stubborn enough to have cared about him in the process. The image of Yen’s back as she walked away joined Jaskier’s in his mind. Fuck.

By the time he reached the base of the mountain, he stopped at the inn only long enough to learn that Jaskier hadn’t been by there and continued on. He couldn’t linger, the seasons were changing now and if he wasn’t careful he would miss his window to make the treacherous climb up to the winter keep before the pass was buried in snow. But between the choice of the main road that Jaskier had likely taken and a quicker rocky pass that only a witcher and his horse could possibly traverse, he chose the main road.

He walked until well after the autumn sun had set below the trees, then set up camp a ways off the road, just on the edge of where the trees became denser and he would be concealed from the path. He went through the well practiced motions of setting up camp, then pulled enough jerky for a makeshift dinner for two from his pack before he caught himself and put half of it back. The moonlight shone in scattered rays through the canopy and wind blew through the trees, rustling the stubborn yellow dandelions that still poked up in clusters despite the season turning cold. They caught his attention. There were fewer of them now. The sunny flowers had lined the path in bunches when he and Jaskier had traveled this way in warmer weather. He remembered how Jaskier had plucked one to place behind his ear as he hummed and twirled his way along the path, strumming away on his lute, enamored with his own newest composition. Then he had turned to look back at Geralt and smiled, and a ray of sun caught on the bright flower in his dark hair and along the tips of his eyelashes, turning them golden. The moment paused there in his mind, Jaskier smiling at him in the sun, carefree and happy. And then the pollen from the flower had tickled his nose and he had sneezed so hard that the flower plopped from his head and onto the ground. Geralt had laughed in spite of himself. If he was honest, he wanted to see Jaskier smile at him like that again, the carefree smile of a fool who may be the only one on the Continent happy to see a witcher beside him. The thought was harder to face knowing that he had likely given up his chance at that completely. What he said on the mountain was probably the last straw and Jaskier had finally come to his senses. It didn’t matter, Witchers didn’t have travel companions, he reminded himself. And they don’t have friends. At least not for long. Though instead of a death by monster or walking out due to the terrible conditions of The Path that they walked, Jaskier had stuck by him for all of it and hadn’t even gotten himself killed. The only thing that had finally gotten him to leave was Geralt himself, and wasn’t it just great that nothing he said or did could get the damn pest to see sense and leave him alone until now. Now that he'd gotten used to their routine, now that he'd begun to think there was a chance Jaskier might stay around for good, and now that Geralt had begun to care whether or not he did.

He was shaken from his thoughts when he sensed a presence nearby, lurking closer in wide arcs around his camp. What would dare approach a witcher camp? It could only be either a lost human or a foolhardy (or very hungry) monster. He stiffened, attention on high alert, and listened intently. The steps were quiet, though something in the gait seemed familiar, and the lack of wind didn’t give him any scent to go off of. He waited for a second as the steps came up to the very edge of his campsite, hovering just outside of the dim ring of light cast by his small campfire. Then he lunged, grabbing at a fistful of cloth and dragging the creature into the light. “Eep!” two round eyes stared up at him in shock. “Jaskier?!” The fabric he had grabbed was a silk embroidered doublet, the startled eyes framed by long lashes. It was like he had walked here from out of his wistful thoughts. One moment reminiscing and the next here he was. “You’re safe,” he said in shock.

“Well yes, I would say so!” Jaskier replied in his mock-offended tone, “Except for being dragged around by white haired brutes apparently! Give me some warning next time, would you?” He pushed himself up and began brushing dust off his clothes. “I- sorry...”. Lingering in the dark around a witcher's camp meant he was lucky to keep his head, but Geralt was too shocked to say the retort. He couldn’t help but stare. It was undoubtedly Jaskier in front of him, alive and breathing and fussing over his clothes, then reaching up to set his gentle curls back in place with practiced precision. The familiar scent of lilac oil over sweat and dust surrounded him and something in Geralt's chest seemed to settle.

“Oh? Well, it's just a bit of dirt, I suppose I can forgive you.” he replied lightly. He seemed well despite what must have been an exhausting day of travel down the mountain, and was somehow willing to speak to him again. He had to take this chance to try to make things right.

Geralt steeled himself, “No, Jaskier.. I mean, Im… I'm sorry. About what I said on the mountain.. I was upset. I shouldn’t have…” his voice faded out. Shouldn’t have yelled? Shouldn’t have blamed you for the mistakes that were mine? Shouldn’t have taken for granted that you would always stick around no matter how I treated you? Shouldn’t have told you to leave? He didn’t know how to finish his sentence, and his mind was whirling down difficult paths. Instead he went with, “You made it back safe. I'm glad.”

