For All the Things We Wished We'd Done - Chapter 3
Title: For All the Things We Wished We’d Done
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Geralt of Rivia | Geralt z Rivii/Jaskier |Dandelion
Rating: R
Words: 41,668
Warnings: Rape/non-con elements. Mind control. Implied/referenced mind control. Implied/referenced homophobia. Canon-typical violence.
A/N: For All the Things We Wished We’d Done was written for The Witcher Big Bang 2020. Please see Chapter 1 for additional notes.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!
“There’s been talk of drowners terrorizing a village on the outskirts of Novigrad,” Yennefer said over a breakfast of boiled eggs and toast smeared with butter.
“Hmm,” Geralt replied.
“Goats have been disappearing from the lakeside all summer, apparently. Nash Walenty is worried he won’t have enough milk to make cheese to last the winter.”
“Get to the point,” Geralt said.
“News travels fast,” Yennefer said, resolutely. “It’s no secret that I’m hosting a witcher who could rid the town of drowners and earn some coin for his efforts.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt said, although he knew Yennefer needed no reminder.
During the past week, Yennefer plied Jaskier with potions to heal his broken body. Lucid moments were few. When Jaskier was awake, Geralt tended to him. He took the place of Yennefer’s handmaidens whenever he could. Many nights, he simply lay with Jaskier until he fell asleep again.
“I’m capable of watching over him,” Yennefer said.
Geralt had no intention of insulting Yennefer by indicating that Jaskier was in less than capable hands with her at his bedside.
Geralt wordlessly grunted.
“Is that a yes or a no?” Yennefer asked.
“I’ll ask him what he thinks of the idea,” Geralt said. “But if he so much as hints that he’d be uncomfortable with me gone, I’m staying.”
Yennefer drank from her goblet and levelled her gaze at Geralt. “For a man who owes me a favour in return for my healing skills, you have fewer options than you might think.”
Geralt didn’t like this game at all. “Drowners are no problem for me,” he said sternly, “but Jaskier will make the decision.”
~
“You’re still awake,” Geralt greeted, lowering himself onto Jaskier’s bed so he could sit beside him. He brought a plate of buttered toast to offer, in case Jaskier was hungry.
“You just missed the ladies,” Jaskier said with a wave of a wrapped and splinted hand.
“I saw them leaving,” Geralt said. Yennefer’s helpers had been tending to Jaskier several times each day. A fire had been lit in the hearth and Jaskier’s skin glowed, fresh from a recent bathing. “I know they’re taking good care of you.”
Jaskier shifted to get more comfortable, grimacing as he did so.
Geralt suspected that the broken ribs made Jaskier’s every movement painful. He had suffered broken ribs many times in his monster hunts, and he remembered how painful they were to endure. Geralt healed quickly, but Jaskier lacked the healing powers of a witcher and so he suffered worse from the pain than Geralt ever had.
“Let me help you,” Geralt said, adjusting the pillow behind Jaskier’s head.
Geralt was new to playing nursemaid and it showed. No matter how he tried to help, he always felt inadequate. Still, he tried. He was committed to doing anything he could to alleviate Jaskier’s pain. It wasn’t simply the guilt that made Geralt want to help care for Jaskier in these days he had spent at Yennefer’s. Now that Jaskier allowed him to apologize for the way he treated him on the mountain, Geralt worked to restore their friendship.
“Did you eat breakfast?” Geralt asked. “I brought you some toast.”
“It’s humiliating to be spoon fed by Yennefer’s lackeys, I’ll have you know,” Jaskier said.
Geralt doubted it was a terrible experience for Jaskier. He always had eyes for beautiful maidens. Geralt couldn’t imagine Jaskier being too upset by being waited on, literally hand and foot, by them.
“I thought you went in for that sort of thing,” Geralt said, picking at the coverlet that was draped over Jaskier. “Almost a royal treatment. Didn’t you once tell me that you’re a viscount?”
