Chapter Text
Jaskier woke late, having taken the sleeping draught the night before. He knew that after the encounter with Chleb nightmares were practically guaranteed, so wisely chose the dreamless oblivion of the potion. He had a moment of panic before he remembered the farm was gone and there were no chickens to riot about not being let out at dawn. It ached to recall his lost animals, but in a familiar way now.
He was alone in the bed and looked like he had been all night as Lambert’s side of the pillow wall looked untouched. He washed and shaved, wondering if he was too late to catch breakfast at the hall or if he should simply go out for food, he had a mind to take care of some errands in the city that day anyway. There was no sign of Geralt or Lambert in Jaskier’s rooms, even the coals in the fire were long cold.
Jaskier might be a fool, he would be the first to admit it, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew what they were probably out doing – maiming Chleb – he just wasn’t sure if he was ready to confront that reality. He was pondering whether to leave a note or simply let the Witchers follow their noses when the very subject of his contemplation walked in.
The two Witchers strode casually, as though they hadn’t been out terrorizing a civilian all night. Their armor, clothing and skin were free of blood too, though the nails were suspiciously dirty – was that blood under them? Hard to tell with the general state of their nails anyway. Jaskier narrowed his eyes at them.
“And just where have you two been?” he asked sharply.
“Relax,” said Lambert amicably, “we come bearing gifts. Catch!” He tossed a bread roll at Jaskier, still warm to the touch. It came from a stack of other breads and pastries, cradled carefully in Lambert’s arm, presumably bought to complement the smoked fish and cheese Geralt was carrying.
“My good favour cannot be bought so cheaply,” lied Jaskier, “you’ll have to do better than just breakfast. Tell me you haven’t been out all night torturing that man.”
Geralt set the vittles down on the table and looked at Jaskier with a perfectly straight face. “We have not been out all night torturing that man.”
Jaskier made an enraged noise, muffling himself by biting into the bread roll viciously. It was annoyingly delicious. He chewed furiously, glaring at each Witcher in turn as they sat at the table and set about breakfast for themselves.
Sighing in frustration, Jaskier sat himself down at the table and shredded the rest of the bread roll anxiously. “You ignored my wishes, meddled in my affairs. If there was any vengeance to be had, it ought to have been at my discretion! You don’t get to just, just take that from me!”
Geralt looked faintly guilty. Lambert paused in his chewing. “Are you truly angry with us, Julian? Do you really care if we pulled that bastard’s lungs out of his back? After what he was saying about you?”
“His lung?!” cried Jaskier, aghast.
“I said liver. People don’t need their whole liver, you know.” Lambert’s tone was sincere, but his face wasn’t entirely convincing.
“That’s -- that’s still horrible. I think. Fuck, I don’t know.” Jaskier rested his elbows on the table and cradled his head in his hands, pressing his fingertips into his skull. “After all this time, I still don’t have a taste for violence. I know what he did – what they did was unforgiveable, but I don’t want them to have the power to make me a worse person. Or at least, a more violent person.”
Am uncomfortable silence reigned at the table, except for Geralt’s discreet chewing – he was never one to pass up food due to inconvenient social cues. Eventually, Jaskier sighed again, taking mercy on the stoic Witchers.
“I guess half of me wants to thank you. I don’t know if I could make that decision, and you took it out of my hands. Now I’ll never have to know if I’m that kind of man after all. And it does feel good, I admit, to know Chleb is suffering.”
“Suffering a lot ,” interjected Lambert, waving a long bread stick for emphasis.
Jaskier snagged the bread stick and broke it in half, appropriating some smoked fish to accompany it. “Well thank you a lot , I suppose. For the post-torture breakfast too, this is good. Did you stop by the market?”
“What he said. Was it true?” interrupted Geralt abruptly, true to form. Seeing the identical looks of puzzlement from Lambert and Jaskier, he hurriedly tried to clarify. “ You said what they did was unforgivable. I heard what he was saying at the Three Little Bells. Did those things... really happen?”
