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Jaskier was supposed to be at the campsite. Geralt had left him alone playing his lute for five minutes while he sought out something for them to eat.
Five.
And the bastard had gone and managed to get himself kidnapped.
“Stupid bard…” The Witcher let out a deep sigh as the wind blew through the empty campsite, dragging his hands down his face. All he had wanted was a peaceful evening. Just one. But that was too much to ask the gods, apparently.
Geralt looked around. Both the bard and his lute were missing. There were large footprints that had stomped around the campsite, the grass trampled and leaves crushed. The scent of Jaskier’s fear lingered heavily in the air. At least it made for an easy enough trail for a Witcher to follow. “Damn it, Jaskier…”
Geralt mounted Roach with another sigh, setting off at a canter to track his pesky human down. The scent trail of fear led straight towards the first mountain they were attempting to cross on their way to Kaer Morhen before the first snows fell.
At least Jaskier had been kidnapped in the right direction.
“Un-hand me!” he heard Jaskier screeching before he saw the bard. “Put– me– down!” It was clearly not his first attempt at the demand.
Well… he’s alive. Geralt couldn’t quite tell if he was disappointed or not.
He quietly dismounted Roach, drawing his silver sword. He didn’t know what had taken Jaskier, but its scent was definitely not human. Creeping closer, Geralt caught a glimpse of the bard through the trees. He was swinging upside-down by the ankle in the hand of an enormous rock troll, his lute clutched tightly to his chest even as he struggled.
The Witcher groaned, rubbing his face again. Great. Just what he needed: a sentient creature to ransom with for the bard. Though, Jaskier was clever enough with words. The man was a bard, after all. His entire life was words. He could probably get himself free with some fancy, flowery language and Geralt could turn around and leave him to it.
“You lump, let me go!” Jaskier was kicking and flailing indignantly, his face red from the blood rush.
Maybe not.
Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose as he stood behind the tree with a long-suffering sigh. Trolls could often be reasoned with, though the reasoning was often rather painful with such a simple-minded creature. After a few more curses from the bard, he finally sheathed his sword and stepped into the clearing. “Drop him.”
“Geralt!” Jaskier’s voice was high and relieved as he swung his head to catch a glimpse of the Witcher.
“Drop the bard,” Geralt repeated slowly when the troll just stared at him.
The troll blinked. “No.”
“What–?” Jaskier sounded like he was gearing up for another round of screaming.
“Sing pretty.”
Jaskier stopped struggling at that, craning his neck up in surprise. “What?” he repeated, this time more in disbelief.
“Bard sing pretty,” the troll repeated.
Geralt sighed. As little patience as he often had for stupidity, he somehow had a soft spot for dimwitted trolls. “He’ll sing prettier if you put him down,” he reasoned.
The troll looked at Geralt for a moment, then at Jaskier. He lifted the bard higher so their faces were level and nearly touching. “Witcher say true? Sing pretty down?”
Jaskier nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes! Much prettier when my blood isn’t pooling in my skull!”
Geralt rolled his eyes. “Come on, just put him down nicely. He’ll sing all you want then. Pretty,” he tempted the troll. It was strange to hear the Witcher speaking kindly to something.
“Pretty…” the troll murmured. He set Jaskier on the ground as gently as he probably could, the bard letting out a small oof as he landed. “Bard down. Sing pretty!”
“Bard needs a moment,” Jaskier wheezed as he lay flat on his back, still clutching his lute to his chest.
“Sing pretty!” the troll demanded.
Geralt held out his hands, stepping closer to Jaskier as a precaution in case the troll got violent. “He just needs a second, alright? Then he’ll sing pretty.”
Jaskier groaned on the ground for a moment before rolling to his feet. He dusted himself off, stumbling only once. “Thank you,” he cleared his throat and offered the troll a smile. His eyes flickered to Geralt, questioning.
But the Witcher simply shrugged, his sword remaining in its sheath and hands lax at his sides. Trolls were often harmless creatures and this one seemed to be no exception. He simply wanted to hear the bard’s music, as stupid as that was. Geralt nodded for Jaskier to continue.
“Right…” Jaskier said tightly as turned his attention back to the troll. “Then I shall sing you the prettiest song you’ve ever heard.” He plucked at a couple strings on his lute. “Tell me, my delightful, giant friend,” Jaskier smiled, expression a bit forced, “what kind of song would you like to hear? A song of adventure? Heartbreak?”
“Troll song!”
