Imagine if Geralt’s rant to Jaskier on the mountain was longer, if he built up to the truly heart wrenching words he’d hurled at the bard instead of remaining as tight-lipped as ever. And the bard, who grew up being yelled at for every little thing he did wrong, handled the long dressing down like he usually would…
Because Jaskier didn’t want to hear what Geralt was saying, but he couldn’t make himself move. He felt like someone had nailed his feet to the ground, before using said nails to join his lips. So as Geralt spoke of how much he hated Jaskier’s songs about him, the bard gladly welcomed the encroaching floating feeling. It was a welcome reprieve, one he hadn’t felt in…years, if not decades, but as familiar to him as riding a horse or going over the manor’s books for accounting errors.
He blinked at Geralt, whose face he distantly noted seemed rather scrunched up. He blinked again, and there was just blue, such a pretty…blue. And then there was red, and yellow, and—
Jaskier jolted at the loud crackle from the fire, the constriction of his leather pants, the heat of the flames, the weight of arms around his waist, the—
“…with me? Jaskier, please, just—”
Still feeling a bit out of sorts, Jaskier clumsily patted at Geralt’s hand, not quite able to make his dry mouth move. For a second the arms squeezed impossibly tight, and then they loosened as Geralt gently nudged at Jaskier, trying to turn him to face the witcher.
Blinking rapidly, Jaskier rubbed his face as he “woke up”, so to speak, doing his best to reorient himself to being…present? Jaskier had never known what to call the sensation of coming back to his body, how to explain rediscovering the weight of his limbs.
At least it was probably only hours this time that he’d lost, Jaskier considered, rather than—
Jaskier’s train of thought halted at the sight of Geralt’s almost…haunted, expression. Biting his lip, Jaskier considered what to say, unsure how to comfort the other over Yennefer’s rejection. For some reason, he didn’t think assuring the witcher that there were more witches in the sea would help, nor could Jaskier give him a hug and get him drunk like he would his other friends—
“Can—can you hear me now?”
Jaskier blinked, a bit surprised at the question, but nodded.
Geralt slumped, like a weight had been taken off his shoulders, as he gave Jaskier a sharp nod. Which was…a little strange, but not unlike the witcher would do after patting Jaskier down when the bard had a rather more…intimate, encounter, with the monsters Geralt fought than either preferred.
The action was enough to make Jaskier smile a bit as he moved to stand, suddenly feeling ravenous and extremely thirsty—
Jaskier glanced at the witcher before looking around the camp, hoping to find a waterskin and maybe—ah, there!
“Going to need a little more than that, Geralt.” He said teasingly, taking a long pull from the skin he’d found before grabbing a handful of dried berries and nuts from their rations. Funny, he would have thought Geralt would want to go hunting, have some fresh meat, but it seemed he’d decided not to tonight. It made sense, he supposed, there probably wasn’t much wildlife as high up as they were—
“You were…gone, Jaskier.”
Jaskier blinked, his brows furrowing as he tried to dissect the strange tone in Geralt’s voice. It sounded…well, unnervingly similar to his voice when speaking to those who came to Geralt seeking his help to find their missing loved ones, only for the witcher to bring back what little remained. Those were…Jaskier knew those contracts hurt Geralt a lot more than the ones that left him bloody and bruised.
“I wasn’t—I was just—I’ve never had a word for it, really, but the best way I could describe it I suppose is floating.” Jaskier shrugged, attempting to keep his tone light despite how Geralt was looking at Jaskier like the bard had almost died or something.
The witcher didn’t seem impressed with Jaskier’s explanation, his golden eyes practically digging holes into Jaskier’s own bright blue.
“Everything just kind of…fades away. Like sleeping, I suppose, but my eyes don’t close.”
“And you can’t be woken up from it.”
Jaskier winced, realizing now why his upper arms felt a little bit sore. “It’s…well, when you put it like that—”
“It’s dangerous, Jaskier. What if you’d—you’d floated, in the middle of a hunt? What if it happened while I wasn’t there to protect you, or—”
“It doesn’t work like that, Geralt, it—” Jaskier ground his teeth, inhaling sharply. “It doesn’t just…happen, out of the blue. If I thought it would put you in danger, I would have told you about it years ago.”
Jaskier sighed, running his hand through his hair. He’d never actually had to explain the…the floating, because the servants who helped him during the episodes knew it wasn’t their place to ask, and no one else ever noticed.
Jaskier blinked, abruptly understanding just what Geralt wasn’t saying.
“Im sorry. I didn’t mean to…to scare you. I haven’t floated since I was…frick, fifteen? Maybe sixteen, so I didn’t think I needed to…you know.”
Geralt nodded, looking into the flames. For a few moments, neither spoke, Geralt processing what Jaskier had said and Jaskier unsure exactly what to say in this situation, for once in his life.