“Indeed, that I did.” Jaskier smiled, but turned away. Geralt resisted the urge to reach out and turn him back to face him. “Jaskier-“ “It’s strange though, isn’t it?” He cut him off, tapping his chin, beginning to circle his way around Geralt. “You worrying about me? When I seem to recall you telling me that your greatest wish was to have me off your hands.” Geralt flinched. He really had said that hadn’t he? Fuck, he was an idiot. It had been years since he normally would have said something so harsh to Jaskier, and even before that he would have only said it in an attempt to get him to leave before he became a casualty of the occupational hazard it was to be a witcher's traveling companion. And he wouldn’t have bothered if he had known back then that nothing would deter the world's most stubborn bard from following him despite the dangers. But if he was going to chase tales of monsters and witchers out in the wild, better to go with Geralt than wander the Dragon Mountains alone. Geralt made up his mind, he had to make this right. There's no way he would let Jaskier die alone on the path now. Just then, as he was about to pace out of sight around Geralt's back toward the log by the fire, Jaskier seemed to place his weight wrong and stumbled, and Geralt rushed to support him. He looked to see what could have happened and finally noticed his left leg. A long gash curved around his ankle and out of sight to the back of his calf, crusted over with some dark substance. “Your leg,” he said with alarm. A flash of anger appeared on Jaskiers face but it was quickly replaced with a bland smile. “Oh that?” he quickly angled his body away so it was out of Geralt’s sight. “It’s nothing, just scraped it on a branch when I tripped. I suppose I didn't make it out completely unscathed after all,” and placed the back of his hand over his forehead to add to his dramatization. He now stood facing Geralt, between him and where his swords lay against the log near the fire after cleaning, it made Geralt antsy to not be within arms reach of them, but Jaskier came first. He was apparently wounded, and not by a tree branch. The dark color looked more like the work of a monster. Geralt knelt down in front of Jaskier and reached for his leg. “Let me see it.”

“No Geralt, I don’t need you to look after me. We went our separate ways, and I’ll take care of myself. Don’t want to add any more to your pile of shit.” he said with a twist to his mouth. The words stung, but Geralt only gave them half an ear. Jaskier was here and well, but if the wound was anything serious he might not be for long. And the fool barely seemed to care. He reached out and grabbed the leg, pulling it gently toward him for closer inspection. The wound was long and straight, the slash of claw or a blade perhaps, and it traveled from an inch or so above the ankle upwards until it met his trouser leg, then continued, Geralt's brain tried to make sense of it. The scabbed over gash continued along the pant leg as if it were flesh, the scab a dark ichor while the area around it faded from skin and fabric to something gray and pock marked. This was wrong, this was completely wrong. A wave of dread hit him just as his instincts screamed at him to dodge. He rolled to the side just as a swoosh of talons swiped through the air where his head had been seconds before. He rolled to the side where his swords leaned and as he passed them he reached for one, the silver, and launched to his feet, falling into a ready stance sword between him and the creature in front of him. The Jaskier stood before him still smiling, but long sharp talons, gray in color, emerged from his hands though they were quickly morphing back into Jaskiers delicate fingers.

“You're not Jaskier.” Geralt growled. He was an idiot, how would Jaskier find his camp and why would he be lingering around the edges, waiting on an opportunity to strike? The relief at seeing his face had scrambled his head. Now that relief vanished like smoke, replaced by a dread that settled deep in his gut, and his jaw ached with how hard he was clenching his teeth. It felt like something might be trying to crawl up his throat and strangle him, but he tried to push it all away and focus on the creature in front of him. The creature that wasn’t Jaskier. The creature whose presence could mean that the real Jaskier was anything but safe. It was a shifter. The species was now extremely rare but Geralt had encountered one once before. Their impersonations were near-perfect, they not only took on the appearance of another, but their mannerisms, scent, skills, even some of their memories if lore was to be believed, and Geralt distantly noted that based on this encounter it most certainly was to be believed. And since they changed so completely, even his medallion wouldn’t react to one nearby. The surest way to tell one was that they were weak to silver, and it inhibited their abilities to conceal their natural form. The only reason Geralt had caught the one he met before was that it had made the mistake of taking the shape of Geralt himself, before he finally tracked it down and cornered it. The second Geralt had been hell to take down, it knew all his habits and instincts but he had eventually gained the upper hand. The cut through this one's calf must have been a silver blade and it gave away the charade. It must have been hoping to make him its meal before he had reached out and snagged it from the woods.