The moment spun out, thin and taut as a bowstring. Jaskier felt the tendrils of panic flicker at his mind and firmly pushed them away. Lambert looked as though he was ready to punch his brother squarely in the teeth. Geralt, for his part, looked like he immediately regretted every asking any question ever.
“There you go, ruing our nice post-torture breakfast. What the fuck kind of question is that, Geralt--” Lambert started, but Jaskier held up a silencing hand.
“It’s fine, Lambert, it really is. A year ago I couldn’t have handled that question at all, it’s true, but I think I’m ready now.” Jaskier looked down at his meal contemplatively, not really seeing it. “Things with Valdo... got out of hand rather quickly towards the end. I was drunk, and high a lot of the time, and I think now that he kept me that way on purpose. It made it hard to tell if it was all in my head or...” he broke off, rubbing at his head as though it could help the memories crystallize into words.
“ Jask ,” said Geralt in a soft voice, the kind he used to speak with young children and horses he liked. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I don’t need to know. It was selfish of me to ask.”
“No,” said Jaskier slowly. “No, I think I want to. I need to. After everything, you’re still one of the people who knows me best in the world, Geralt. Who knows me truly. I want you to know.”
Geralt raised his hands, signaling his acquiescence, and instead produced a demijohn of what proved to be apple juice. He poured three mugs and offered one to Jaskier, who sipped it and, determining it to be non-alcoholic, accepted the mug with a smile. Lambert scowled incredulously at his own mug of juice, as though he could ferment it via force of indignation.
“Where was I... right, of course. Valdo. Yes, he really did those things. The night I met Chleb and Rasz , Valdo’s friends... I don’t remember all of it, I don’t think but – it was bad. They filled me up with fisstech ‘til I didn’t know up from down. I couldn’t stop them. At the time I thought it was maybe a misunderstanding, somehow, but I know better now. He most likely planned it all out. He was like that, Valdo, always a schemer.”
The remains of the bread rolls were abruptly demolished by Lambert’s fist. “Slimy little rat. I should’ve killed the fucker slower.”
Jaskier smiled mirthlessly. “Yes, well. I can’t say he didn’t deserve it. I would have liked to get my hands on him myself, to be honest. Wrap them around his neck for once, see how much he liked it.”
There was a strange sound then, a sort of tiny wooden creak. Geralt’s wooden mug was under a lot of structural pressure. “He choked you?” he asked in a quiet, dangerous voice.
Jaskier waved it off with false bravado. He didn’t really want to talk about these parts, but he also felt compelled to spill them out as starkly as possible. Almost like he was challenging Geralt to flinch, to be disgusted. To blame or doubt him. “Oh, a few times. Got a few sucker punches in too, when the wheels started to come off the whole affair. It wasn’t that bad though, really. Not until that last time, in Temeria .”
He didn’t really want to talk about these parts, but he also felt compelled to spill them out as starkly as possible. Almost like he was challenging Geralt to flinch, to be disgusted. To blame or doubt him. Jaskier barrelled on, not daring to look at either of the Witchers.
“Chleb wasn’t lying about the whoring me out thing, though. That happened in Temeria too. That’s actually how I met Lambert – Valdo told him I was a whore with a penchant for Witchers. His idea of a joke, you see.”
Finally looking up, Jaskier could judge the effect his words had on Geralt. He had never seen such an expression on the Witcher’s face, it was alien and unfamiliar, hard to read for a moment. It was total devastation. Jaskier had seen Geralt’s eyes water before so he knew Witchers had tear ducts, but he had never seen them used for crying – he wasn’t sure if Geralt ever had. But the look on Geralt’s face could only ever be accompanied by tears in a human.
“Jaskier... I have no words. I am so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. I’m sorry I drove you away in my foolish anger, this is my fault--”
“No. Nuh uh,” cut in Lambert, “you overgrown mangy mutt. This is not yours. You do not get to make it about you. Despite what the bard’s songs might have implied, not everything is about you .”