Jaskier pursed his lips, trying to figure out what Geralt was attempting to ask. And then he remembered the way Geralt had nodded to him, how the witcher’s eyes had followed him as he moved, as if—
“No, it doesn’t…it doesn’t hurt. It’s like…letting go of the reins and allowing life to continue around you.” Jaskier tapped his chin, that sounded rather poetic, really, maybe he could make that into a song—
Jaskier’s lips pressed together tightly. That was the question, wasn’t it? Because this wasn’t the first time Geralt had yelled at him, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, as annoyed as the bard often made the witcher. And it wasn’t fair to Geralt to have to lug Jaskier around just because the bard couldn’t handle people yelling at him like a normal person, couldn’t just yell back or leave or take it like everyone else. Melitele help him, he was such a mess, he—
Jaskier flinched sharply at the pressure on his cheeks, relaxing almost instantly when he realized it was just Geralt grabbing him, tilting his head up—
“Don’t…don’t leave again.” Geralt rasped, looking rather like the words pained him to say.
Jaskier swallowed, giving the witcher a tiny nod. Geralt’s rough, warm hands remained for a second, two, three, before he let them fall. Standing from his squat, he walked back to their bags and grabbed…Jaskier’s bedroll?
Abruptly, Jaskier realized it was not his own bedroll that Jaskier was sitting on, which he really should have noticed sooner. Maybe he was a bit more out of it than he thought, but it was nothing a good night’s sleep wouldn’t fix, he reflected as he stood and took the roll from Geralt. If he was lucky, Geralt might let him sleep in—
Jaskier glanced between his usual spot across the fire from Geralt and the spot Geralt had just moved his roll from, which was…well, between the fire and Geralt’s own roll. Which wasn’t that unusual, really, as they often slept near each other when it was cold or they’d layered the bedrolls after a particularly rainy spell.
Neither of which was now, Jaskier mentally noted as he slowly rolled the material out, stopping every few seconds to make sure this was what Geralt meant. Apparently though, this made Jaskier take too long, because the bard soon found himself pulled to the ground with a large, scarred arm wrapped around his middle.
And Jaskier definitely didn’t squeak, he didn’t, really—
Jaskier swallowed, biting back what would have been a rather high-pitched giggle at finding himself at a loss for words for once.
“Need you close, in case you float again.”
“Geralt, that…that’s really not how it works.”
“Trust me, dear witcher, it’s not…not a fever, that waxes and wanes. I’m right as rain now!”
Jaskier sighed, shuffling as much as the arm would allow him to into a comfortable position. It seemed he would not be able to convince the witcher that he was fine.
At least he didn’t have to worry about any unsavory creatures making a meal of him, he supposed. And it could be worse—at least Geralt hadn’t left him to float next to the ledge, and just…walked away.
Geralt squeezed the arm around him once.
Jaskier rolled his eyes before letting them fall shut.
Yes, perhaps this wasn’t the ending to the day Jaskier had expected when Geralt had started throwing vitriol at him, but it…well. It was remarkably better than the ending he had envisioned, so he couldn’t really complain.
Geralt’s breath tickled the back of Jaskier’s neck, and Jaskier had to force himself not to pull away from the chills-inducing sensation.
Much. He couldn’t complain much.
In the morning, Geralt spends an entire fifteen seconds just staring at Jaskier before nodding again. The witcher mutters an apology for taking his anger out on Jaskier, and Jaskier waves it off saying he doesn’t really remember much of what Geralt said anyways.
Jaskier and the witcher continue down the mountain, and neither of them mention it when Geralt’s eyes linger on Jaskier for the next week or two before things mostly go back to normal. They don’t talk about the floating, and they both kind of forget about it, until Jaskier gets too close to Geralt’s fight with a Leshen two months later and almost gets himself killed.
Geralt starts shouting at Jaskier like usual, and the bard can recognize that he kind of deserves it, this time, and is waiting for a chance to apologize when Geralt just—freezes. Mid-sentence. And—oh. Oh.
“It’s…it’s fine, Geralt. I’m not going to…you know.”
Geralt grinds his teeth so tightly Jaskier worries he’s going to chip one.
And that makes something ache in Jaskier, a feeling similar to when the witcher had first gut -punched him all those years ago. Because Geralt had saved him from the Leshen, would always save him from all manner of monster, but even a witcher was no match for a reckless bard. And now the witcher couldn’t even take out his frustration, his fear, the only way he knew how out of concern of…well, hurting Jaskier.
It didn’t really matter that the bard said it was fine, that it didn’t hurt him. Jaskier supposed this was going to be more difficult than he thought. For now though, he stepped forward, placing his hand on Geralt’s shoulder as he apologized and promised to be more careful.
Geralt grunted, and that was that, as he quickly chopped off the head to bring it back to the alderman.
Needless to say, Jaskier had…mixed feelings, about the way Geralt had started handling him with kid gloves. On the one hand, he definitely loved how the witcher was actually explaining his feelings for once. But he definitely didn’t need Geralt stepping in when a drunk started heckling Jaskier a bit, honestly Geralt, don’t get us kicked out—
Jaskier decided the change was certainly a good one, however, when they met Yennefer on the road for the first time months after the mountain. The witch was left gaping as, mid-diatribe, Geralt slapped his hands over Jaskier’s ears and growled at the witch to stop.
He could definitely get used to this.