“Pfft,” Jaskier dismissed Geralt’s notions. “It doesn’t matter to them. They treat me like a baby.”
Whether Jaskier realized it or not, he needed to be treated like a fragile human. He was near death when Geralt brought him to Yennefer. Bruised, beaten, and suffering all manner of physical torture, to say nothing of the damage to his spirit. Jaskier deserved to be treated with delicate care and kindness.
“They’re doing the best they can to help you,” Geralt said.
“I took a few bites of the porridge they offered me. It seemed to appease them,” Jaskier said. “Where’s that toast?”
“Hmm,” Geralt grunted. Whoever said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach had it right. Geralt shifted on the bed and reached for the plate of toast. The butter had fully melted into the crispy bread. He took a slice between his fingers and offered it to Jaskier.
“See what I mean? I’m like a helpless child,” Jaskier noted with a raised eyebrow before he took a bite.
Jaskier had a point. Geralt would find the inability to feed himself as frustrating as Jaskier did. He held the toast within the grasp of Jaskier’s teeth, allowing the bard to bite off and chew as much as he wanted. Geralt found himself mesmerized as Jaskier’s pink tongue darted out to lick the crumbs from his fingers.
“Do I have any more ale left?” Jaskier asked, shaking Geralt from his concentration.
“Of course,” Geralt said, wiping his fingers on a napkin before fetching Jaskier’s ale cup for him.
He held the cup steady while Jaskier’s bandaged hand clumsily guided the cup to his mouth. When Jaskier was satisfied, Geralt returned the cup to the small table at his bedside.
“How are your hands this morning?” Geralt asked. “It looks like you’re able to move them around a bit better.”
“They ache,” Jaskier said dramatically, without giving it too much thought.
“I’m sorry,” Geralt said, observing the splints and bandages that held his fingers straight.
“I wish they weren’t so bound up like this,” Jaskier said. “I know it’s for the best, but it’s maddening to be unable to touch my own fingers with the fingers of my other hand. Do you know what I mean?”
Geralt nodded his head. He didn’t quite understand what Jaskier was getting at. Any time he had been injured in the past, he simply dealt with the inconvenience until he had healed. Of course, he healed quickly, but the bandages and stitches that he endured were never particularly bothersome.
“My fingers itch,” Jaskier complained. “And they’re stiff. I doubt I’ll ever be able to move them again.”
Geralt noted the resignation in Jaskier’s eyes. He wished there were something he could do to alleviate his distress.
“Give me your hand,” Geralt said.
Without showing signs of too much discomfort, Jaskier lifted an arm so Geralt could take one of his wrapped hands in both of his.
“Yennefer probably won’t approve of this, but I know something that might help,” Geralt said.
“Well, get on with it before she barges in here,” Jaskier said. “I know you rely on her to heal me, but I still don’t trust her. Oh… oh….”
“How does this feel?” Geralt asked. He had unwound the strips of bandages that held Jaskier’s fingers in place. Exposed to the air, the fingers looked straight, but a bit like wilted carrots. With feather-light strokes, Geralt traced each finger in its turn, letting the warmth of his touch seep into Jaskier’s skin.
Jaskier closed his eyes and let his head drop onto his pillows.
“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier moaned. “That feels wondrous.”
Geralt could not contain his smile. It seemed like he could finally do something to alleviate the bard’s pain. He did his best to avoid jostling a finger out of place. He simply supported Jaskier’s fingers in one hand while he gently stroked each digit.
Jaskier shivered when Geralt traced the straight line of the bones past each knuckle to Jaskier’s fingertips.
“They look good,” Geralt said. “You’ll be able to use them in no time.”
“You know… I’m still a bit angry that you left me on the mountain,” Jaskier gasped. “But if you can do this whenever I command, I think I could let bygones be bygones.”
Geralt smiled. The closed eyes and satisfied expression on Jaskier’s face was all that Geralt needed for him to continue stroking Jaskier’s fingers as he wished. Root to tip, root to tip, with the lightest of touches. It was a comfort that Geralt found easy to give.