“Lambert,” admonished Jaskier gently. “He’s trying. He meant well.”
“No, Lambert is right, Jask . I still think about how everything affects me first; it’s how I've survived so long as a Witcher. We learn to be alone because we must. But I have other people to think about now, who need me to put them first.” Geralt’s eyes shone with earnest emotion. “I should have just said how sorry I am that happened to you. The rest is... not important.”
It was still bizarre to hear Geralt speak this way, to be so open and honest about his emotions of all things. The Geralt that Jaskier used to know had only ever been forthright about his anger, the singular emotion he seemed to experience in great amounts. This was strange, and fragile in its newness. Jaskier sensed that for once in his life this was the time to take things sincerely and respond without any deflecting humour .
He struggled to find the right words, then settled for simplicity. “Geralt, thank you. I appreciate that, truly.”
Lambert huffed, but Jaskier ignored it. Lambert could sort his sibling rivalry out some other time. Deciding he was done with breakfast and the conversation, Jaskier stood up and started clearing up his mess.
“That’s enough dwelling on the past, I’ve reached my quota for being maudlin today already and I haven’t even walked past the poetry department. Are you two staying in town another night?”
“Not I,” replied Lambert, helping to clear the table. “I’ve already stocked up on supplies at the market, fuckin’ ripped me off well and good too. I was planning to hit the road after breakfast.”
Jaskier paused, unable to hide disappointment at the news his friend was leaving already. “Will you write? I don’t really know where I’ll go this year, I've a feeling the administration may not want me to stay on after summer classes. If I travel, it would be pleasant to catch up with you on the road some time.”
Lambert nodded agreeably. “Of course, Julian. You’ve yet to write my epic fuckin’ ballad, so it’d be a fine time to start. I’ll be sure to have a few good kills under my belt by the time I see you next, I’ll tell you all about it.”
They cleaned up quickly and walked Lambert and his gear to the stables to load his horse. Jaskier and Lambert bantered, made plans and jokes and eventually said their goodbyes. In contrast, Geralt was quiet and only exchanged a cursory farewell with his brother. It was apparently not out of character for him and didn’t seem to bother Lambert, who rode off with a jaunty finger gesture, but it concerned Jaskier a little.
“Geralt?” he asked, as they walked back to his rooms. “You’re quiet. Moreso than your usual level of manful stoicism.”
The Witcher huffed in irritation. “It’s not manful stoicism. I just know when it’s better to keep my fool tongue in my head.”
Jaskier raised a brow. “And this is one of those times?”
Geralt did not reply, staying silent as they reached Jaskier’s door and went inside again. Jaskier allowed the silence to stretch, deciding not to attempt to drag it out of Geralt as he once might have. Instead, he was trying a tactic that Najmila had used many times on him; let the silence do the work for you. Jaskier focused on the errands he meant to accomplish today, picking up items necessary to his day out and gathering them in a fashionable satchel.
The Witcher stood motionless in the middle of the room, eyes tracking Jaskier but otherwise as still as the elven stone foundations they stood on.
“Geralt?” asked Jaskier finally, standing at the door. “I’ve some things to take care of today, but I should be back by dusk. Will you be here?”
The white haired head inclined slightly, the smallest of nods.
Shrugging, Jaskier called a light farewell over his shoulder as he left. Whatever was stuck in Geralt’s craw might come loose if he left him alone long enough. Experience told him that with Geralt this might be a very long time indeed, but ever an optimist, Jaskier hoped that perhaps this new version of the Witcher might be more loquacious.
***
The small university press offices were cramped and stuffy in the midday heat, but it was well worth the discomfort – after speaking with a clerk Jaskier was assured that press had decided to hold his royalties in a local bank after receiving word that his Novigrad account had been closed. So while Valdo had succeeded in wiping out much of Jaskier’s savings, he still had roughly two years of royalties waiting to be collected. It wasn’t a princely sum by any means, but enough to ensure Jaskier could travel in relative comfort if his university job dried up tomorrow.
