roach is always reincarnated and geralt always finds her
this is a wholesome and A+ headcanon and now my brain got stuck on the hilarity and emotional whiplash that would ensue from jaskier’s eventually discovering this like
imagine roach is fatally wounded on a hunt or just dies of old age
jaskier is absolutely devastated, he’s openly sobbing and he looks like he’s about to faint. so geralt has to steady him as he grumbles “it’s nothing.”
“what do you mean it’s nothing?! geralt, it’s roach, she just - gods i can’t even say it! Are you that heartless?”
“it’s nothing. she’ll be back.”
jaskier’s look shifts from grieved and affronted to baffled as he sputters “excuse me, what?”
with a sigh, geralt explains that it’s just how it works. whenever roach dies, after a month or so, he always finds a mare that looks similar to her and will actually recognize the witcher and act just like Roach would.
geralt has no idea why this keeps happening. it might have something to do with the fact he saved a powerful mage from sure death in his youth. in any case, it’s a deeply welcome blessing.
after a great deal of blabbering about bloody magical fuckery and a stream of questions that geralt has no answer for, jaskier is silent for a long time. enough for geralt to wonder what’s up with him.
“do you think-” the bard’s breath hitches with anticipation “that could happen to a person too? reincarnating?”
and geralt may be dense as a pebble on many occasions, but he doesn’t miss the underlying question. jaskier’s whispered words hit him with the intensity of a gruesome slash to the stomach.
what he’s asking is - could it happen to me? could we find a way? could you find me, again and again, like it first happened at the edge of the world?
and geralt’s first instinct is to grimace, because he has no name for the emotion choking his hardened heart. it’s not something he was prepared for.
it’s the weight of jaskier’s body always seeking contact when they’re sharing a bed. it’s the fear he cannot afford. it’s the chamomile oil that he now keeps in his bag, together with all the potions. it’s cornflower blue, a cheeky grin, and it fucking hurts.
he should say no. no, because of course it can’t, a person isn’t a horse, are you insane, why would you want more than one life tied to a witcher’s path?
instead, what his traitorous heart whispers is “maybe.”
if he has to endure more pain to shield jaskier from the brunt of it, then so be it.