Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky
part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7/ part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 / part 17 belongs to this
Content waring: memory loss, Alzheimer, use of the name Julian, minor allusions to future character death. Probably counts as hurt/no comfort
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“I need to talk to you,” Geralt said, his hands twitching at his sides.
“I like it when you talk,” Jaskier said with a bittersweet smile, beautiful in its earnestness but lacking the teasing tone Jaskier would have used before.
Despite his words, Jaskier didn’t push Geralt to keep talking. He just kept on looking at him expectantly, while Geralt’s jaw worked as if grinding his teeth would make the words smaller and easier to come out.
“It’s almost winter,” he said finally. Small words. One sentence at the time. It wasn’t easier. “It’s going to get cold.”
Jaskier didn’t react. Whether because he had nothing to say, not noticing the truth in Geralt’s words or because he wanted to be attentive to Geralt and let him say his piece, Geralt couldn’t tell.
Somehow the lack of response made it even harder to form the words.
“Do you remember Eskel?” Geralt asked.
Jaskier’s lips twitched. It was only a miniscule shift, the movement of a single muscle, but it brightened Jaskier’s entire face.
“I miss him.” Geralt’s admission was quiet. Unplanned. He hadn’t wanted to talk about this, hadn’t wanted to make it personal. It would be easier if he could keep his own emotion out of it. “We won’t see him again this year.”
Something unspoken clung to the words like an echo one couldn’t hear clearly enough to understand. Geralt didn’t want to understand.
“Kaer Morhen is colder than here. Too far away from any healer and –“ and there were ghosts, memories haunting the walls that Geralt had been able to ignore for most of his life. He didn’t think he would be able to ever return if another ghost would walk the halls because Geralt in his selfishness had brought Jaskier to Kaer Morhen, where there would be no help for him if anything happened.
Geralt became still, unnaturally so, until with an unknown force, his hands started shaking. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Jaskier.
“We can’t go to Kaer Morhen,” Geralt pressed forth, intending to make his voice sound stronger than before and failing miserable.
Jaskier’s face showed no change, as if the words Geralt had said were meaningless. But he did reach out a hand, brushing it against Geralt’s and let it linger there, not yet taking it but giving Geralt the option to.
He took it wihtout hesitaion. Geralt clung to Jaskier’s hand as though it was the only thing keeping him from drowning. As though Jaskier wasn’t already sunk deeper than Geralt ever would.