Geralt raised his eyebrows at the troll’s demand, lips quirking up a bit in amusement as Jaskier’s expression grew tighter. Of course the troll wanted his own song. Jaskier was thrown off just a bit, blinking for a second as his mind whirled to come up with something to play. After a moment, he grinned, his bardic persona and charm settling over him. “Ah, a troll song, hm? Very well! I shall sing for you a ballad so grand that it will make your stone heart weep!”
The troll sat heavily on the ground, the forest shaking around them for a moment. His gaze locked onto the bard.
Jaskier shot a glare towards the Witcher for simply standing idle, catching the spark of amusement in his golden eyes. He took a deep breath. He’d composed plenty of songs on the spot. Just… never for someone that could eat him.
Alright. He could do this. Jaskier began strumming his lute, the music quickly filling the air. “Oh, there once was a troll, so strong so tall,” his voice is clear and sweet despite his hesitations as he improvised the song about the troll. “He was quite the fellow, and in love all would fall.”
Jaskier’s smile grew more genuine when the troll perked up as he continued to play. “Made of stone and rocks, he wears quite big socks.” He cringed a bit. This was not his best work by far, but the troll was happily clapping along.
He pranced around the clearing as he sang, adding dramatic flourishes to the song like only a bard could. Geralt leaned against a tree as he watched, expression softening into something fondly amused.
Realizing that the troll was enjoying the ridiculous song, Jaskier’s smile widened even further. He continued to play and dance, clearly in his element, as he improvised the silly song about the troll. The creature looked overjoyed as Jaskier fluttered around him. He added a few more verses about troll mischief and shiny things, his body and voice growing more grandiose with each simple rhyme.
Geralt couldn’t fight the amused smile growing on his lips. He’d seen the bard perform for all kinds of men—kings, paupers, and anything in between—but he had never seen Jaskier look quite so carefree and happy. It was a frustratingly good look on him.
As soon as Jaskier finished the song, the troll clapped loudly with his large hands. Jaskier began bowing dramatically. “Thank you, thank you. No, really, thank you.” He blew kisses, still bowing.
The Witcher crossed his arms, shaking his head as he tried not to chuckle.
“Troll song pretty!”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it!” Jaskier grinned as he straightened up. “A pretty song for a nice friend.”
The troll blinked at him. “Friend?” he repeated, eyes wide. “Bard… friend?”
Jaskier gasped like he’d been insulted, hand fluttering to his chest. “My dear troll! Of course we’re friends! I’ve just sung an entire song about you! That is what friends do,” he declared, clearly milking his theatrics.
“Trug never have friend,” the troll said softly.
His words took Jaskier by surprise, the bard blinking for a moment. His dramatic act faltered as more genuine emotions flickered across his face. But he quickly resumed his theatric persona with a bright grin. “Well, then I shall be your first,” he declared, stepping forward to pat the troll on the arm.
“Friend…” the troll, Trug, repeated as he looked at Jaskier’s small hand on his arm.
Jaskier nodded, a hint of sincerity growing in his smile and voice. “Yes, Trug. Friend.” He patted the troll’s arm again.
Geralt felt his heart flutter a bit at the bard’s compassion. It wasn’t often that he got to see Jaskier’s genuine kindness, but it stunned him every time he did. Jaskier was endearing enough in his own noisy, bitchy way. But this? This wasn’t playing fair.
“Sing more pretty song!” Trug clapped, looking eager. “For friend.”
With that request, Jaskier snapped back into his over-the-top persona. “Of course, my dearest, stony friend! Another song it is!” He grinned from ear to ear as he began another ridiculous tale of trolls and friendship.
Jaskier managed to play for over an hour, mind constantly whirling with new rhymes for the troll. He sang and danced his absolute heart out, his hair drooping with sweat by the end. Gods, he hadn’t performed like this in what felt like forever. Something about the sheer joy on the troll’s face as he clumsily clapped long awoke a part of Jaskier he hadn’t felt in years.
But he was growing tired and Geralt thankfully could tell. The Witcher had been leaning against a tree the whole time, trying to look put out, finally pushing off it with a sigh when Jaskier wheezed for the third time that minute.
Geralt’s arms crossed over his chest as he watched Jaskier, the bard still grinning like an idiot at the troll’s enthusiasm. “Enough,” he said as he stepped forward. He put a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder to stop him from prancing around the clearing again. “He’ll sing himself hoarse.” The bard coughed a few times as soon as he paused to breathe. Trug looked at Jaskier and Geralt shook his head. “He’s done,” he said bluntly, though not unkindly.
