Geralt and Jaskier had been travelling together before the mountain, and had gone up it for the dragon together, meaning that presumably once the sitch was sorted they would have gone back down the mountain, grabbed Roach and continued travelling together
yet the minute, the minute, Geralt went Off at Jaskier if life could give me one blessing it would be to take you off my hands Jaskier's response was 'see you around, Geralt', as in, we came together and fought together but you've just bitched your way out of this friendship so you're on your own
i know he was in a lot of pain but i also think that was very sexy of him
The Mountain – Mountain with a capital, because it was an event that will forever be etched into Geralt’s memories – was a complete shit show. By the time the witcher realized what he had done, an hour after standing alone on that damned Mountain, his heart had skipped a beat, and naught a moment later he was sprinting down the side of the Mountain to try and catch up to his bard.
It took several days to get to the bottom of the Mountain, not taking the short-cut the dwarves had suggested – Geralt couldn’t quite face that yet – but never once did the witcher run into his bard.
Fearful, Geralt slowed and spent time looking for his bard.
Heart heavy, he even looked for a body.
There wasn’t a single sign of Jaskier.
There was nothing.
He came upon the campsite that had once been bustling with too many people, now empty and deserted, with Roach greeting him enthusiastically after being alone for too long.
There wasn’t a single sign of Jaskier left at the camp.
There was nothing.
Geralt’s heart clenched. At least he knew that his bard had made it down the Mountain safely, but it did nothing to quell the deep and heavy sadness that was enveloping the witcher.
The witcher spent the next following weeks searching the local villages, in hopes that his bard was staying in one, but he was unfortunate in his search. In fact, no one could confirm that they had ever saw a young man with brown hair and blue eyes, elven lute strung across his back, walk through town. Geralt was once again gripped with fear.
There wasn’t a single sign of Jaskier.
There was nothing.
Months passed before Geralt was forced to give up, lest he be snowed-in at a random backwater village, unable to get back to Kaer Morhen in time for winter.
Heart heavy, he trudged the path he had walked all his life.
Only this time, Jaskier didn’t come with him.
<><><><>
It was years before Geralt got to lay his eyes on his bard again.
Years and years were spent, still running from Destiny, a war on the rise, the catalyst of everything drawing close. Geralt could feel it, the same way his medallion could sense Chaos and magic. He knew something big was going to happen soon.
He had long given up searching for his bard. Jaskier must have at least been in his forties the last time the two had seen each other, which was over half of a regular human lifespan. Jaskier must have settled down and found a nice wife, in a nice court, and finally set roots down without a nasty witcher holding him back from his rightful life. His birthright life. Geralt had no hope in ever seeing him again, let alone that he was still alive, what with the tensions and conflicts across the Continent rising.
So, imagine his shock, when he walked into an unknown tavern and heard the first few strings of a lute being plucked, painfully familiar and beautiful all at once.
Dreading, heart surging with hope, Geralt spun around, and he lost his breath.
Because there, upon the makeshift stage, was his bard.
His beautiful, beautiful bard.
Geralt was so shocked and relieved that he didn’t even notice that Jaskier looked the same as the day they met in Posada; of course, he didn’t question it. That was how it was. That was how Jaskier was supposed to look, youthful and beautiful. Jaskier was never meant to look worn and old and of course Geralt wouldn’t question it, because there wasn’t even an alternative in his mind.
But then Jaskier continued his song, soft and forlorn and voice raw with emotion. Geralt felt himself fall into the seat of the back-corner table, in a daze, unable to stop himself.
Her Sweet Kiss had been an instant favourite across the Continent.
Geralt hated it. He hated it so much.
But Geralt thought that he hated this new song even more.
“I’ll bring you a dream, I’ll bring you a rhyme.
Follow me and we will have a grand time.
If you come with me.
“We’ll walk, we’ll run, we’ll tumble and fall.
Together we’ll go through the king’s long hall.
If you come with me.
“I’ll watch over you until our breaths are cut,
and we’ll hide the fear with the windows shut.
If you come with me.
“I’ll be by your side wherever,
and we’ll be together forever.
If you come with me.
“So, pour me a glass, good or bad,
and we’ll have a jolly time, sane or mad.
If you come with me.
“If you come with me,
then you’re bound to see,
the joy from being free.