Bolstered by this news, Jaskier went about his other errands with a sense of satisfaction. Some of his belongings had indeed been held safely by the university, but it was mostly related to his work. Much of the small furnishings from his room had been appropriated by other staff or sold off, so Jaskier was now busy replacing what he had lost.
Between finding out he wasn’t truly destitute and picking out new cushions, rugs and furniture, Jaskier had the feeling he was metaphorically piecing his life back together. He had been afraid he wouldn’t be able to function in Oxenfurt , paralyzed by anxiety, but that was turning out to be an unnecessary fear. He wasn’t yet fully immersed in the life of the University or city yet, but he could almost feel the path to that life under his feet again.
He was in such a bright mood after his shopping expedition that he decided to have the goods portered back to his rooms while he had a late lunch. He went to a winehouse, not for the drink but because the food there tended to be cut above the standard tavern fare and the clientele far quieter.
Halfway through his (indeed delicious) meal, the chair opposite him was pulled out and a body thunked into it unceremoniously.
“And here I thought I’d be the first person you called on in Oxenfurt ! But it seems a – is that venison? - a venison pie holds the highest regard of your heart.” Pricsilla feigned devastation, pouting obnoxiously.
“It’s a very good pie,” answered Jaskier with a straight face, taking another bite.
Priscilla leaned over to poke him in the shoulder. “ I’m a very good pie. Person. Whatever, where have you been?! From your letters I’d been expecting you here weeks ago!”
“Complications arose,” replied Jaskier with what he hoped was a mysterious air.
“Witcher shaped complications?” asked Priscilla archly. Jaskier had always found her a tad too perceptive for her own good.
He frowned. “Something like that. Nothing to worry about now, I’m back here for a few months at least, as long as the administration lets me stay on. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up, if you’re staying in Redania long.”
“What do you mean, if the administration lets you stay on?” Priscilla’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “I thought you were their golden son! Their favourite famed alumni!”
Jaskier’s mouth twisted. He tilted a palm, indicating he wasn’t so sure. “Things are different now, 'Scilla. I’m a half elf back from the dead, and who knows what harm Valdo’s rumours have done to my reputation. I don’t know that good will towards me in Redania will hold that much longer, the way things are going.”
The blonde woman looked near to combustion with impotent fury. “That rat fucking bastard!” she cried, loud enough to draw attention from nearby tables. “That day I was told you didn’t want to see me, I should have tried harder. I should have known that scum sucking whoreson was –” she stopped, realizing from the look on Jaskier’s face that her rage was not helping. She sighed. “Sweet mother Melitele , Jaskier. I’m so sorry I didn’t see what was going on. I’m sorry I didn’t help you.”
Reaching out, Jaskier covered her hand in his gently. “My dear friend, you have nothing to be sorry for. You tried. I wasn’t ready to be helped. You know I've always had to do things the hard way.”
His wry smile seemed to loosen something in Priscilla then, and she swiped a tear that had escaped from her eyes. “I still feel terrible. And I wish those bandits hadn’t gotten him, at least not before I had a chance to rip his balls off and stuff them down his throat.”
Coughing on his last bite of pie, Jaskier tried to dismiss that rather vivid mental image. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, ‘Scilla. It wasn’t bandits, and I have it on good authority that Valdo suffered at least a little before he escaped this mortal coil.”
Priscilla’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, gears clearly turning in her head. “It wasn’t your Witcher, was it! Good gods, and here I thought you weren’t even on good terms with him anymore. He must really have cared for you a great deal after all, to slay your foes when you hated him so!”