The creature leaped back across the campsite, putting several strides between itself and Geralt. It still wore Jaskiers face though the teeth were just a little sharper than they should have been, the eyes a little darker. It put a chill down Geralts spine. “Where is he?” he asked angrily, sword pointed at the creature as they slowly circled the fire. “Who? The one who wore this skin? so you really did care about him then?” it laughed, a high mocking tone. “If only he could have known.. It seems that question was quite important to him..” Geralt snarled “Tell me!”

“Why don’t you tell me? You are his witcher aren’t you? Then you know that to take his form I had to have tasted his blood.” It licked a sharp tongue over Jaskiers lips at that. Geralt shuddered and the creature just stretched its month into a smile that split Jaskier’s face in half, daggers for teeth on display, eyes darkening to black. Geralt ground his teeth. “Poor bard, so heartbroken from rejection. But the fool still never gave up hope. He died calling for his witcher! Hehe!” The pointed teeth softened and eyes grew shiny with tears, a mock look of terror on its face. “Geralt! Geralt, save me! Please!” Geralt slammed the flat of his blade into it, throwing it back across the campsite. It coughed black blood onto the ground, then smiled angrily, “So you’d hurt your precious bard again would you? One time wasn’t enough?” Then, again, it was Jaskier’s face staring up at him with wide, sacred eyes “Geralt, Geralt please.. don’t hurt me..” The sight turned his stomach. Jaskier… He shook his head angrily. Monsters don’t get in his head, they never have, he’s a witcher dammit.

He strode closer as the creature tried to scrabble back and pointed the tip of his sword at it’s neck. “Where. is. he.” he growled. “Geralt… please,” not Jaskier whimpered and tears began leaking from his eyes. Geralt hated how it shook him to his core. The expression filled his mind, the look on Jaskiers face a second before he turned away from Geralt on the mountain top. Crushed, crumpled, tears threatening to fall. He was still out there, he told himself. This tear stained face wouldn’t be the last expression of Jaskiers he would ever see… It couldn’t be.

As Geralt hesitated, the creature peaked up at him and cracked a satisfied smile and lunged again, its hands formed into talons and swiping towards Geralt's stomach. He batted it away with the flat of his sword at the last second, but its claws swiped out like lightning and carved three ragged lines across his shoulder. Its eyes shone as it quickly lifted its blood stained fingers to its mouth.

Shunk. Geralt plunged his blade through the creature's heart just as it greedily licked the blood from its fingers. It stilled, brown eyes staring wide and Geralt's blood smeared over its delicate lips. The form of Jaskier fell to its knees before him, blade still lodged in its chest. Then slowly fell to the side, its last breath coming out a raged gasp, and stilled. For a moment the Jaskier guise remained, bloody and broken below him, and Geralt felt sick. Then the skin faded to lumpy gray and the eyes black and dull, the hair white and stringy. His second shifter, killed. He hadn’t thought it could get worse than facing himself. He had been wrong.

He stood there staring down at the body, no longer Jaskier’s, for a while, his teeth grinding and breathing hard, though not from the physical exertion of the fight. Then, after another second he started moving on autopilot. He collected the creature's head, stuffing it into a sack and stringing it up on Roaches saddle. She whinnied and nuzzled her nose into him, startled by the fight so nearby and he patted and calmed her distractedly. Meanwhile his mind was racing. Shifters weren’t natural fighters but this one had seemed desperate, and it was true that it must have tasted Jaskiers blood to take his form. He had come through this way after all, just as Geralt thought. And that gash on its leg must have been from a silver blade, Jaskier had almost certainly been the one to inflict it. But had he been able to get away? He had no way to know, except to search until he found him.

Geralt lurched into action, combing the woods in a growing circle, trying to catch any trace of Jaskier, any clue that he had gotten away, and any indication of where he had went. He turned up nothing. All night he found only fallen leaves and dandelions, until the gray morning light began breaking through the trees and he finally caught a glint of metal reflecting out from the undergrowth. He knelt and brushed away the debris to find a silver dagger and two rough strips of shredded fabric, silken and embroidered, with drops of blood staining the edges. Jaskiers’ doublet, Jaskiers blood. He recognized both easily.

