Chapter Text
“I’m tired of being the one who cares more.”
From where he is standing just outside the doors to the main hall, Geralt can make out Jaskier’s profile against the large fireplace. Opposite of him sits Eskel, a hand resting over Jaskier’s wrist. They are both looking down at the table, down at their large mugs of drink, and Geralt can feel his heart sink.
“He wouldn’t have asked you to come if he didn’t care,” Eskel tries, and Jaskier gives a sad smile.
“Ah, see,that’s the kicker, though, isn’t it? He didn’t. He told me to bring his child here, but he never asked me specifically to come, and he never asked me to stay.”
Geralt clenches his jaw from his spot hidden in the shadows, not sure what to do.
“Do you know how many have been here before you?” Eskel says, releasing his grip on Jaskier’s wrist as the bard takes a swig of his drink. “Two. At least from Geralt.”
“Yennefer?” Jaskier asks, it sounds less bitter than Geralt expected. Maybe he should stop thinking he knows what to expect from the bard. Eskel shakes his head.
“Ciri, and then Triss as her teacher.”
The fireplace crackles loudly and, with a pop, one of the logs crack and fall. Geralt is watching Jaskier intently, and he notices how his lips flatten, how his grip on the mug tightens.
“We have had guests before. Whores, friends, alchemists, historians. Geralt only brought two. And now you.”
Jaskier seems to mull that over, and so does Geralt. He looks down at his own feet with a frown, watching the light and shadow flicker and dance over the leather.
What Eskel says is true. He wouldn’t have asked Jaskier if he didn’t care, or if he didn’t trust him. He had thought that after all this time, Jaskier would know that.
It seems he doesn’t.
“But am I a welcome one? It was Lambert who found me a room, you who showed me the bathing chambers, Vesemir who offered to cobble my shoes. I have seen how Geralt acts when he cares, and this is not it.”
Another silence, one not broken for a long moment, and Geralt lifts his gaze to look at them once more. Jaskier’s hair is growing a bit long, a bit unkempt. He doesn’t have his fancy hair oils up here, nor his usual grooming kit. That’s Geralt’s fault, he supposes.
“I have never seen him act like this at all,” Eskel says eventually. “You bring out something in him.”
Jaskier tilts his head skeptically.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that. He barely speaks to me, never did, really. What could I possibly bring out in him?”
“It’s hard to explain. He is…more? Just more. Small things, it’s still Geralt we’re talking about, but…I’m not sure how he was when he was with you on the Path, or what you saw. But he wouldn’t be like this if it wasn’t for you. If he didn’t care for you.”
This… Geralt never realized. That Eskel saw this much in him. It’s probably true, Geralt has changed over the years. Did Geralt start holding himself to a standard Jaskier set?
Jaskier draws in a breath and holds it before speaking, like he isn’t sure how to phrase it.
“I… I always saw him as a friend. Even when he didn’t see me as one. Those first few years, it was as if I was on top of the world. Thinking back, it was always me who found him first, me who arranged common travels, more often than not, we did not meet if I didn’t make sure we did. And then I stopped. And it took Yennefer betraying him and him needing something from me for him to seek me out.”
“You didn’t see what he was like during that time-” Eskel says, but Jaskier cuts him off.
“That’s my entire point?” Jaskier interrupts, agitated. “I didn’t see him because I didn’t make it happen, not because I didn’t care about how he was, but because I was waiting for him to come find me. Which he didn’t. I cared more about our… friendship, about him, than he ever did for me. Which is, surprise surprise, why I’m spending the winter in a keep filled with people who only tolerate me.”
“Nah, you’ve grown on me, Jask. Like a fungus. We’re friends now, no getting rid of me,” Eskel teases softly, and they smile at each other, and Geralt hurts with his entire being.
“Flattering. You should stop getting attached to things growing on you,” Jaskier snarks back with a smirk. “And probably stop visiting whores until that growth is taken care of.”
Eskel snorts a laugh, and Jaskier’s smirk is triumphant.
“He does care, though. Lambert might be better at this feelings stuff, but it’s true. Geralt can be a fucking prick sometimes, and thick as a rock, but he wants you here, even if he doesn’t say it.”
“Aahh,” Jaskier sighs and leans backwards. “That’s the way I used to think. Before all of that went down. Still forgave him, though, didn’t I?”
The fire crackles, and Jaskier looks up to the ceiling, that old, familiar stone ceiling. Geralt wishes he could see his eyes.
“You love him, don’t you?”
Eskel says it so quietly that Geralt thought he misheard, and without realizing it, he leans closer to the door, trying to hear better.
“I would love to get some shut eye, that’s what I’d love,” Jaskier says, standing up, pushing the stool he was sitting on to screech backwards.
“Jaskier.”
Eskel remains seated, and the two of them just watch each other for a long moment.
“Doesn’t matter,” Jaskier says, matter of factly.
“Love always matters.”
Jaskier smiles at the witcher across from him, shaking his head. Long strands curled behind his ear come loose, moving across his stubbled cheek.
“You are a sweet man, Eskel. You’d make a good poet, one day.”
When Jaskier starts walking towards the door Geralt is hiding behind, and it takes Geralt about three steps to realize he’s fucked if he doesn’t move, right now.
Over Jaskier’s shoulder, he realizes Eskel has spotted him as he watches Jaskier leave. Well fuck.
Geralt does the only sensible thing and turns to flee, but he must have made a sound or something, because Jaskier looks up and spots him.
He hears the soft ‘oh’ Jaskier makes, before he quickly makes his way down the hall and out into the hallway, leading towards the baths. Hopefully Jaskier won’t think to look there. If he will look at all.
Geralt hurries down the stairs, holding on to the railing, the air getting more humid the further down he gets.
In the end, it’s Eskel that comes looking. Or maybe he meant to take a bath, who the fuck knows, but he sits down next to Geralt on a wooden bench along the wall looking out across the room.
“So you heard most of that, eh?” Eskel says, and Geralt feels slightly guilty about it.
“Didn’t mean to.”
Eskel clicks his tongue, calling Geralt’s lie.
“It doesn’t mean anything if it comes from me.”
“Hmm.”
“He is actually your friend, right?”
That stings. He gives Eskel a sidelong glance, and notices his brother is already watching him.
“He was always more of a friend to me than I was to him.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I-... Yes.”
“You are better than this.” Eskel chastises him, and well, hm. Geralt bows his head, watching his hands. Big, callused, covered in thin scars.
“I want to be,” he murmurs. “He deserves more than I can give him.”
“You don’t get to make that choice. He does. He gets to choose who he cares for or not.”
Geralt doesn’t respond. It echoes something Yennefer said backwhen, and he frowns.
“Fix it, Geralt,” Eskel says, standing up. “If not for you, for him.”
When the other witcher reaches the door, Geralt can’t hold back anymore.
“Eskel. Does he really… Do you really think….:?”
“That he loves you? Yes. It’s time to stop punishing yourself through others, it’s not as noble as you think it is.”
“Ouch,” Geralt says with a half smile when Eskel looks back at him over his shoulder.
“Fix it.”
With that, Eskel climbs up the stairs and is gone. Geralt remains, his hair curling at the ends from the heat and humidity, and he thinks.