ā® = waking them up after a nightmare .Ā ā = wiping blood off their face .
ā®Ā
Geralt wasnāt a heavy sleeper unless he was injured and even then, it wasnāt often that he fell into a sleep deep enough to dream. The dreams that did come could casually be referred to as nightmares, as nothing good ever came of Geraltās dreams.
His thrashing about and murmurs of Ma and Please had woken Jaskier, and heād desperately attempted to shake Geralt awake to break him out of it. Geralt woke with a snarl and due to being weaponless that nightāhe and Jaskier had agreed that no daggers were to remain beneath pillows when they slept together, after an unfortunate event wherein Jaskier nearly found himself beheaded by a spooked Witcherāall Geralt had was his hands and his scary face.
He lashed out with his hands to push away from whatever was holding him and with eyes wide and teeth bared, he focused on Jaskierās frightened face, though the bard wasnāt really in mortal danger. The fright in Geraltās eyes had Jaskier gently shrugging Geraltās hands off of him so Jaskier could get near enough to cup Geraltās face with both hands.
āShhhh, my dear Witcher. Itās all right. It was only a dream, hm?ā
Jaskierās bravery in confronting a scared Witcher could be considered foolish, but Geralt knew who held him this time and he simply melted against Jaskierās hands, closing his eyes and breathing slowly to calm himself.
āThatās it, youāre doing so well. Now, Iām not going to ask you to talk about it but here, please have a drink.ā
Jaskier held a water skin for Geralt to take, clean stream water sloshing about inside. āJust a small one. Donāt go making yourself ill.ā
Geralt took the skin with still-shaking hands and took a long drink, but didnāt guzzle or gulp it. Jaskier was right; heād upset his stomach with a sudden gut full of ice cold water.
āThere now, thatās better. Lay your big self back down and weāll try this sleep thing a second time, howās that?ā
Jaskier didnāt really expect an answer but he smiled weakly as Geralt gave an affirmative hum, then settled himself back down. The bard cuddled back in beside him, turned on his side to face Geralt, watching as his face slackened while the Witcher drifted back to sleep.
āāāāāāāāāāāā
Ā āĀ
āItās unnecessary, Jaskier! Iāll be healed by midday, now stop!ā
Geralt didnāt like fighting with the bard anymore; not since theyād begun what Jaskier referred to as a relationship, and which Geralt referred to as a partnership. The Witcher had been gored by a beast called a Ysgithyrwyn; a wild board-like creature as big as a man, but which no king could successfully have killed.
Geralt managed to kill it simply for its tusksāa feat he was slightly disgusted by because the beast had neither attacked anyone nor posed a threat to any kingdom on the Continentāand the coin being paid for the retrieval of the tusks was enough to ensure he and Jaskier had coin in their purses for at least six months.
The downfall of the expedition, was Geralt getting gored in the side by the beastās tusks before it was killed and getting his forehead bashed in by a tree trunk when the boar unexpectedly threw him across a clearing. The holes in his side were already itching as they knitted with the help of a potion, but Jaskier insisted on tending to the bleeding wound on Geraltās forehead.
āBut youāre still covered in blood, Geralt!. Sit still while I finish.ā Jaskier made no effort to walk away as Geralt had demanded and honestly, Geralt had worked out a system on which battles he was best to lose when it came to keeping his bard happy. If letting Jaskier rub a foul-smelling cloth all over his face meant a pleasant afternoon thereafter, so be it.
āThereās a good boy. Now, hold your breath or grit those lovely teeth of yours. This might hurt somewhat.ā
Geralt managed a weak snarl before growling out loud and grabbing at the log beneath him, the sting of the alcohol-soaked rag rather fierce as it was rubbed right over his open wound. Chireadan had once mentioned the use of surgical spirits for cleansing shallow wounds and Jaskier had taken it upon himself from that day forward to stock them with it, finding that it prevented infection far better than any of Geraltās disgusting poultices.
āOh oh oh oh, be a big boy and grit it out. Itāll pass in a moment,ā Jaskier chided, clucking his tongue like an unconcerned mother.
One more swipe with the cloth and the wound had slowed its bleeding, needing only a final dab and Jaskier was pleased with the result. Geraltās face remained passive but grumpy and Jaskier leaned in to rub their noses together, earning a grunt and a curl of the Witcherās arm around Jaskierās waist.
āThank you,ā Geralt rumbled, liking Jaskierās close scent better than the stink of the sharp alcohol.
āMm, youāre welcome. Now itās time to rub some of this lovely stuff all over your side, as well. Sit up straight and shirt off please, Sir Witcher.ā
āJaskier, no.ā
āSit up. Shirt off.ā
Pick your battles, Geralt, he told himself as he sat back, removed his shirt, and prepared himself for a bit more pain. Pick your battles.