He shifted his attention to the dagger, holding it up to the light. Simple, small and plated silver. It was the one he had given Jaskier years ago, after a particularly good reward for a contract had come through, he’d been able to afford some upgrades to ihs gear and had picked the dagger up for him to have at least some hope of self defense as he continued to insist on following Geralt at dangerously close distance as he fulfilled contracts. The shifter's dark blood splattered the shining blade. So Jaskier was indeed the source of the wound that had tipped him off. He felt viciously proud for a moment. Jaskier had been able to use the dagger when it came to it, and possibly saved them both by it as well. He could only hope the cut to the leg had given Jaskier time to get away. If not… no, the wound on the monster had been significant, it had to have been enough.

Geralt considered the blade a moment longer, then pulled out his rag and wiped it clean, then wrapped the shredded pieces of doublet around the hilt and tied them there. As he stood, he tucked the dagger securely into his belt, fingers lingering over it for a moment. Then swept the area again, hoping for another clue that would confirm Jaskier’s safety. The tracks nearby were too scattered for him to follow, crisscrossed by forest creatures and covered by autumn leaves. He found no other sign of Jaskier in the woods though he searched until the midday sun shone high over the treetops.

Chapter Text

Geralt pushed his way through the crowded inn to the bar where the innkeeper was chatting with a couple of patrons and refilling their drinks, and thunked the head of the shifter onto the counter. The two dusty travelers who sat to the side of him jumped at the noise and leaned away quickly, presumably to get away from the foul scent. The innkeeper jumped as well, but then gathered himself. He turned to face Geralt and looked from the monster head on the counter to Geralt's face, then to his white hair, and finally stopped on his medallion and recognition seemed to reach his eyes.

“You had this in the woods to your north.” Geralt grunted. “Why yes, I suppose we did,” the innkeeper responded, “There have been rumors of strange happenings there among travelers lately, and more than one person has gone missing along that road in past months, though it was all rumor until now. I suppose I must thank you.” he finished, with a much kinder tone than most people did after Geralt wielded monster parts in their vicinity. “You can thank me with a mug of ale and a meal.” he responded gruffly, though the innkeeper didn’t seem put off. “Allow me to offer you a room as well,” he said, and at Geralt's raised eyebrow added “Travelers making it here safely is in the interest of my business after all.” He turned to gather a mug and begin scooping stew into a large bowl.

Geralt took a seat. “Speaking of travelers making it here safely, have you had a bard come through here recently?” he asked. “A bard! That would be nice, we get a few from time to time but it’s been a month or so since our last one. I suppose the colder season is slowing everyone’s travels.” The innkeeper placed food and drink in front of Geralt as he rambled. Geralt tried not to notice how his gut twisted at the words. It was very possible Jaskier had just passed this town and stopped at the next. He finished his food and drink quickly and then stood. “I appreciate the offer of a room”, he said, “but unfortunately I have to be moving on.” and strode towards the door. The innkeeper behind him let out an astonished “Hey-” as the door swung closed behind him. The next town, Jaskier had to be in the next town.

He wasn’t in the next town. And neither was he in the town after that one. The fourth town Geralt entered he was told that no, they hadn’t had a bard recently, but there had been a wonderful one there a month or so prior by the name of Jaskier, the best they’d ever heard, and you, why you must be his witcher. Fuck. He was getting too far, Jaskier couldn’t have made it all this way without stopping or being seen a single time. Between the thoughts of whether to retrace his steps or circle through the woods surrounding all the towns just in case, a voice in his head whispered that he didn’t have time to go in circles. Winter was coming and Jaskier… was nowhere to be found. And Geralt was spiraling, in a way he hadn’t since he had been known as the Butcher of Blaviken.

There was blood on his hands. That was a fact of life, of being a witcher. But he couldn’t take this. If his ill-fated temper tantrum had been all it took to get Jaskier, his Jaskier, killed by some monster along the road. Over and over again he kept letting himself hope. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he let people worm their ways into his heart and desperately hoped they would stay. He allowed himself to get attached to every Roach throughout the years, the ache of losing her each time a familiar blow. With Yen he had known that neither time nor illness nor enemy was likely to take her from him, as long as she wanted to stay. He had made himself believe that he could make her want to stay. He saw how wrong that had been now.