Wincing, Jaskier waved his hand frantically to stop Priscilla’s theorizing. “No, no it wasn’t Geralt at all, and I never hated him. We’re fine now, I think. It was Lambert, a different Witcher, and I don’t think it was because he cared for me personally at the time. He’s just sort of a violent person who doesn’t like, well, people like Valdo.”
Eyes goggling, Priscilla gaped at Jaskier. “You have two Witchers now? Are you – are you collecting them? Is it a sex thing? Are you starting a Witcher harem? This is perverse, even for you Jaskier.”
He felt a headache coming on. “I don’t have two Witchers. I simply know them, a little. It’s not a sex thing.”
Priscilla tilted her head, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Are you sure? This thing you’ve had for Geralt has been going on an awful long time now, Jaskier.”
“It’s not like that,” he sighed. “Whatever... feelings I might have had towards Geralt were never returned, and even if they were...” he stared down at his hands, unable to meet his friend’s gaze. “After everything with Valdo, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to bear the touch of another man again.”
Priscilla was quiet for a long moment, then gently squeezed the hand that Jaskier had left holding hers on the table. “I understand, Jask. I’m sorry to have made light of it. I’ve known a few people who are like that, for various reasons. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. And I still love you well enough to marry you even if I never share a bed a single night with you.”
Jaskier flushed, unusually touched by the reminder of the common half-joke they shared; that they would one day settle down and be the most famous composing duo in history. Neither of their flighty , wandering natures made it a particularly likely future, but it was nice to think about now and then.
“Well, I can’t say that isn’t nice to hear my dear ‘Scilla, though I still doubt either of us are much of the marrying type. I know Geralt isn’t likely to get down on one knee any time soon, at any rate.”
A cheeky grin lit the blonde singer’s face. “You don’t know that, Jaskier. Have you asked?”
Jaskier rolled his eyes and threw a crust of bread at her, breaking any somberness left over from their conversation. “That’s enough out of you. I’ve better things to do than be mocked for my fickle heart. I must be off, but you should come by my rooms tomorrow and we’ll make a day of it, yes?”
“Better things?” she asked slyly. “Or better Witchers?”
Lacking any more bread to throw, Jaskier flipped her off and stalked out of the winehouse.
***
The sun was only just beginning set when Jaskier made it home, but the location of his rooms in the labyrinth of the tall stone university buildings meant it was already dark indoors. No fire had been lit, and the various lamps and candles remained dark. At first Jaskier thought Geralt must have gone out and not yet returned, but as his eyes adjusted to the gloom he realized the Witcher was in fact sitting in an armchair near the fireplace, perfectly still.
“Really?” asked Jaskier with exasperation. “Sitting in the dark alone? What next, are you going to compose sonnets about the disquiet in your soul?”
He had an oil lamp going already, with which he managed to locate the necessaries and start the fire. Geralt sat in silence, watching the ritual intently. Once the flames were burning merrily, Jaskier sat back on his heels and turned to look up at Geralt, ready to reprimand the Witcher for spending all day inside like a very sad rock.
Instead, Geralt beat him to the punch by speaking.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t notice it was getting dark. I was thinking.”
Jaskier’s eyebrows could not have been any higher. “Thinking? Dare I asked what weighty matters occupied your mind so thoroughly? Did you even eat anything?”
“I didn’t need to eat. I was thinking about... it’s hard to put into words.” He sighed, clearly frustrated.
“I’m a master of the common tongue and at least familiar with a dozen others. I think I can parse out what your meaning is, however strained the words might be. It alright Geralt, just try.”
Geralt ran a hand through his hair, loose for once, and blew out hair harshly through his teeth. “I don’t know how to explain myself Jaskier, but I’ll do my best. I’m different know, I know that. Ciri has changed everything for me; I can no longer pretend I don’t care about anyone, that I don’t need anyone to need me. I’m feeling things I’ve never felt before, emotions I don’t know how to deal with.”
“Like what, Geralt?” asked Jaskier gently.
Geralt rubbed his head with one hand and blew another huff of air out with frustration. “like - helplessness . I’m a Witcher, we are never helpless. Helpless Witchers are dead Witchers. It seems like there are a sea of foes with schemes involving Ciri for some reason... foes and forces I don’t know how to fight. I’ve been in over my head since that day I so foolishly claimed the law of surprise.”
The bard was silent in response, but Geralt read his thoughts all too easily.
“No, Jaskier, I didn’t mean it like that. I might be in over my head, but I wouldn’t take it back for the world. Having Ciri in my life is good . I should never have thought her a burden, or myself a curse to her, and I should certainly never have blamed you for bringing us together. If anything, I want to thank you.”
Blinking, Jaskier sat in a stunned silence for a moment. Only a moment, though, of course. “Geralt, did that hurt? All those words together at once?”
Scowling, Geralt made to stand up but stopped when Jaskier tugged at his arm. “Sorry, sorry,” he continued apologetically, “it was a lot to take in. I’ve never heard you talk like that before. But, I guess, you’re welcome. For Ciri, that is. I always knew you’d be an excellent father.”
Geralt sounded like someone was stuck in his throat, coughing a little at the word father . “I don’t know about that,” he grumbled in a low voice, “but I’ll fucking try.”
“I’ve never known you to fail at anything you set your mind to, Geralt. I have a great deal of faith that this endeavor will not prove to be the exception. Was that all that was weighing on your mind? For I think we can settle that matter for now; helplessness is part of the universal experience. You’ll get used to it, and maybe it will help you understand Ciri a little better too.”
“Thank you, but no, that wasn’t all that was on my mind.” Geralt knit his brow deeply and stared at his large, rough hands. “I was thinking about how easy it is, between you and Lambert. You aren’t afraid to make plans to see each other, to get too attached. You aren’t afraid to show each other that you mean something to one another. I envy that. I... regret that I held myself apart from you, for so long. I fear I have robbed myself of you, because of my own foolish fears.”
Jaskier held very still, trying very hard to determine if he was reading too much into Geralt’s words. “I hope you realize – Lambert and I, we’re not... lovers. Just friends. Not that friends can’t be attached to one another.”
Geralt eyed him suspiciously. “But... he bought you a lute. And you sleep together.”
Jaskier felt the faint tingle of embarrassment creep up his spine as he remembered how funny he had thought it would be to prickle Geralt about Lambert. It seemed a lot less funny now. “Friends give each other gifts. That’s a perfectly normal thing to do. In fact, you probably owe me a lot of gifts.”
The expression on Geralt’s face was anything but convinced. “You share a bed with a lot of your friends?”
Jaskier bristled. “I’ve shared a bed with you plenty of times on the road! Besides, I’m sure you’d be able to smell it if we’d actually been up to anything.”
The Witcher had to acknowledge this as a fair point, and nodded his head slowly. After a moments thought, he appeared to reach a conclusion. “ So I haven’t robbed myself of you yet?” he asked, voice soft and tentative.
Jaskier kept a firm reign on his thoughts that threatened to spill out of control and out of his mouth. He kept his voice controlled and even, though tense. “I’m going to need you to be very precise about what you mean here, Geralt. I think I’ve had enough ambiguity for one lifetime.”
The Witcher’s unusual eyes met Jaskier’s, holding them steadily with an open gaze. “I care for you Jaskier, more than I ever dared to admit to myself until I lost you. When I thought you were dead... I hated myself for squandering my days with you. My feelings for you run deeper than mere friendship. I would like to do more than simply sleep beside you, if you were to share a bed with me ever again.”
Stunned, Jaskier could only sit on the floor and desperately attempt to check if he was dreaming. His mind reeled, going off in several panicked directions at once. He wished he’d sat in a chair earlier, he was sure he looked very undignified, practically kneeling at the Witcher’s feet and gaping like a newborn calf.
“Jaskier? Are you well? I’m sorry I upset you--”
Coming back to the moment with a start, Jaskier waved off the hand Geralt was extended to him and gathered his own feet under him. Standing up, he moved a few steps only to collapse into the chair opposite Geralt.
“It’s fine Geralt, you didn’t upset me. I’m just a little shocked. I’m sure it’s no surprise to you, my feelings towards you have probably been obvious since the day we met.”
Geralt looked a little ashamed, ducking his head. “I... knew,” he said in a strained voice. “But I had feared... I still fear that my actions on the dragon hunt have hardened your heart towards me. And you would be well justified in it, I deserve nothing but your scorn.”
Annoyed, Jaskier rolled his eyes. “No, none of that self-deprecating bullshit. We’re done with all of that. You’ve apologized for that and I’ve forgiven you.”
“You have?” asked Geralt, a tentative hope in his voice.
“Well yes, of course. Did I not say that? Well I meant to say it. You’re clearly a changed man, Geralt, and I can say I honestly don’t harbour any resentment towards you about the whole affair anymore.”
“So... you do harbour favourable feelings towards me?” The Witcher’s face held a rare expression for him, uncertainty.
Jaskier sighed. “It’s complicated, Geralt. I would love nothing more than to fall into bed with you right now and not come out for a month. But there’s other problems.”
Looking a little poleaxed by the glib comment about marathon sex, Geralt took a moment to catch up. “Problems?”
“Well, for one thing I would really like to keep my genitals attached to my body, and I’m not completely confident that a certain sorceress would continue to let that state of affairs stand if you and I were to canoodle, as it were.”
“Yenn?” asked Geralt, surprised. “We’re not... like that. We're not good at being exclusive. It’s what drove me out of her house in Vengerberg, her possessive nature. She understands now that I can’t be that for her, or for anyone. I’m not made to be owned like that. I was hoping you might... be more understanding.”
Jaskier perked up a little at the news. “That is a relief, as long as ‘ Yenn ’ is on the same page as you there. I must admit, I’ve never been one to hold much stock in traditional monogamy, I’m sure you noticed I had a penchant for disrupting it often enough. I would never begrudge you the pleasures of lovers in my absence. But that’s... not the only issue.”
Geralt had been looking more and more relieved by the conversation up until this last point. “What else can there be? With your elven heritage you’re sure to live a longer span than a human, we could have many happy years together. It’s not – it's not because of Ciri, is it?”
“Of course not!” yelped Jaskier. “I haven’t even met the brat and I’m already certain I’ll hold her as dearly in my heart as I do you, Geralt. She’s a part of you now.”
Mollified, Geralt nodded his understanding. “Then what is it, Jaskier?”
It was Jaskier’s turn to struggle with his words. “I’ve had... some trouble. Since Valdo. With people touching me. It’s gotten a bit better, but I still... I don’t know when I’ll be ready to be intimate with anyone. Right now, I can’t even touch my damn self! How’s that for irony; the perpetually horny bard can’t even wrestle his own weasel.” He laughed bitterly, using the dark humour to cope with being full of shame and disgust with what he saw as his failings.
Geralt leaned forward, his voice low and rough with sincerity. “Jaskier, I’m not in love with what’s between your legs. I’m in love with you . Nothing that bastard did can change that. I would happily spend the rest of my life without touching you, if only I could be near to you.”
Jaskier found his eyes were wet. It was hard to fully comprehend that his darkest shame, his foulest secret meant so little to the Witcher. So little that he could overlook it, could say that--
“Geralt, I don’t know if you realized but you just said you were in love with me.”
The Witcher nodded gravely. “Yes, I did realize that.”
“Oh,” said Jaskier softly, full of wonder. “I feel I should tell you I’m in love with you too, but I think you know that already.”
“Aye,” answered Geralt equally softly. “I do.”
“So...” started Jaskier, hope fluttering in his chest. “Perhaps a little touching?”
A slow, warm smile bloomed across the Witcher’s face. “A little touching sounds good.”