Chapter Text
When Geralt woke, he was surprised at the lack of pain.
His body ached all over, but it was nothing compared to the sharp stabbing pains and woozieness of blood loss that he had felt before passing out.
Passing out…. Passing out during a bandit attack while Jaskier had stood across the clearing being restrained, his face pale and panicked.
Geralt sat up suddenly, barely taking a moment to register the pain in his chest. He was in a room, fancy and overdone and much nicer than any inn he had ever stayed in.
He was in a room, alone. No bard in sight. Where the hell was Jaskier?
The last moments he saw him flashed in front of his eyes, pale, drawn, shouting his name. Geralt had a faint memory of afterwards, of Jaskier looming over him covered in blood, packing his wounds and hoisting him on top of Roach.
Everything after that was unclear. What had happened? How had they gotten away from the bandits? And where the absolute hell was Jaskier?
Fear for the bard’s safety gripped his stone cold Witcher heart. Geralt froze when he glanced in the corner of the room and saw Jaskier’s lute propped up on the chair. He began to relax slowly, Jaskier was here, but as he inhaled he caught the distinct smell of blood on the wood and the panic returned.
He had to find Jaskier.
In a distinctly ungraceful move Geralt scrambled to stand up, managing to knock the contents of the bedside table to the floor and cursing loudly. He spotted his boots nearby and was in the process of stuffing them on his feet when he heard footsteps getting closer.
Geralt was searching around the room for any sort of weapon when he caught the scent of lilacs and gooseberries. Yennefer.
The witch entered the room without any bother of knocking, no doubt having been alerted to his awakening due to the witcher’s clumsiness.
“Geralt!” Yennefer called, rolling her eyes at his frazzled state, boots in hand. “What the hell are you doing up? Sit back down you idiot before you pass out.”
Geralt ignored her words in favor of a more important goal.
“Where is Jaskier?”
Yennefer snorted, pushing the witcher back down onto the bed none too gently,
“Your bard is fine. He was the one who brought you here, almost dead on my doorstep, you really ought to be thanking him, otherwise you’d be six feet under right now.”
Geralt didn’t have time to make conversation, he needed to see Jaskier with his own eyes.
“Where is he?”
Yennefer rolled her eyes. “He’s just downstairs. I made him wait to come in until I had checked to make sure you were properly on the road to recovery.” She waved her hands about his body, seemingly scrutinizing something he couldn’t see. “It appears the poison has worked its way out of your bloodstream, and your other wounds are on their way to healing. That however does not mean you should be getting out of bed quite yet. Do you understand me Geralt?”
Yennefer’s gaze was stern and unyielding, waiting for an answer. Geralt grunted in affirmation which seemed to satisfy Yennefer enough for the moment. She stood swiftly, wiping her hands on her dress.
“Lovely. Now shall I go fetch the bard, or would you rather I leave you alone?”
The witch asked the question like she didn’t already know exactly what the witcher would say. Geralt gritted his teeth, knowing the witch wouldn’t do a thing unless he vocalized the words himself.
“Get Jaskier.”
Yennfer’s sly smile mocked him as she slid out the door. Damn witches.
____________
Jaskier’s hands trembled with nervous energy as he approached the bedroom door. Yennefer had already told him he was being ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it.
He had no idea what Geralt was going to say when he told him what happened. Was he going to be angry that Jaskier had forced him to save him time and time again when he could have defended himself? All of that time wasted on a stupid secretly not-so-human bard with a knack for getting into unnecessary trouble.
Geralt had invited him to go to Kaer Mohren this winter. Would he even want him to go anymore. He might not be able to trust Jaskier anymore after he finds out the bard has been lying to him.
Jaskier felt tears form in his eyes at the thought of Geralt no longer wanting to be friends. What would he even do now?
He shook his head, forcing the frantic thoughts away. All that mattered was if Geralt was okay. He could deal with the rest later.
The bard reached out to twist the doorknob, and as the door opened he felt himself begin to spiral once more.
But the second he stepped in the room everything else faded away. Because there was Geralt, white hair tousled and knotted, sitting on the grand bed. The second Jaskier entered the room Geralt turned towards him.
Golden eyes met blue and Jaskier was shocked to see the lingering frantic look in them that turned to relief as soon as he saw the bard.
“Geralt” Jaskier burst out, desperation and relief coloring his voice.
“Jaskier” Geralt replied, sounding much the same.
All of the sudden Jaskier found himself stumbling forward, needing to get close to his witcher and fast. All of the worry and panic of the last few hours was catching up with him and he needed Geralt solid and real beneath his hands.
The witcher seemed to be on a similar wavelength because Geralt opened his arms without a word as the bard approached.
Jaskier melted into them and everything was right in the world.
He shoved his face into Geralt’s neck, trying to get as close as possible, and felt Geralt’s own nose burying into his hair.
Time stretched out meaninglessly as they sat there in each other’s arms. Finally, Jaskier found the strength to form words. He pulled back, not completely out of the embrace but enough to see Geralt’s face.
“I thought you were going to die. There was so much blood, and then the crossbow bolts were poisoned, and you passed out, and I wasn’t sure you were going to make it at all.” He felt a tear drip down his cheek as he was reminded of just how terrified he had been for the witcher.
Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat as a calloused thumb reached out and wiped his tears away. He could see the struggle in the witcher’s eyes as he sought for words to speak, and oh how that made Jaskier love him even more when he saw how much he tried for the bard’s sake.
When Geralt spoke it was slow and purposeful, “I’m okay now Jaskier. Thanks to you.” he paused, gathering his thoughts, “When I woke up. I didn’t see you. I didn’t see you, but I saw your lute and it smelled like blood and I thought something had happened to you.”