“Want more pretty song,” the troll pouted as he rose to his feet. He looked ready to throw a tantrum.
“No,” Geralt stopped Jaskier from lifting his instrument again. He turned back to the troll. “He can’t sing anymore,” he explained patiently as Jaskier panted like a fish behind him. “He’ll lose his voice if he keeps going and he won’t be able to sing at all.”
Trug frowned. “Bard… lose song?”
The Witcher nodded in confirmation. “Bard lose song. If he keeps singing, his voice will go away. Then he won’t be able to sing anymore. No more song.”
“No more song?” Geralt shook his head as Jaskier continued to wheeze for breath behind him. “Trug fix bard!” the troll declared. He began lumbering around the clearing, searching for something.
“Fix?” Geralt repeated slowly. His golden eyes narrowed a bit as the troll continued to survey the area around them for something to “fix” Jaskier with.
Jaskier blinked in concern when he noticed the Witcher tense. “What? What does that mean?” Geralt didn’t reply, but he did move to stand between Trug and Jaskier again.
“Fix bard,” Trug replied simply. “Then more pretty song.” He continued to look around as his mind slowly worked out how to fix the human bard’s voice.
Geralt wasn’t sure what “fixing” meant to a troll. He suddenly had a sinking feeling that whatever it was, it would not be pleasant. He shifted his weight slightly, muscles coiled and ready to draw his sword if necessary. “Fix the bard how?”
Jaskier peered around his shoulder, seeming less concerned as he watched the troll search. “What are you trying to fix?” he asked. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Then why no more song?” Trug asked.
“Because I’m tired,” Jaskier explained as he stepped out from behind the Witcher. “Even the best singers need to rest their voices sometimes.”
“So… how fix bard? Want pretty song.”
Geralt sighed. He glanced at Jaskier, then back to Trug. “Bard no need fix,” he said simply. “Bard need rest.”
Trug frowned, looking sad as he sat back down. “No more pretty song?”
Jaskier practically melted. “Not right now, Trug,” he said gently. “I can still play, though,” he offered.
“Bard,” Geralt sighed. “Don’t you have something else? A… a music box?” It was a weak suggestion, but it was the only thing that had come to mind. And he didn’t want the troll to start looking for another rock to fix the bard.
Jaskier perked up at the idea anyway. Because: a music box? He could work with that.
“Music… box?” Trug asked, tipping his head curiously.
“Yes, music box,” Jaskier nodded with a warm smile. “Small box plays music. Pretty music.”
Trug looked intrigued at the thought. “Pretty music?”
Geralt nodded as well. “Yes,” he agreed. “Pretty music.”
The troll seemed to have forgotten his need to fix the bard, his eyes wide with curiosity. He looked like a massive child about to make a fascinating new discovery. “Where box?”
Ah, fuck.
Geralt suddenly regretted opening his mouth. Where, exactly, was he supposed to find a music box in the middle of the woods? The closest thing to civilization was Kaer Morhen, and Geralt could pretty much guarantee that there was nothing even remotely similar to a music box in the old keep.
He glanced at Jaskier, hoping the bard could somehow pull a miracle from his ass and produce a music box out of thin air.
And somehow, the bastard does.
Geralt blinked in astonishment as Jaskier produced an actual, honest-to-the-gods music box seemingly out of thin air. He stared at the bard for a solid three seconds of surprise, then he just shook his head. Because of course Jaskier would just happen to have that on him.
Of course.
He wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed, impressed, or simply resigned to his fate. Probably all three.
The troll blinked as Jaskier proudly held the box aloft, cradled in both hands. “Music box?” he asked, eyes wide.
Jaskier grinned triumphantly, nodding as he flipped open the box with a flourish. A delicate, melodic tune began to play—something light and whimsical. It was an old lullaby that even Geralt recognized from his childhood.
Trug leaned forward in awe as the music filled the air. He looked like a child, eyes wide with glee as his massive body swayed to the tinkling tune.
Geralt shook his head again. Perhaps it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the bard was toting around a little music box. He had a bad habit of picking up little trinkets and gadgets during their travels.
“Trug like box!” he smiled widely, enamored with the music. His head continued to sway back and forth when his body tired.
Jaskier looked ridiculously pleased with himself—smug as a cat who’d just knocked over a priceless vase and gotten away with it. And though he tried to hide it, there was a flicker of amusement in the Witcher’s golden eyes.