“Your other hand,” Geralt asked. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Yes, please,” Jaskier said blinking his blue eyes open and placing his other hand in Geralt’s so he could provide it with the same attention.
Geralt sighed and unwrapped the bandages while Jaskier looked on. He slowly caressed the wrinkled skin of Jaskier’s broken fingers while he supported his hand.
“The insane witch will kill us for this,” Jaskier said. “It feels too good for her to approve of it.”
“Watch your tongue,” Geralt said with a smile. “She’s done her best to heal you.”
“True,” Jaskier said reluctantly.
“Don’t fret. I won’t let her interfere with whatever small scrap of pleasure you might get from this,” Geralt said.
It was such a simple thing. To gently stroke Jaskier’s damaged fingers while he recovered. A monster hunt would have been more exciting, but the satisfaction that came from giving Jaskier some relief from his pain was a better reward than any coin.
Jaskier closed his eyes again as Geralt tended to his other hand. His dark lashes splayed over his cheeks, no longer badly marred by the bruising that coloured them when Geralt first brought him to Yennefer.
“You like to watch me,” Jaskier said without opening his eyes.
“Hmm,” Geralt grunted. And then he boldly admitted, “I do.”
“What are you thinking?” Jaskier asked, opening his eyes.
Geralt stumbled over his words, but he figured it could do no harm to confess his thoughts. Not when Jaskier had always willingly shared so much of himself with Geralt.
“I was thinking that the bruises on your face are healing well,” Geralt said.
“I must have looked terrible when I first arrived here,” Jaskier said.
“It was dark when we arrived,” Geralt said perfunctorily.
The guilt still peeked out from the recesses of Geralt’s memory from that night. It was difficult to think about what abuse Jaskier had suffered before he found him. The stench of blood, mud, and semen was not something Geralt could easily forget. It would be impossible for Geralt to engage in a conversation about the experience with Jaskier. Geralt was terrible with words. The nature of Jaskier’s injuries put a discussion about them even more out of reach, but he supposed the day would soon come. He’d try to be ready for it, although he had no idea how to prepare to discuss such an uncomfortable topic.
Jaskier manoeuvred his hand so he drew Geralt’s fingers to his face. He raised his eyes to meet Geralt’s.
With his battle-hardened knuckles, Geralt stroked the soft skin of Jaskier’s cheek. The bruising had changed from dark purple to greenish yellow-and now to a lighter shade of pink, in the days that had passed. Geralt was relieved that there didn’t seem to be any permanent scarring to Jaskier’s face.
“I thought about you… I’m glad you came… on that night.... Thank you for helping me,” Jaskier said.
To Geralt, it was unthinkable that he would do anything but help Jaskier in his recovery. He slid his thumb across Jaskier’s cheek and let it rest by his ear.
“I’ll do whatever I can,” Geralt said feebly.
More than anything, Geralt wanted to kiss him. But it wasn’t the time to test Yennefer’s affirmation that Jaskier loved him, nor was it time to find out whether a monster like him could be worthy of Jaskier’s kiss. Geralt feared the answer he’d receive.
Geralt hated that Yennefer had asked him to take care of the drowners. He belonged here with Jaskier and he wanted to stay by his side so he could help him. He needed to discuss the possibility of leaving Jaskier for a few days. Perhaps now was as good a time as any. If anything, it would take the possibility of discussing Jaskier’s injuries off the table.
“I need to ask you something,” Geralt said.
Jaskier’s eyes brightened and he rested his unbound hand on his chest. It was almost as if his hand weighed as much as a boulder that Jaskier found difficult to support.
“Yennefer told me that some of the townsfolk know that I’m here.”
“Is there trouble?” Jaskier asked.
“No, not with my presence,” Geralt assured him. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“What is it?” Jaskier asked curiously.
“There’s been a problem with drowners inhabiting one of the lakes. They’ve killed some livestock and pose a threat to the villagers. They’d like me to take care of them,” Geralt said.