Jaskier could see the pain in Geralt’s eyes so similar to the worry of his own and he understood. He reached up and placed a hand over the one that remained on his cheek.
“I’m still here.”
They sat in silence for a moment, relaxing as the tension and worry faded from the room.
Of course that was when Geralt had to actually get observant and ruin it.
All of the sudden the witcher’s spine stiffened, his eyes narrowing, and his voice growling.
“Jaskier,” Geralt’s eyes directed themselves towards his forehead.
Shit. Jaskier had hoped that Geralt would be too exhausted from everything that he maybe wouldn’t notice the wound on his head. It appeared that Jaskier was also an idiot.
So he decided to play dumb.
“Yes Geralt?”
Geralt did not agree with this.
“Jaskier,” the growl more pronounced. “What the fuck happened to your head?”
A little known fact about Geralt that he would absolutely 100% never admit to, is that he was a complete worrywart. A total mother hen. When someone he cared about got injured his already short temper got ignited. So whenever Jaskier got injured, Geralt promptly went ballistic.
Except there was no enemy here for Geralt to hack into very tiny pieces, so he settled for the next best thing. Fussing.
Jaskier found himself swept onto the bed, placed next to Geralt amongst the pillows. The witcher loomed over him, poking and prodding the stitched area that curled from the corner of his eye up towards his hairline.
“It’s really nothing Geralt,” Jaskier attempted to explain, trying to at least settle the witcher a little bit and prevent him from aggravating his wounds. “Just a souvenir from the bandit attack, I didn’t even notice it had happened until we were all the way back here. Yennefer stitched it for me and I think she did a fine job all things considered. I might even get a cool scar from it all.”
A particular sharp jab broke Jaskier from his rambling.
“No scar.” Geralt growled, still fussing over his stupid cut like the fussy fusser he prentended not to be but totally was.
“Okay then fine, no scars allowed.” Jaskier rolled his eyes, “But I feel like I must inform you that there isn’t anyone left for you to hunt down and enact your vengeance for harming me. I’ve already killed them all.”
Silence fell over the room once more, and Jaskier tried his best to avoid Geralt’s probing gaze.
“What exactly happened?” Geralt asked, and his tone left no room for Jaskier’s excuses. The bard swallowed hard, and took a deep breath through his nose. His fingers fiddled once more with the bracelet on his wrist.
“So I might not be exactly as helpless as I’ve led you to believe. I know how to fight. With weapons. Hand to hand. When the bandits struck you down, I just… lost it. I took down the ones holding me, got ahold of a sword and fought my way through the rest. Then when I finally got to you you had lost so much blood, and so I bandaged you as best I could at the moment and rode as fast as possible to Yennefer. All caught up.” He continued to play with his fingers, too nervous to see the expression on Geralt’s face.
A large hand covered his own, gripping it tight. Shocked, the bard looked up. Geralt’s expression was fierce, though there wasn’t any anger hidden in his gaze.
“You did what you had to. You saved us, you saved me. Though I wish you had told me that you could fight. I would have spent a lot less time worrying about you throughout the years.”
Jaskier let out a wet laugh that felt just a bit hysteric.
“I’m sorry I never told you. I was just so determined to be normal that it never felt like the right time to say anything, and then I couldn’t anymore because it was too late.”
Geralt let out a small laugh of his own before realization took over his features.
“Do you realize the amount of time we could have been sparring Jaskier? We could have practiced together on the road, I could have made sure that your skills were sharp enough to protect yourself-”
Jaskier’s eyes widened in horror, he hadn’t foreseen this outcome but it was somehow worse than anything else. Suddenly visions of waking early and being forced to swordfight flashed across his face, of form and drills and no, nope, no, he had to put a spot to this immediately.
“No Geralt I think that’s actually quite unnecessary, obviously my skills are quite sharp enough to defeat a bunch of bandits, I don’t need more practice, you know how I value my beauty rest-”
Their voices overlapped each other as Jaskier valiantly fought for his right to sleep past sunrise and Geralt highlighted the values of well honed fighting skills when a laugh sounded at the door.
“I see you two are both back to normal” Yennefer teased, leaning against the doorframe, “It just wouldn’t be right if you weren’t constantly arguing like a married couple.”
Jaskier groaned, allowing Geralt to wind his arm around his waist and pull him closer on the bed, firmly against his chest. It would be heaven if it wasn’t just for one thing. One person.
Just because him and Yennefer were starting to be friends didn’t mean it would be sunshine and roses overnight.
“Go away Yennefer, we were having a moment.”
The witch rolled her eyes, “How very rude of you, bard. I just came to make sure you weren’t both making a mess of my room.”
Geralt muttered something under his breath about how technically this wasn’t even Yennefer’s house, and Jaskier couldn’t hold back his laugh.
He watched Yennefer prickle a bit and restrain herself from acknowledging the comment. “Well then, if you don’t need anything else I’ll leave you to it.” She walked towards the door, and her hand was on the doorknob before she paused.
“Oh, Geralt, there’s probably something important you should know about your bard since he clearly still hasn’t fessed up, even though he promised.” A mischievous glint formed in her eye and Jaskier knew he was done for, damn the witch and her notions of what is ‘good and necessary information for Geralt to be aware of’.
A smirk painted itself across Yennefer’s lips after she so graciously gave Jaskier an apologetic look, the cad.
“Jaskier’s an elf.”
And the witch promptly exited the room, pulling the door shut with a bang and leaving Jaskier sputtering in her wake.
He felt Geralt’s confusion lingering behind him in a shell shocked cloud.
“Jaskier- what?”
The bard groaned, sinking further into the pillows on the bed and burying his face into Geralt’s chest.
“I can explain, I promise….” Dreading the conversation to be had.
Fucking Yennefer.