When the music came to an end, Trug leaned forward to inspect the trinket in Jaskier’s hand. “How box work?”
Lighting up like a child given to show off his favorite toy, Jaskier stood on his toes to hold the box higher so Trug could see it. “It’s easy,” he grinned. He turned the box around to point to the peg on the back. “You wind it here…” The music box clicked softly as Jaskier twisted the key. “And then, it plays music all on its own!” Jaskier let go of the key and the clearing once again was filled with the soft music.
“Pretty…” Trug murmured.
Jaskier took the compliment personally, puffing out his chest and grinning with pride as if he had designed and built the thing. Geralt watched with a softened expression as Jaskier carefully set the music box into the troll’s rocky hand. He tapped at it a couple times, taking extra care when winding it up. They listened to the box play itself out into silence again.
“A gift,” Jaskier said softly. “For a friend.”
The troll looked up at him. “Gift?”
Jaskier’s expression softened, though he couldn’t resist adding a bit of flourish. “Yes, gift,” he confirmed warmly. “For my dear friend Trug.” He gestured grandly to the music box in the troll’s hand as if presenting some royal offering instead of a little trinket.
Trug stared at the music box like it might vanish at any moment. He then hugged it to his chest protectively. “Friend give gift!” He spoke like no one had ever given him anything before, which might’ve been true. “Pretty music for Trug!”
“Yes!” Jaskier nodded eagerly, looking a bit like a parent who had just watched his child take their first steps. “That’s right. Pretty music for Trug. My friend.”
Geralt let out a breath through his nose, not even trying to stop the fond smile from crossing his lips. He’s not even surprised that the bard had gotten attached to the sentient rock that had kidnapped him in just a few short hours.
Trug carefully wound up the music box again, the melody tinkling out. He listened to the music with rapt attention, head cocked to the side like a curious puppy as he kept the box wound to continue playing.
Jaskier’s expression had melted into something more subtle, almost tender. There was a strange, endearing connection between Trug and the music. Jaskier had always insisted that beautiful music could touch any soul, and Geralt was witnessing that firsthand.
“Thank friend,” Trug said softly as he looked to Jaskier once more.
There was a genuine warmth to Jaskier’s expression. He hadn’t expected gratitude, but there it was. He placed a hand over his heart with a slight bow of sincerity. “You are very welcome.”
Geralt watched them for a moment before he stepped forward. “We should go.” The words were simple, though again not unkind.
After a moment, Jaskier nodded as he stepped closer to the Witcher. “Geralt is right. We should be off. Enjoy the music, my friend.”
Nodding absently, Trug continued to be transfixed by his new music box. He did spare Jaskier and Geralt one more glance as the pair began to depart from his clearing, almost like he didn’t want them to go.
Jaskier also looked back at the troll, a small smile on his face. The bard had clearly grown fond of the rock, as only he could manage. Geralt rolled his eyes in amusement. “Come on,” he rumbled, gently nudging the bard forward. “Move.”
“I’ll come back to visit with another song!” Jaskier called suddenly, stopping in his tracks. Geralt didn’t even have time to protest.
“Bard come back?” Trug lifted his head in wonder.
Jaskier grinned and shot the troll a wink. “Of course I will. I’ll bring you more music. More gifts!”
Geralt shook his head as the troll looked positively delighted. He clutched the music box to his chest. “Trug wait? Friend not forget?”
“Of course I won’t forget,” Jaskier promised with a warm smile. “Be a good rock troll and I’ll visit again.”
Trug nodded eagerly, as if determined to be the best rock troll he could. “Trug be good!”
Chuckling, Jaskier waved once more. “Good. Be back soon, my friend!” Trug waved back, still clutching the music box.
Huffing, Geralt grabbed the bard by the back of his shirt like a kitten and steered him forward firmly. “Come on, bard. Before you decide to adopt him.”
Jaskier was still waving until the troll was out of sight.
“You’re not seriously planning on visiting him again, are you?”
“Of course I am!” Jaskier exclaimed. “I promised.”
Geralt shook his head. “You know trolls are about as bright as the rocks they’re made of. You don’t think he’ll actually remember that promise, do you?”
The bard lifted his chin. “Even if he doesn’t remember, I will,” he said firmly. His tone had shifted into something rare: stubborn sincerity. No jokes, no theatrics. Just pure determination.
For a long moment, Geralt just stared at him. Then he shook his head. “Fine,” he said. “But I’m not carrying your gifts.”