With Jaskier, he had never had a chance. He was the most openly affectionate person Geralt had ever come across and he chose to unleash those affections on Geralt of all people. He loved life and was hopelessly optimistic about the world the way only someone so young could be. Geralt had told himself over and over that it would all wear away, with the cold rain and muck of the path he walked, but it only seemed to get stronger over the years, and it wasn’t long before he couldn’t bear to keep trying to push him away any more. The brightest thing in his grim and bloody life. Of course it ended like this. Jaskier gone and Geralt at an inn south of Caingorn where no one had seen hide nor hair of him and still months journey from Kaer Moren. He sat hunched over the bar gripping a mug of ale tight enough for the wood to splinter. Time passed in a blur of drink until the door to the inn jangled and a minute later a cloaked figure sat down beside him.

“Hello, stranger.” said the voice that Geralt had longed to hear ever since they split up on the mountain. A scent hit him, and with it years of memories, feelings of fondness, annoyance, worry, all mixed together with one much more recent memory of terror. “Its you,” he gasped, too preoccupied to keep the emotion out of his voice. “Geralt” Jaskier seemed taken aback, then shook his head, “Heard you had been asking after me.” he added, having schooled his voice into something more casual. “Fuck, Jaskier, it’s really you?” was all Geralt could manage. Jaskier seemed thrown off balance by the rawness of Geralt's tone. He spread his arms as if to say “take a look”, and Geralt took him up on it, looking him over from head to toe. Jaskier fidgeted under the attention.

He looked healthy, but tired with dark circles under his eyes as if he had trouble sleeping, and his hair was rumpled from being under a hood, in a way Jaskier would never normally have allowed. Geralt took one hand into his own. It felt warm and soft, with calluses along each finger tip, and an old scar along his thumb. He felt the pulse there, fluttering slightly quicker than sitting at a bar should have required. Though scent could be faked, Geralt couldn’t help but lean his face in and breathe in along Jaskier’s palm, wrist, his familiar scent washing over him. He blamed his slightly addled state of mind for the brief urge to place a kiss to the pulse point that his face hovered above. But he couldn’t be fully at ease yet. He looked up to Jaskiers eyes for permission and he seemed unsure what Geralt was asking, but gave a slight nod, and Geralt reached beneath his shirt and pulled out his medallion and placed it gently against Jaskiers palm. Nothing. The silver didn’t burn, nor did the medallion sing, though a shudder seemed to go through Jaskier at the touch. Geralt met his eyes, questioning, but he only offered him a slightly embarrassed smile.

“It’s really me” he said gently. Geralt breathed, sitting up, but couldn’t bring himself to release Jaskiers hand yet. He held it clasped in his and finally allowed himself to take in Jaskiers face. Living, breathing Jaskier. Tired, sad looking Jaskier, with a light blush high on his cheeks pulling his hood back up over his tousled hair and fidgeting under Geralt's gaze. “Jaskier, how are you here?” his voice a quiet rumble in his chest, “No one has seen you for miles around.”

“Ah, that,” a smile quirked up on his face but didn’t reach his eyes, “I haven’t felt much like playing recently. I’ve just been Julian for now”. he hunched deeper into his cloak at this, and his eyes cast down to the bar. The glowing face of Jaskier smiling at him in the summer, lute in hands and dandelion in his hair came to him again, and the contrast with the hunched up man in front of him twisted up his gut. Still he couldn’t help the pure relief that was flooding his veins. Jaskier was here, alive. Geralt couldn’t help himself now, he pressed a quick kiss to the wrist of the hand he still held. He felt foolish but his need to feel Jaskier whole and warm had surpassed any other emotion. Jaskier startled but didn’t pull away, instead looking at Geralt with confusion.

Geralt met his eyes and almost whispered, “I met a shifter with your face. In the woods north of here, by the border.”

Jaskiers eyes widened, and then he glanced back down at their joined hands, and something like understanding settled on his face.

“That bastard stole my face huh?” he said cooly, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I thought it might be a shifter based on your stories, though of course I wasn’t that focused on categorizing it at the time. To be honest I barely got away within an inch of my life there, and he got a swipe in before I could run off. At least I returned the favor! Sliced about halfway through his leg, I’d say I did, then got my ass out of there as quick as my legs could carry me and didn’t stop until I made it into town.”

He looked a little more himself as he told the tale. Arms gesturing and voice inflecting to emphasize all the parts he found most exciting. “It could make for a good story..” he turned thoughtful, “though a bard scared out of his wits doesn’t make for quite as dashing of a hero as the great white wolf, does he?” he said it light heartedly but Geralt didn’t miss the bitter edge of self deprecation in his voice.