Jaskier looked worried.
Geralt gently tapped Jaskier’s forehead with a finger. “I told Yennefer that I wouldn’t do it, if you wanted me to stay here with you.”
Jaskier sighed softly.
“If you need me to stay here, I will,” Geralt said.
“No,” Jaskier said resolutely. His lips drew into a thin line.
“You’re sure?”
“No, you need to help the villagers. It’s what you do… a friend of humanity and all that,” Jaskier said with a nod. “I don’t want you to stop your witchery business on my account.”
“I won’t be gone long,” Geralt said. “A few days at most.”
So, it was settled, but more importantly, Jaskier’s reaction pleased Geralt. The encouragement he gave him to accept the contract indicated that Jaskier was on his way to healing- not only on the outside, but within his mind as well. It was a good sign, on par with the fading bruises on Jaskier’s cheek.
“When will you leave?” Jaskier asked. He unthinkingly reached for Geralt’s hand.
“Careful,” Geralt said, grasping the unbandaged fingers before they could be damaged by so much unsupported movement. “I think I’ll try to contact the town’s alderman tomorrow morning. Another night to locate the drowners, and another day for good measure. I should be able to dispatch the drowners without too much trouble.”
“Drowners never stand a chance against you,” Jaskier said with a sparkle in his eye.
Normally, Geralt would have responded with a grunt that meant, of course they are no match for me, but instead Geralt tilted his head in acknowledgement. The compliment warmed Geralt to his core.
“I could go with you, if you think you need me as silent back-up,” Jaskier said quickly.
Geralt laughed and shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but I think it’s for the best that you stay here to continue your recovery.”
“You’re probably right,” Jaskier said, examining his fingers.
Geralt registered Jaskier’s disappointment that he wouldn’t be able to accompany him this time. It would be months before Jaskier would be able to tag along. For one thing, he was still quite fragile. He could barely walk with the help of Yennefer’s servants. He’d have a difficult time following Geralt on foot, and just as difficult a time if Geralt let him ride Roach. It was a pity because Jaskier did so love the hunts for monsters and the tales he could craft from the many daunting experiences.
“I don’t think I’ve ever told you this before,” Geralt said. “But you’ve always been quite brave for following me on my hunts.”
It felt good for Geralt to unburden himself by sharing one of the things he admired most about Jaskier. It was another small way that Geralt could express how much he cared for the bard, without expecting anything in return.
Jaskier looked down, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. “But I’m not brave at all,” he said, resting both free hands on his own chest. “I just pretend to be brave, so I can accompany you. It lessens the chance that you’ll send me away.”
Geralt closed his eyes as the words gripped his heart. He needed to say something, anything to acknowledge Jaskier’s affection.
“You don’t need to pretend,” Geralt said, opening his eyes. He lay one large hand over both of Jaskier’s mangled hands. “I know what you’re capable of, and I know your fears.”
“Witcher senses, right?” Jaskier asked with a grin.
Geralt sighed. “Jaskier, you need never pretend to be something, anything other than yourself. Not for me.”
Jaskier blinked owlishly at Geralt. It was as if he hadn’t considered that he could simply be himself where Geralt was concerned.
Geralt nodded and said, “Now, let’s get these hands bandaged up again before Yennefer has both of our heads.”
~
The drowners would have been less problematic, if not for Jaskier.
Geralt met with the alderman who described the lake where the drowners were suspected to dwell. The lake, and the waterways that emptied into it, seemed to be the base for the terror that the drowners brought to the livestock of the town. Gone unchecked, they’d start making off with small children.
The alderman promised a hefty sum if Geralt brought him the heads of more than one drowner. The reward for a solitary beast was less than Geralt would have liked, but it was the best he could negotiate since the alderman already knew that Geralt was taking advantage of the local mage’s hospitality. Yennefer wasn’t to be trusted entirely with this arrangement, but at least Jaskier would be safe in her hands for a few days.
Geralt set off alone, following the crudely drawn map. