The Din in the Silence
So this idea came from the amazing @thetinymm who wrote me a fantastic outline and then told me to go nuts. I hope this was what you were looking for darling. <3
It hadn’t been the first time, and Geralt knew it wouldn’t be the last time that they would be nearly violently removed from a village. Jaskier walked beside him, spitting acidic though not completely inaccurate curses the entire time as they made their way back to the main road.
“The actual fucking nerve of some of these backwood mouth breathing…” Jaskier fumed, pulling his lute round from behind his back as he plucked out a few chords angrily.
Was that a twig? Geralt’s head turned and he looked, but he couldn’t see anything.
Jaskier beside him belted furiously over his shoulder the first few lines of “Toss a Coin.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt growled a warning. There was a feeling of being watched crawling up his neck but he couldn’t seem to focus.
“When the White Wolf fought,” he bit around the word, spinning on his heel.
“Jask!” There had to be rustling in the forest. Heavy feet but he couldn’t tell where they were.
“A silver tongued devil.” The notes thumped heavily. Geralt turned just in time when Jaskier turned to face back up the road to see the bandits emerge from the wood, stalking toward them.
“JASKIER! ENOUGH!” Geralt drew his sword and only had a second to regret the look of fear and hurt that crossed Jaskier’s face before he flew past him, handily disarming and running off the men that were obviously sent to ‘take care of the Witcher problem’.
Jaskier stood next to Roach, his lute clutched in one hand, his other at the back of his neck. He wouldn’t look at Geralt exactly when he returned, only stepping aside to let him pass and returning his lute to his back.
Fuck.
-o-O-o-
They had made it into a more accommodating town when Geralt realized why the road felt so strained for the past few days. Only in the safety of the tavern did he realize Jaskier was singing. He tried to think back over the past few days and realized with consternation that Jaskier hadn’t sang at all since the bandits. Not only that, Geralt couldn’t remember him really speaking.
He frowned, watching Jaskier dance around the room, taking in the bright smile he gave the barmaid and the bawdy shout he gave when the crowd cheered. But there was a tightness to him too that Geralt didn’t care for, along his shoulders and the way his eyes didn’t seek out Geralt like they usually did.
He just needs to loosen up a little. He’ll be okay once he works out his nerves. I shouldn’t have shouted. Geralt thought, scowling down at the ale in front of him.
“Hmm… fuck,” he murmured softly. He would have to watch now. Not like he didn’t usually watch Jaskier.
-o-O-o-
Geralt hated that he had nearly lost track of the times in the following week he had heard Jaskier start to hum and then quickly stop himself. He hated how when he did he’d quickly look up at Geralt then behind them. Around the camp they would set, Jaskier would talk quieter than Geralt had ever remembered him doing.
The tightness in his chest wasn’t panic. It wasn’t fear that was tearing up his chest; fear that any day now Jaskier would realize how much safer it was to just be anywhere where Geralt wasn’t.
He had to do something, anything. He cleared his throat and leaned back a little, looking at Jaskier.
“It’s a really clear night tonight. Did you hear that rail back there? Never hear them that close,” he tried.
Jaskier looked up from where he was scribbling some notes, his teeth painfully sunk into his bottom lip. He looked around, his eyebrows knitting together for a moment before he only nodded, going back to his work.
Geralt sighed, poking at the fire. He just needs time. It’s only a matter of time, he thought.
The next day he tried again, opting to walk beside Jaskier, and pointing out over the hills that ran along their left. “That storm is going to get caught up against those mountains. We’ll have decent conditions today and tomorrow, but then we might find us a cave if we don’t come across a village.”
Jaskier only looked out toward the horizon, squinting. “Ah. Good to know.” And then fell silent again.
Geralt had never found himself on this end of whatever it was they were and suddenly he had a new appreciation for the trouble he put Jaskier through. But more than that, he realized he missed it; the sound of Jaskier talking openly, his singing, even the bickering. He was beginning to desperately miss the sound of his bard.
They found a village before the storm blew over, and again, Geralt watched as Jaskier seemed to come back out of the shell he had built around himself. The tightness in his shoulders seemed worse now and when they asked about a room, Jaskier chose to ask for a separate one.
“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for both,” he said, too quietly, before Geralt could protest. Though even Geralt wasn’t sure what he was about to protest.
That night he laid awake and listened through the thin walls as he heard Jaskier pluck softly at his lute, his voice raspy and subdued. There was a quality to it that hadn’t been down in the bar that night. The thing that wasn’t fear in his chest reared up and raked painfully against his ribs.
The ache pushed him up onto his feet and he walked carefully over to the shared door between their rooms, but as he raised his hand to knock, he heard Jaskier make a soft gasping noise and then the unmistakable noise of a lute being quickly put away.
Geralt pulled back from the door, glowering. He took another step back, his hands rubbing against his thighs as he shifted from one foot to the other. What was he supposed to do? Thinking back on it, Jaskier didn’t smell like fear to him recently. He wasn’t afraid of Geralt was he? That thought alone fed the beast that was now wrapping thick bands around his lungs and it squeezed tighter for it.
He felt himself deflate slightly as he stepped as lightly as he could back to the door, pressing an ear to it as he slowly slid down to the floor. He closed his eyes and hoped that Jaskier might return to his soft plucking, his half murmured tune.
He didn’t. Geralt sat through the night in a silence that was nearly deafening.
The next morning, Geralt waited out front, not quite expecting Jaskier to show. But he did, packed and ready to go.
He watched as Jaskier gave a warm greeting to the barmaid at the bottom of the step, before turning back to Geralt. There was a smile there but it wasn’t as warm as he remembered Jaskier’s smiles to be.
“Shall we then, Witcher. Those contracts won’t fill themselves.” It was the most Jaskier had said to him in weeks, but it meant nothing. They were still standing in the safety of an inn.
“Hmm.” And he tried to pour as much warmth as he could into that one small sound but he was out of practice.
They walked in near silence for half the day, Geralt making small attempts to point out that they were clear of any danger and that Jaskier could say something, anything, even if it was just to yell at Geralt, he’d give his last Gwent card for a bickering match.
They stopped at a stream to water Roach. Geralt stood beside her, Jaskier leaning against a tree just on his other side.
There was a toad beside Roach’s hoof who swelled up and let out a loud croak in warning. Roach was unimpressed and went about her drinking.
“Reminds me of this bard I used to know.” Geralt says softly. One last play. That’s all he gets. One last try to make things right before he was certain that Jaskier would peel off from him before too long.
“You know many bards, Witcher?” Jaskier shot back. It was sudden and Geralt turned to see Jaskier looking around, already tucking himself further back against the trunk of the tree.
He always found himself failing to protect those he cared for, even from himself.
“Jaskier, why don’t you go home?” He finally said.
“You- You want me gone?” Jaskier’s eyes were bright with tears that came far too quickly for Geralt to think that they hadn’t been already pressing against the surface.
“No, Jask. No, I don’t want you to leave.” He was shaking his head, looking back down at the toad that now focused on his boot and made another attempt to be threatening. “You stopped talking, Jaskier. You don’t sing except when we’re in towns and I…” He couldn’t bring himself to look up at Jaskier.
“I messed up. I was too loud and I nearly got us killed and you-” Geralt had to look up now because how couldn’t he, “you were so angry, Geralt, I thought you were going to just leave me right outside of that backwater heap and be on your merry way without me.”
“Hmm.” Geralt took a slow step forward. “And in the inn? When you stopped playing in your room?” He had to know. He had to know so that he could stop it from ever happening again.
“Didn’t want to be a bother,” Jaskier huffed through a wet laugh. “There is no home for me, Geralt. Well… There is, but I thought I almost lost it.” He looked up at Geralt, half a smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Oxenfurt is nice and all, but where’s the adventure in blackboards, chalk dust, and old hacks with too long beards and no imagination left in them? I thought maybe if I tried to stay quiet on the road… you,” Jaskier gulped, wincing slightly, “I thought maybe you wouldn’t leave me behind. I hoped my home… wouldn’t leave me behind.”
Geralt ran a hand over his face. “Jaskier. Please, please don’t stop singing because of that. Please don’t stop talking,” The tightness around his chest pressed in more, making it hard to talk, hard to breathe. “I… I miss it. I miss the sound of you.”
He dared to look up and Jaskier was inching terribly close, his hands up as if trying not to spook Geralt. “Oh?”
“I miss the talking and the singing and… I didn’t realize it sounded like home until it stopped.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself. He looked down at the ground, his arms over his chest as he silently cursed at himself.
It started small and then rolled and tumbled and gathered around the edges like a coming storm. Jaskier was laughing, tears streaking down his face as he stepping in closer to Geralt than he had in weeks and he kept crowding in until Geralt had to wrap his arms around him. They stood there for a time, Jaskier pressing his face into Geralt’s shoulder. He closed his eyes and let the feeling of home wash over him.
When they finally broke apart, Jaskier already had that look that Geralt knew he was going to end up eating his words, but he couldn’t fight the fond warmth that settled in and squashed the fear that had taken root before into nothingness.
“You like my singing, Geralt.” Jaskier teased, looking at him sidelong with a knowing smile.
“Fuck.” Geralt chuckled and it was the safest either of them had felt in too long.