Jaskier smiled brightly. The rest of their journey to Kaer Morhen was blissfully uneventful, the pair arriving just before the heavy snows settled in for the winter. While Geralt and his brothers trained, Jaskier spent his days tinkering around with gifts and songs for the rock troll.
On one afternoon, Geralt watched from the doorway of Jaskier’s room as the bard scribbled lyrics onto parchment, strung together a second music box out of tools definitely stolen from Vesemir’s workshop, and attempted to carve a tiny rock troll figure out of wood.
He crossed his arms as he leaned against the frame. “You realize there’s still months of winter left. You won’t be able to carry everything if you keep this pace up,” he said dryly.
Jaskier didn’t even glance up, too busy gluing glitter to some poor artifact that might’ve been important once. “I’ll manage,” he replied simply.
Geralt exhaled through his nose as he shook his head. But he didn’t try to stop him.
Mostly because trying to do so would’ve required more effort than just letting it happen.
By the time spring arrived, Jaskier had dozens of gifts for the troll. He was insistent that they visit him before stepping onto the Path for the year. Geralt blinked at the mountain of gifts Jaskier had managed to accumulate for the troll: small wooden trinkets, more music boxes, and even a painted portrait of Trug that looked suspiciously like it had been done while drunk.
“You spent all winter doing this.” It wasn’t a question.
Jaskier beamed up at him from where he was trying to shove everything into a bag. “Isn’t it great?”
Geralt found he couldn’t even be mad at the genuine excitement rolling off the bard. He sighed, though, already resigning himself to being the pack mule he had insisted he wouldn’t be.
Trug was lumbering about his cave, turning when he heard Roach’s hooves.
The troll’s face lit up when he saw Jaskier and the pile of gifts behind him. Geralt slid off Roach’s saddle as soon as the mare stopped, offering a hand up to Jaskier to help him down. He leaned against the horse for a moment to watch the bard and troll reunite.
“Friend come back!” Trug bellowed happily.
Jaskier had taken Geralt’s offered hand and dismounted Roach with a flourish. “Of course I came back!” he said brightly, spreading his hands to show off the mountain of gifts he had brought. “I brought all of this for you.”
Trug looked like his world had been made. He clambered over eagerly to inspect the gifts in fascination. Geralt hung back, his expression once again fond as he watched the bard. The troll sat heavily on the ground, the clearing shaking for a moment, as he began to inspect the gifts that Jaskier passed him.
He oohed and ahhed over each gift like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen. Jaskier grinned as he watched the troll’s wide-eyed delight at even the simplest trinkets and carvings. Geralt couldn’t help his amusement at the bard’s attachment to the rock. A troll wasn’t a house pet, but somehow Jaskier had found a way to keep one.
“Look like Trug!” he exclaimed eagerly at the crudely painted portrait.
Jaskier clapped his hands together in delight, watching the troll admire the portrait. “Yes! That’s you!” He looked so proud, as if he hadn’t painted a blob with two dots for eyes and called it art. Trug was utterly enthralled with the thing, holding it up to compare it to himself over and over again.
He looked like an enormous child, happily pawing through the various gifts Jaskier had spent all winter making for him. Jaskier was glowing with pride as Trug picked up each item. He giggled over music boxes, poked at the carved figurines, and clapping along to the songs Jaskier performed.
“You realize you’ve just encouraged him,” Geralt said to Jaskier, a smirk on his lips. “Now he’ll expect this every spring.”
Jaskier doesn’t look upset in the slightest at the idea, watching in amusement as Trug tried to play one of his newly gifted flutes.
“Trug make pretty music!”
The bard smiled again, picking up his own flute and playing a cheery tune to accompany Trug’s messy attempt at music. Geralt had given up completely on pretending to look frustrated as he leaned against Roach with a warm look in his eye.
Damn bard. Being adorable and shit.
As they played, Trug looked as happy as a sentient pile of rocks possibly could. His simple, genuine joy at the music softened even Geralt’s grumpy façade. The troll was practically vibrating with excitement as he clumsily mimicked Jaskier’s notes on the flute like it was some grand performance.
Jaskier caught Geralt looking. He shot him a smug grin before deliberately playing an even more ridiculous tune. The Witcher huffs out of habit, but doesn’t stop them. Even when the notes turned sour and scratched at his sensitive eardrums.
“You’re going to regret this next spring,” Geralt said.
“Nonsense,” Jaskier replied. And they both know he meant it.
