Weak and Wanting - Chapter 1
prompted by @amazingmsme
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Geralt was doing that thing again.
It happened at the end of every autumn season. They travelled further and further north. They left Temaria and crossed the Pontar, and Geralt got even shiftier than usual. They made their way through Redania, and Jaskier could practically feel Geralt’s hackles rising. They reached the Kaedweni borders and Geralt’s shoulders were so tense they were up past his ears.
Geralt would be leaving him behind soon to go winter in Kaer Morhen, and Jaskier would travel back through the lands to settle in Oxenfurt until spring hit and the snows melted.
Jaskier waited every day for the typical excuses. He wouldn’t be hurt, when they came. He knew Kaer Morhen was probably no place for a human, being difficult enough to hike to even before the snow and ice set in to impede the travel. Not to mention the monsters lurking about the mountains; and the witchers themselves, if they were anything like Geralt when he’d first met his White Wolf. They probably wouldn’t take well to a stranger.
Jaskier could tell that Geralt had been taking them through a longer route to get to where he was going. There were far faster routes, the ones they’d taken in past years, through the riverside border towns. Instead, Geralt had led them through Rinde (or, more accurately, past Rinde, as neither had been keen to return ever since the djinn incident) and up into Kaedwin’s rough wilderness, with the nearest cities being a week’s travel at least.
Geralt was doing that thing again, where he drew out his goodbye to Jaskier as long as he possibly could.
Honestly, Jaskier thought it was sweet. Geralt’s words and glares may have often been harsh, but he spoke much louder and much more fondly with his actions than anything else. Geralt could deny their friendship all he wanted, but Jaskier could see the truth. The man liked him, whether he wanted to or not. Jaskier had grown on him.
Like a weed. Or a particularly stubborn flower.
(Granted, Jaskier would love something more than friendship, but truly, simply having Geralt in his life was enough. So long as they were together in some fashion, Jaskier could suffer a little pining. He could suffer through anything, so long as he had Geralt.)
Except, they reached the town of Shaerrawedd, where the two of them would usually part (though it was more logical to part while Jaskier was still in Redania, making his travel to Oxenfurt much easier, they hadn’t done that in years. Jaskier liked to think it was because Geralt missed him as much as he missed Geralt), and Geralt still hadn’t said goodbye. They travelled up the nearby Lixela river together, and Geralt still hadn’t said goodbye. They passed through one of the smaller towns to have a warm night’s stay in an inn, and Geralt still hadn’t said goodbye.
Jaskier decided he had to put a stop to this as they passed through Ard Carraigh. There were no more towns left, he couldn’t go much further and still be able to travel back safely when Geralt finally did work up the courage to say goodbye.
“I suppose this is where we part ways,” Jaskier sighed quietly, watching Geralt brush down Roach in the stables. It sounded far sadder than he had intended it to.
Geralt went stiff, the movements of the brush stuttering for a moment. He cleared his throat and continued brushing. Jaskier gave him the space and time needed to think out his words, knowing the drill by now.
“Actually,” Geralt said quietly, “I thought you could come along this year. As my guest.”
[READ THE REST ON AO3]