#pre-geraskier

When Geralt wakes in the morning, he doesn't seem aware of Jaskier's nightly excursion and so Jaskier continues as normal. And then he announces that they're heading into town.

It comes as a surprise, but Geralt took down a group of drowners yesterday and he's been hauling their parts around since. It's not a stretch that he would be eager to be rid of them, Jaskier certainly is. And if he can rustle up some company for the evening, all the better for it.

His spirits brighten as they are out that day and he doesn't even complain about the stench of the drowner brains. Geralt notices, but he doesn't say anything about it. He's probably looking forward to a hot bath, Jaskier surmises and he regrets that he won't be around to assist him, but it's better for both of them in the long run that Jaskier gets laid tonight.

As soon as they get to town, Jaskier offers to rent them a room and leaves Geralt to tending to Roach and ridding himself of his monster parts. He finds the inn with little trouble and approaches the innkeeper with a friendly smile. He gets the same in return and briefly considers propositioning the man once he's paid for his room. He’s a little older than his usual partners, but he has a kind smile and warm eyes. And Jaskier isn't picky right at this moment.

But once he's paid for the room a woman comes out from behind him and the innkeeper tells him his wife will show him to his room. He spares a quick though for bedding them both, then puts all suggestive thoughts out of his mind. Geralt might even be proud of him, as long as he didn’t know Jaskier’s true intentions.

Jaskier thanks them both kindly and when he gets to the room, he sets his things down and arranges a bath with the innkeeper's wife. He might be leaving him for a couple of hours, but he can still assure Geralt is comfortable. There's a nagging feeling of regret, as he leaves the room, but he needs this and Geralt doesn't deserve his bad mood because of it.

The main hall is quiet in the afternoon, unsurprisingly, so Jaskier sits himself in a corner and picks at his lute. He earns himself a couple of spectators, but they're there to eat and move on when they're finished. He sees when Geralt shows up and offers a quick wave and a smile before the Witcher disappears upstairs.

People start flooding in just before supper and the innkeeper offers to reimburse Jaskier for their room if he plays for a little while. Jaskier takes him up on his offer and within the hour, he's gathered a crowd. More than one of them offers to take him to bed, but Jaskier has his eye on a guy in the back. He's built like a soldier and Jaskier can't keep his eyes off of him, fantasizing about all the ways he could hold him down and push him around. And that’s just what he needs tonight.

When he finishes his set, Jaskier orders a beer from the innkeeper and saunters toward the back of the inn. He gets a look from the soldier, glancing up at him from under dark lashes and Jaskier offers him his most charming smile.

It takes him all of five minutes to be carried upstairs and manhandled into bed. They’re in the room right next to Geralt's, but Jaskier ignores that fact for the time being, his mind and body preoccupied with more pressing matters.

In the morning, Jaskier feels incredible. He's needed this for so damn long and he feels loose and a little dopey after an enthusiastic round two this morning. He's cheery and smiling when he finds Geralt out at the stables.

Geralt is neither.

He doesn't even look up as Jaskier approaches, which he puts down to his focus, but it doesn't get any better. Jaskier tries to cheer him up, but all his attempts fail and he feels even worse about ducking out on him last night.

"Geralt, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he grunts, "let's go."

Jaskier sighs and relents, following after him. He doesn't give up though, checking in every so often to see if Geralt is willing to open up and tell him what's bothering him. He's not under any delusions; he knows Geralt isn't upset because he was gone last night, but he can't help feeling guilty about it all the same. He worries about him because Geralt usually dwells on things quietly, without letting Jaskier know something's wrong. This is different.

They're just outside of town when Jaskier tries again, asking where they're headed. Geralt just grunts in response and Jaskier frowns, pausing as Geralt continues on ahead of him. His mind goes in a dozen different directions, trying to figure out what could have happened in the few hours they were separated that has Geralt in such a bad mood.

"Geralt-"

"We need to keep going."

Right, Jaskier thinks. He doesn't say another word until they've stopped for the night.

The last thing he wants is to make things worse for an already grouchy Witcher, so he shuts up and follows along behind. When they do stop for the night, he turns in early, ready to be done with this day and move on to the next. His good mood has been gone for hours and he's ready to be done with today.

Apparently, life has other ideas.

It has to be a few hours past midnight when he wakes up to the sound of soft conversation. Only after listening for a moment he realizes it's one-sided and the anxiousness that crept into him settles. It's Geralt he realizes, now that he can hear, and he's talking to Roach. Jaskier can't quite understand what he's saying, but his voice is rough, frustrated and he knows that tone is never aimed at Roach.

