“jaskier.”
his voice was quiet. it seemed as if the one time he truly had to speak, his words failed him yet again.
“jaskier. jaskier please.”
he could feel his heart pounding, an endless rhythm, tearing him apart from the inside out.
breathe, geralt. breathe.
his hands shook as he unfurled them from jaskier’s jacket. his bloodstained jacket.
he looked down at the bard in his arms, the bard who had followed him to the end of the world. the bard who had been so loyal, who had stuck with him until the very end. even though he didn’t deserve it.
not a single bit.
the blood was everywhere. it made him sick. on his hands, on the ground, everywhere everywhere everywhere.
dead. jaskier was dead.
he was gone.
he had always known this day would come. (don’t get attached don’t get attached dontgetattached-)
he had known what would happen. and yet
here we are
he had allowed himself to ignore the wisdom of vesemir. he had allowed himself to be happy.
he truly was a monster.
(and he had been happy. happy to watch his bard’s smile, to listen to his songs and mindless humming, to see the way his face lit up when he talked about the things he loved. happy to feel his touch, to kiss him and hold him and love him.)
but happiness never lasts. all of the stories of the ballads and it seemed that they had forgotten the one rule.
happiness never lasts.
geralt of rivia buried his bard by the sea.
and when he walked away, his heart broken, his soul emptier than before
he knew he would never return