Then his expression went carefully casual, “So that’s why you're here I suppose?” he asked, lightly. “I would have assumed you’d be heading for your winter keep by now, but here you are, worrying about me.” There seemed to be a question in his eyes here but he continued before Geralt could respond.

”Well, as you can see, I’m doing just fine.” he said, spreading his arms like before, one of them carrying Geralt's hand with it as he refused to let go. “You could say I held my own against that monster, and the scratches even healed up without a problem! A little celandine on the wound and they didn’t even scar much. Clearly I'm doing alright taking care of myself. So I suppose you can feel free of obligation now, and be on your way.” He finished with finality, tried to smile, then turned away when it faltered on his face.

“So long Geralt, I’ll-” he began to rise from his seat, but Geralt tightened his hand around Jaskier’s and held him there.

“Travel with me.”

He didn't know what compelled him to say it, but he didn’t want to take it back. Jaskier may have moved on from him, and rightfully so, but he would be safer traveling with Geralt beside him and.. if he was honest, Geralt couldn’t bear to see him walk out the door, Melatite only knowing when they would happen upon each other again, what would happen between now and then. After all he realized over these past few days, after what he had felt thinking he had pushed Jaskier away to his death, he couldn’t just let him out of his sight again. He wanted him by his side. He really was selfish.

“What?” Jaskier squeaked, startled.

“Travel with me, Jaskier. You’ll be safer. I’ll protect you. This winter will be harsh, you could come…”

He broke off as Jaskier pulled his hand from his and clumsily stumbled up off his barstool.

“No, Geralt!” his voice pitched up and he cleared his throat and started again, “No, Geralt, um, that is.. I’ve got my own things to take care of here, very important things you know? and I actually do enjoy traveling alone these days, plenty of time to think and… compose.” He backed away as he rambled, fidgeting with his robe, looking everywhere except at Geralt until he had all but joined into the crowd. “…and of course I would hate to keep slowing you down, you know! I know you always hated keeping pace with a human, and well I’m not getting any younger am I? haha. Well, anyway, I really should be going. It was lovely seeing you again.” and turned to leave.
Then for just a moment, he seemed to hesitate, and glanced back over his shoulder and said, quietly, barely audible over the din of the bar, “Be well, Geralt.” and disappeared into the crowd.

A moment later the bell of the door sounded, and then the door slammed closed. Geralt sat, still half turned towards where Jaskier had been moments ago, hand cold and empty. The warmth from where Jaskier’s palm had met his already fading.

Chapter Text

Jaskier had made it clear, he didn’t want to travel with Geralt again. He probably didn’t even want to be anywhere near him based on how he had practically run from the inn earlier. At least Geralt knew he was alive. The weight off his chest had him feeling like he could breathe again for the first time in a week. But still, something inside him still ached to see him again, to feel the warmth of his hand and know for sure he was well. The bags under Jaskiers eyes and the lack of music and laughter about him kept coming back to Geralt's mind now that the shock of seeing him had begun to wear off. He didn’t pretend to miss the fact that he was the one who had likely put Jaskier in that state. If he could see him again, perhaps he could make things right, or at least as close to right as they could be now. He could hopefully lighten Jaskiers burden and reassure himself once more he was alive, then he would be able to go on his way. Surely then this ache would fade, because it had to. Because Jaskier preferred to travel alone now.

He stayed the night at the inn with the little coin he had on him, not willing to put more distance between them yet. The innkeeper had confirmed that Julian was indeed staying there in one of the rooms upstairs, though not without giving Geralt a suspicious glance. And that's where he was ruminating until long after dark when he heard familiar footsteps cross by his room and down the stairs to the inn's exit. Was Jaskier sneaking away? Did he really want to avoid Geralt that much? He glanced quietly through the crack of his door and caught a glimpse of Jaskier. He was unladen by bags, carrying only his lute and lightly dressed. Relief washed over him, he wasn’t trying to run from Geralt as if he was a wolf on his tail. No, he was only going out to play. It wasn’t uncommon for him when he got in a mood to wander the night strumming out snatches of melancholy melody and staring up at the stars. He had seen it plenty of times before. It had been a deeply concerning habit to Geralt when they camped in the deeper parts of monster infested woods. Here though he should be safe. Still, Geralt debated for a few minutes, then slipped on a light sleeping shirt and followed him quietly.

