Oh, Geralt x Jaskier prompt! Character: Jaskier; 31 - Lost in the middle of nowhere & 20 - Don’t tell me what to do!
“Face it, Geralt, we’re lost.”
He puts his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes at the Witcher, who’s looking around aimlessly. “Oh, really? Then pray tell, where the fuck are we right now?”
“Yeah, that’s too vague, you need to narrow it down. Unless you can’t, because we’re fucking lost, Geralt.”
Geralt groans softly, stuffing the useless map in his pocket. “Alright, fine. We’re lost. I’ll try to find higher ground, you stay here.”
Jaskier scoffs indignantly. “Don’t tell me what to do!”
All he gets is an annoyed huff and a gruff “stay”, before he’s suddenly alone in these unfamiliar woods. He waits for a few minutes, rocking back and forth on his heels, trying to distract himself from the uncomfortable feeling creeping up his spine by working on his latest song in his head. A twig snaps behind him, and he turns around quickly, head swivelling from side to side, fear coiling in his gut. He wishes Roach was here right now, instead of at the inn where they left her, these woods too dense for the mare, unfortunately. She’s always able to sense danger.
Though, he doesn’t need Roach to tell him that the wolf creeping towards him from the bushes is dangerous. He swallows thickly, remaining still for a few seconds, hoping the wolf will lose interest and leave, but luck is not on his side today, and before soon, he finds himself running through the thick bushes, weaving between trees, as he hears snarling right behind him.
Apparently, Destiny really fucking has it in for him today, when the ground suddenly falls away from beneath his feet, and he finds himself suspended in thin air for a solid second, before he’s falling, plummeting down the steep hillside. Several bushes scratch at his face and hands and any exposed skin they can find, and he narrowly avoids getting a branch in his eye, by tucking his chin into his chest, curling in a foetal position. But too little, too late, and he hasn’t tucked in his leg in time. It hits a tree, and he hears a loud snap that sounds nothing like wood.
Finally, he comes to a halt, his back hitting a broad tree painfully. He slowly pushes himself up, chest heaving, drops of blood trickling down his cheeks and hands, and looks at his leg. He nearly throws up at the sight of the unnatural angle, and leans back against the tree, instead directing his gaze towards the top of the hill. He sees the wolf, standing there, still, and watches in relief as the beast turns around, walking away.
And though not having to worry about getting torn to bits is nice and all, now he does have to worry about how the fuck he’s going to get back up the hill. He’ll probably have to wait for Geralt to come find him, he supposes.
Which is exactly what he does.
He leans his head back against the tree, the sharp pain in his leg eventually turning into a throbbing, dull ache, as his eyes start to drift closed, twilight falling over these unfamiliar woods.
Though he startles awake again, when he hears something in the distance. Something he could swear sounds like Geralt’s voice calling out his name.
He heaves a few lungfuls of air, before cupping his hands around his mouth. “Geralt” he shouts, his voice ringing through the forest. “Geralt! Down here!” He sees a head of white hair appearing at the top of the hill, and waves his arms frantically.
Luckily, his Witcher sees him, and starts making his way down the hillside carefully, kneeling by Jaskier’s side once he reaches the bard. “I fucking told you to stay there.”
Jaskier scoffs. “Oh, my bad, next time I’ll just let that hungry wolf fucking tear me to shreds instead of running. Yes, absolutely brilliant, Geralt, thank you so very much for your sound advice,” he spits at the Witcher, and Geralt rolls his eyes.
“Oh, really, I didn’t notice. I was just lying here on the cold ground for hours on end for absolutely no reason whatsoever.”
Geralt scoffs. “Good to know you didn’t get hit on the head.”
Jaskier grins, reaching out for his Witcher. “Alright, help me up, I want to get out of these woods.”
To his own surprise, Geralt doesn’t help him to his feet, but simply picks him up, one hand around Jaskier’s back, the other under his knees - he cringes at the pain that shoots through him for a few seconds, but relaxes soon.
“Alright, that works as well, I guess,” he mutters, unable to stop the furious blush that spreads across his face at the Witcher’s sudden proximity. He looks over Geralt’s shoulder, spotting something further down the hill. He grins, pointing at the sign that says ‘Dewbury, 3 miles’, right next to the road they had taken to get here in the first place.
“Look at that! Jaskier saves the day again!”
Geralt scoffs, rolls his eyes, though smiles softly all the same. “Alright, let’s get back to town.”
Jaskier sighs in content as his Witcher starts carrying him down the hill, towards the road, and buries his face in Geralt’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you left me all alone to fend for myself. Now you’re going to have to spoil me when I get back.”
He hears Geralt chuckle slightly. “Guess I do.”
He smiles again, sleep softly overtaking him again, the gentle rocking of his Witcher carrying him lulling him into unconsciousness. Obviously, a broken leg is not ideal, but he supposes it’s a little less bad if Geralt’s there to take care of him.
Send me a situation and a sentence, and I’ll write a drabble!