Geralt just shook his head, watching Jaskier continue to encourage Trug’s musical attempts. He could see the writing on the wall, could read it clearly: this was going to be a yearly thing now. Years ago, the thought would’ve made a sour look of irritation cross Geralt’s features. Now, he looked at the happy smile on the troll’s face and felt himself soften more.
“Trug have gift for friend,” the troll said after a while.
The Witcher stepped forward warily. A gift from a troll could be anything from a pebble to a boulder, so he was just being cautious.
Jaskier, however, perked up immediately. “A gift? For me? What is it?”
Trug got up and lumbered off towards his cave before he returned a minute later with a single small mushroom clutched carefully in his rocky hand like some kind of treasure. He held it out to Jaskier solemnly, as if presenting the bard with something priceless. “Favorite mushy,” he said seriously as he offered it to Jaskier. “Save for friend.”
Jaskier’s expression absolutely melted as he gingerly took the mushroom offered to him. He looked as if he were receiving something priceless, looking utterly touched as he held the mushroom gently. “…Thank you, Trug,” he said quietly, sounding a bit choked up.
Geralt didn’t have the heart to comment, not when the troll looked so happy. Jaskier, too, looked like he was practically in love with the fungus.
The visit lasted for a while longer before Geralt managed to steer the bard away. Trug watched sadly as Geralt and Jaskier said their goodbyes. The troll looked a bit like a puppy getting abandoned, and Jaskier was reluctant to go.
Sighing, Geralt put a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “We’ll be back in the fall. Keep out of trouble until then.”
Trug nodded eagerly as he promised again to be good. Geralt helped the bard onto Roach, looking back at the troll hugging all his gifts. They waved farewell and a tradition was born.
The pair visited the rock troll every spring and every fall on their way to Kaer Morhen. Even Geralt’s brothers became roped in at one point, the rock troll somehow being adopted by the Wolf Witchers and their mascot.
Geralt grumbled about the visits, just to keep up appearances. But there was no real heat behind his words as he found himself looking forward to the visits as well. Jaskier, being Jaskier, took the tradition and ran with it. He brought stupider gifts each year just to see the troll’s reaction.
Trug loved every minute of it.
Jaskier was absolutely smitten with the troll after only a few visits, completely won over by his simple-minded charm. Geralt had softened considerably around Trug as well, though he still kept himself cautious. He grumbled at Jaskier’s ridiculous presents and stupid songs, but he stopped trying to hide his fondness.
It seemed he’d grown attached to the troll, too.
Over the years, Trug had gotten better with his musical abilities. Though, not by much. Jaskier was thrilled with every improvement, absolutely elated over every new note Trug managed to blow into a flute without accidently making everyone go deaf. After their fifth spring visit, Trug could play a half-decent rendition of Jaskier’s first song to the troll without making the Witcher wince every five seconds.
Jaskier was almost embarrassingly head-over-heels at that point, utterly smitten by Trug’s gentle nature and growing musical talent. Geralt watched his bard interact with the troll, feeling the strange mix of fond resignation that came from watching his friend fall in love with a walking rock.
Trug seemed equally as enamored, staring at Jaskier like the bard had hung the moon each time they visited.
The spring that they visit Trug after Geralt had managed to spit out his unstoppable affection for the bard was one to remember.
Geralt was a wreck by the time he finally spit the words out. He’d spent years telling himself that the affection was simply between two good friends, that he was just protective of his only human friend.
But when he saw Jaskier look at Trug like that, so absolutely gone on the troll… He wanted it. He wanted Jaskier to look at him like that.
And Jaskier did.
After Geralt managed to poorly articulate his feelings last winter, Jaskier looked at him with all the adoration the Witcher had been craving. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to it.
Every time that Jaskier gave him the look—soft, warm, loving—the Witcher felt something in his chest clench like he’d been punched. But in a good way.
He’d tried to play it cool. To grumble when Jaskier cuddled against him at night or when he held his hand during their visits with Trug.
Of course the troll noticed, giving them knowing smiles each time they visited. It was a wonderful thing.
Geralt found himself liking the way his chest felt every time Jaskier smiled at him. The warmth of his body as they shared a bed roll at night. It was nice. He sometimes felt like he didn’t deserve it after everything he’d done, but he wasn’t about to let go of it, either.
He continued doing what he did best: protecting what mattered most with stubborn silence and rough hands that manage to cradle the bard close whenever possible.
And if Trug laughed at them for being hopelessly in love? Well.
The troll could keep his damn mouth shut about it.