As he exited the inn, the chilly night air hit him and Jaskier was already out of sight. Geralt calmed his irrational spike of anxiety at not knowing where Jaskier was once again, and stilled, listening for the telltale notes that would lead Geralt to him. After a minute they reached him, echoing faintly down the road and he followed to the base of a tall grassy hill. The notes hung in the air like stars as they reached him, delicate and shining, and Geralt wondered at himself for ever having taken this for granted. Then as he drew closer, just cresting the hill, a voice joined the notes that drifted to him on the wind.

The stars shine in the heavens
yet I sit here trapped in dark,
Set me free, my love,
and keep me by your side

Sky and earth stretch out before me,
it seems a cage if you’re away
Set me free, my love,
and keep me by your side

A wander now on once familiar roads,
I know not how to walk this life alone,
oh set me free my love,
and hold me by your side

Set me free my love,
and keep me by your side

Geralt crossed over the top of the hill as the song began to fade, soft grass quieting his footsteps. He was drawn towards the longing notes, drawn towards Jaskier, unable to stay away. An undeniable feeling bubbled up in him filling him with the thought that Jaskier must be singing of him. It was foolish and vain, but he couldn’t push it away. After all, he always was singing of Geralt, wasn’t he? Geralt had never wanted a barker, never remotely wanted to be a muse, but if it was Jaskier singing of him it just felt right. Maybe that was just the result of having gotten used to it over so many years, or maybe it had always been that way. Jaskier singing of him, drawing him in, and him trying his best to stay distant. But now, the resolve within him that kept Jaskier at arms length, never too close but not strong enough to truly make him leave, was simply gone. That part of him must have snapped during the past week. Thinking Jaskier was dead meant there was no reason to hold back his longing, and the longing had nearly consumed him. Now that he was here in front of him, singing his own longing tune, Geralt had no hope of staying away.

Over the edge of the hill among the rippling grass, a figure came into view. One knee up, one stretched across the hillside, lute in hand and wind blowing through tousled hair. His head was thrown back, and it seemed he was singing to the stars. They hung around his head and shone gently on his face as though they, too, had been drawn in by his voice.

The last notes hung gently over the hillside and faded as Geralt reached Jaskier’s side. He slowly lowered himself to sit beside him and said quietly, “Thought you didn’t feel like playing?” Jaskier seemed to have heard him approach as he didn’t startle, but continued staring up at the stars. Then he sighed, “Hard to keep a crowd happy with only songs of unrequited love I suppose..” Then turned to face Geralt with a half smile quirked over his face. The stars shone in his eyes and he looked almost himself again, except for the slight moisture that glistened there. Geralt couldn’t help but stare. The moonlight and starlight suited him almost as much as the summer sun. Small white flowers dotted the hillside and he couldn’t help but pluck one from between them and gently place it behind Jaskier’s ear.

“Unrequited, is it?” he rumbled in his chest as he leaned in, and brushed the fingers that had placed the flower through Jaskiers soft hair. Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he didn’t move back, responding in a shocked voice, “Unrequited, yes, definitely. They can’t even stand to be around me.” “Hmm,” Geralt said, and leaned back to look into Jaskier’s eyes, “Then they must be a fool.” “Oh yes, biggest fool around, and an ass as well, plus rather harsh in their musical critique…” Jaskier spoke lightly but his eyes still never left Geralt’s, and he leaned in slightly as he spoke. “Jaskier,” Geralt brought his hand down and took one of Jaskier’s in his. He tried to focus on just the warmth and fragile pulse he felt there. Jaskier was safe, and everything else go as it may would be ok.

“I don’t exactly know how to do this, but I have to tell you, I’m sorry. I really am an ass and a fool, and I’ve treated you poorly. As soon as I said those things on the mountain I knew they weren’t true, and all I wanted to do was find you and have things go back to normal.” “Geralt.. I appreciate it, I really do. After I left the mountain, I couldn’t help but dream that you would find me and tell me you didn’t mean it. But I don’t think things can go back to normal.” he looked away from Geralt, down towards his hands. One of them was still clasped in Geralts, though he made no move to extract it.