Concerned, Jaskier pushes himself up from his bedroll as quietly as he can and tries to listen in. The fire has burnt low so the only sounds are those of insects and other woodland creatures going about their nightly routine. It still hinders Jaskier's hearing. He knows he shouldn't even try; Geralt deserves his privacy and Jaskier shouldn’t intrude upon that. But it sounds like Geralt is talking through something. With Roach. True, Roach can't talk back, not really, and she can't go telling anyone else about it. Jaskier's heart sinks knowing whatever it is, Geralt doesn't trust him enough to talk about it.

Or maybe this was something he wanted to talk about last night and Jaskier was too busy wanting sex to realize it. He had made it his mission to all but avoid Geralt last night. Maybe he should have just explained himself. But how do you explain to your best friend that you just really need to get fucked - especially when you'd rather he was the one doing it.

Fuck, he thinks, maybe he made a mistake.

Then he hears his own name and he's sure of it, but his heartbeat drowns out the sound of anything else Geralt says. Jaskier needs to know now, so he gets up and makes his way over, careful to let Geralt know that he's coming. He sits down next to him and Geralt doesn't move.

"Is everything okay, Geralt?" He doesn't get a response and he nods. "I'm sorry if I've done something." he says and when Geralt remains still, he relents. "Right."

Jaskier pushes himself back to his feet and there's nothing left to do but walk away. As he turns back toward the camp, his heart is heavy with guilt, both for not being able to help and for whatever part he might have played in Geralt's misery. He lays himself back down, facing up to the sky and shuts his eyes. Back from the direction he came, there’s a muttered “fuck” and when Jaskier opens his eyes again, Geralt is standing above him. He doesn't know what to expect because Geralt doesn't look pleased, but he keeps his mouth shut.

"Where were you last night?" Geralt asks but Jaskier can tell by the way he averts his eyes that he knows exactly where he was.

"I was with someone. A man from the inn." Geralt clenches his jaw. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you, but I have needs, Geralt. I can't just go wandering for weeks on end without-"

"I can bathe myself Jaskier."

Then what? He thinks, if that's not the problem, then-

"Geralt-?"

"Mm?"

"Are you jealous?" He nearly winces as he says it, expecting a bad reaction, but Geralt just falls silent. Jaskier's mind whirls in the quiet that follows, trying to piece together the events of last night because Geralt couldn't possibly be jealous of him.

Geralt sits down next to him and when he speaks again, his voice is quiet and even. "I could hear you," he says, "all night."

"Ah."

"It was unsettling."

"Unsettling?" Jaskier asks, forcing the word out with some difficulty.

"Hmm. Two nights ago I heard you sneak away, I was worried, so I followed you. You touched yourself and it was my name on your lips and then last night-"

Jaskier's face grows hot, the flush creeping up to the tips of his ears and he's so horrified at the thought that Geralt heard him that he barely registers what he's saying. He doesn't remember saying his name that night, but it wouldn't be unusual, he spends so much time thinking about Geralt that it's hard to discern sometimes.

"Come here," he says quietly, shifting backward to make space. Pushing aside his own discomfort, he pulls Geralt down next to him, surprised at how easily he submits. Geralt settles next to him, his shoulders tense.

"You shouldn't worry about me," Jaskier breathes and Geralt turns onto his side, away from him.

"Hmm."

Jaskier mimics his movement, slipping up against Geralt's back and arranging his blanket so it covers them both. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I needed something I couldn't ask you for, that's all." He slides a hand up Geralt's arm, noting the way his shoulders loosen a little with the touch. "I'm yours Geralt, however you'll have me. I'll always return to you."

"Hmm."

Alright. He was hoping for more than that, but he'll take it. Then Geralt shifts against him, reaches back and pulls Jaskier's arm around him. Jaskier presses closer, a soft smile playing on his lips and Geralt runs his thumb over the back of his hand thoughtfully.

And he wasn’t going to turn himself into a stalker by finding out what he did for a living, or what his name was, or anything like that.

“Have you talked to him?” Lambert raised an eyebrow.

“No.” 

And he wasn’t going to. He wasn’t going to invite or tempt himself to a relationship - if that was even an option, he didn’t even know his name - he wouldn’t be able to fill. It was too complicated.

Most people didn’t even know what witchers were anymore, much less believed they actually existed. He would either have a shitload of explaining and convincing to do, or he would’ve had to lie.

Geralt wasn’t built for lying.

----

He’d been in most of the day at that point, and the sky had begun to darken. The front hall lights still weren’t working and he had given up on fixing them, along with the porch light - a fuse issue most likely. The doorbell was also a lost cause, but he’d put less effort into that, seeing as the only people to visit him tended to let themselves right in with or without his permission.

It was mostly luck, then, that he happened to spot the visitor approaching from his regular spot in the kitchen, or he might’ve missed him.

Geralt’s fingers caught on a small wooden trinket that rested atop the bedside table he used to store his belongings while resting in Kaer Morhen. Jaskier had called the phenomenon Witcher-hibernating and perhaps he was not far off, except there was always work to do even in the winter. The work just wasn’t hunting to empty the coin purses of men.

The trinket beneath his fingers was a wolf carved carefully by a young girl from a small village whose name Geralt could not remember. It had been quite a few years ago when Jaskier had commissioned the girl to craft the souvenir. The village did not see much coin pass through and had barely been able to scrape together payment for Geralt’s services. Geralt had assumed Jaskier was doing the young girl a kindness, paying her several marks for the small trinket.

Then Jaskier had tuned and immediately placed the knickknack in Geralt’s palm. The bard had smiled secretly, turning that smile into something far more flashing and affectionate as he spoke to the girl and left Geralt to hold his purchase. Jaskier had often passed off his baubles and purchases for Geralt to hold, so Geralt had merely carried the purchase until later that evening. It had been a surprise, then, how Jaskier had merely frowned at the wood piece instead of taking his purchase back.

“It’s yours.” Jaskier had said simply before turning away and resuming preparation for his performance. Geralt had been left sitting there to stare at the wolf’s wooden gaze in the dim light of their rented room.

Huffing a breath, Geralt felt the weight of his words from the mountain press upon him again. It was a loathsome burden to bear and yet Jaskier’s fallen expression was as much a ghost as Renfri’s dying breath had been. Not a lifeless body in his arms but a heartbroken within his blood-coated hands that he had carried with him since.

And Geralt was not fool enough to have not seen it, the wandering gaze and the small smiles reserved for him. There had been some sort of infatuation that Jaskier had held for him in the beginning, but slowly that had become something almost fond. Geralt had felt something bubble beneath his skin at Jaskier’s attention. As if Jaskier had looked to him and not seen a Witcher or a Butcher, but… Geralt. And Geralt was all of those things and none of those things all at once beneath Jaskier’s gaze.

His chest felt collapsed beneath an invisible weight as his mind swam toward thoughts of the bard. Ribs puncturing vital organs as if he had taken a beating. Geralt sat on the side of his bed, the weight of the wooden wolf just as heavy as the one on his chest. Turning it over in his hands, Geralt could recall not even remembering this was still in his possession when he had made it to Kaer Morhen that winter. It had been a surprise amongst his belongings and he had carelessly thrown it into the bedside drawer for lack of anything else to do with it.

Geralt, however, could not recall how the wolf found its way from the bottom of the drawer to the top of the table between that winter and this winter. He knew it had not found its place there that first winter surely, but it had been there this last winter past. How long had it been there? Unassuming and yet just as much a part of Geralt’s belongings as the armor adorning his form?

It brought Geralt’s thoughts to the ruined tunic that had been used as a rag rather than a fancy dress for the past four years. It had been muddied and torn on a particularly vicious kikimore hunt and Jaskier had given it up without further preamble. An oil rag for cleaning, he had muttered, if one could use something so filthy for cleaning.

With a furrow of his brow, Geralt turned to his swords. Atop of the hilt of his steel blade was Renfri’s brooch. He could still remember the weight of her body against the blade - steel for men. Steel against this stolen princess of a dark moon. Her life flickering behind her eyes before extinguishing forever.

Geralt did not carry many things with him, such was the nomadic life of a Witcher; however, he would always carry Renfri and her death with him. There would be no forgiveness from her, only penance. It seemed that this wolf would be as Renfri’s brooch - a reminder. A sentence from which he could not be pardoned.

Geralt turned back to the wolf in his hand. And yet, there was still time to be had with Jaskier, was there not? Jaskier was not as long gone as Renfri, not yet. At least, Geralt was certain that if the Master Dandelion had passed, the entire civilized Continent would know about it. Geralt would know about it.

If he found the bard again, if the bard would forgive him his transgressions from atop the Mountain, if he could find a time where Jaskier was in arms’ reach - endless ifs, Geralt thought in that moment. If he had ever found him, Geralt would not take the opportunity lightly. It was a silent vow, but these were the vows most familiar to Geralt.

Placing the wolf within his pack, determination poured his veins as good as any potion. Geralt inhaled sharply, resolving to put things right. Perhaps Jaskier would rebuke the apology, but that was not the point. The point was the attempt. It was the intention. Geralt could recall Jaskier saying such things about a romantic play almost a decade ago. A lifetime ago.

A gentle smile tugged at his lips at the memory. Geralt slung his packs over his shoulders, moving to meet Yennefer and Ciri down in the kitchens of the keep for one last meal before send-off. His Path would be clear this year. And to whatever power was listening, if Destiny had any say in it, Geralt hoped he would meet his bard again sooner rather than later.