The flower is tiny in his hands, its rosy petals soft against his fingertips. Small as it may be, its smell is just strong enough not to be enough. Jaskier feels reminded of his childhood when he starts ripping out the first petal.
“Leave him alone, he’s just a bard.” The feeling of Geralt tearing against their restraints, fighting with all his strength to break loose and protect him. He’s known Jaskier for but an afternoon.
“God, you never shut up, do you?” He has been following Geralt around for a few months now, always one step behind him and Roach. Talking, singing, composing. Making money, sharing food and beds. That night is the first time Jaskier doesn’t perform Toss A Coin To Your Witcher, even though the entire inn wants to hear it.
“I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me.” - “And yet, here we are.” Jaskier is singing, putting on a performance as he parades around the hall with his lute. Calanthe is watching, but Jaskier only has eyes for Geralt who is looking at him with his head cocked slightly to one side and a smile on his lips. For a moment, he pretends it is just the two of them. The unfamiliar knight brushing past him pulls him from his thoughts.
“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.” The words eat Jaskier up alive and he lets them, using their echo to ignite a fire to keep him afloat, though he is barely alive. When his hands aren’t holding his lute or a bottle of ale, they grap elven ones as he helps them board a ship. He wants Geralt to burn. In the end, it’s only Jaskier who does.
“I need your help.” A hug, a request. How could he say no? Not when those amber eyes still make his heart flutter and his stomach twist. He would follow Geralt to the end of the world, do every bidding of his. For now, though, he is entrusted with the child surprise, and the defiance and anger in every one of her movements makes him smile. Like father like daughter.
“I didn’t know, you should have told me.” He pulls back his hands, but Geralt catches them in his, tracing each scar with a gentleness Jaskier didn’t know he possessed. Time and time again his fingers brush over the tender tissue, and time and time again he apologizes. Geralt’s touch may be soft, but not as soft as his lips when Jaskier finally closes the distance between them.
“What are you doing there, Jaskier?” He looks up as the last petal falls to the ground. “Nothing, just counting my blessings.” Geralt smiles as he reaches for his hand, pulling Jaskier up from the bench he was sitting on. “I’m finished with the garden for today. The pumpkins are coming along nicely.” Jaskier presses a kiss to Geralt’s cheek before looking at the flower stem he is still holding. Without a second thought, he leans in to tuck it behind Geralt’s ear, earning a chuckle in response. “Do I look pretty now?” he teases. “Absolutely radiant, my dear. Let’s go make dinner.”