“I know, Jaskier.” This seemed to break through the dam that Jaskier had been holding back. “15 years Geralt! I know I was a thorn in your side when we first met, you made that very clear. But I thought… I had thought that…” There were tears now, streaming down his face and he tried to wipe at them with his one free hand. “I thought that you came to not hate my presence eventually. Honestly part of me hoped that we had become friends, partners even. That the jabs at me were more playful than not, that your gruffness was just your outer shell against the world. With all that we faced together, I thought that maybe I had a place in your heart, or at least a place in your life. Gods, its humiliating.” He cracked a sad smile and laughed without humor. “I trailed after you for so long. Please tell me some of it was real? Or was I just seeing things where there were none? Was I really a burden to you all this time?” He looked at Geralt again, the ache written clearly on his face. He had seen this pained expression on Jaskier far too much recently. He couldn’t help but reach out and wipe away some of the tears that remained on his cheeks, because they were both alive and here, and he could. “Jask, it was real.” he whispered. Jaskier’s pained expression shifted into something like hope and fear at the same time.

Geralt continued, “The fact that you stayed with me… No one else ever had. It wasn’t easy for me to accept, but it meant everything to me. You weren’t seeing things.” He paused here and took a breath, steeling himself against the painful memories, “When I thought you were… gone… When I really thought that the shifter had killed you and it was over, a lot of things became clear to me. First of all, I never want you harmed because of me again.” He said the last part with and angry growl. The thought raised his hackles and he couldn’t stand it. “Second,” he said calmer, “I always want you by my side as long as you are happy to be there. Traveling with a witcher is stupid and dangerous, but Melitite knows I could never stop you if you wanted to, so I won’t keep trying. I missed you, Jaskier, so badly. I care about you, and there’s always a place for you in my life, and my heart.” He met Jaskier's eyes at this and tried to convey everything he felt in his gaze. Jaskier had always seemed to understand him despite his poor way with words and Geralt hoped he still cared to try.

Understanding and shock seemed to reach Jaskier’s eyes, so perhaps he had seen what Geralt had hoped to show him. “I’ll understand if you’d rather go our separate ways now, but I had to tell you that before I left you at least.” he concluded. “Geralt…” Jaskier sounded amazed, his eyes starstruck and a smile was beginning to pull at his lips though the tear tracks still marked his face. “Damn, I told myself I wouldn’t just fall back into your arms. But that was a damn good apology… I never hoped to hear you state your emotions so plainly.” “I’ll keep trying, too. If you’re willing to listen that is.” Jaskier laughed at that though it still sounded winded and shocked. “If thats the case, tell me one more thing. Do you feel the same?” The smile fell and he became serious, as he searched Geralt’s face and waited.

Geralt released Jaskier’s hand and before his face could fall, he reached up and carded it through Jaskier’s hair, resting his hand on the side of his head and leaned in. Jaskier didn’t pull away. Slowly, so slowly, Geralt brought their lips together. Jaskiers lips were warm and so soft, Geralt deepened the kiss and his lips parted with a sigh. The wind blew through the clearing and rustled the grass, and Jaskier leaned in deeper to press against Geralt. His scent washed over him, safety, familiarity, love. He felt moisture on his face and pulled back. Jaskier wiped at his eyes, but a smile filled his face and he laughed gently, finally his normal, happy laugh. “I think you’ll have to change out those unrequited love songs for something new.” Geralt whispered, hand still in his hair, bodies leaned in close, and Jaskier laughed again, high and sweet and with just a hint of tears still in his voice. “I suppose so.” he sighed, “A shame really, a few of them I thought came out quite well.” “The one you sang earlier was gorgeous,” Geralt grumbled, and leaned in to hold Jaskier closer, “and I never want to hear you sing it so sadly ever again.” Jaskier stammered at the bold compliment and his cheeks went redder than before. Then he curled up into Geralt, and noticed the dagger tucked into his belt. “You found my dagger?” he said, surprised. “Of course I did, I combed the forest for you. And stopped at every town between here and Caingorn until I found you.”

He took it off his belt and placed it back in Jaskiers hand. It looked more like a butter knife in Geralt's hand, but fit just right into Jaskier’s palm. It was a good blade for him. “Here. You’ll need it if you want to travel with a witcher…” This time it was Geralt’s turn to look to Jaskier’s face with a question in his eyes. “I do,” Jaskier smiled, “I really do.” “Then we’ll have to leave come morning, the pass to Kaer Moren is a dangerous one once snow comes. Will you come with me there, for the winter?” “An ancient keep full of witchers and their stories? My love, I would like nothing more.” And he smiled at Geralt, the moonlight catching on his dark hair and the light flower, and it was the brightest smile Geralt had ever seen.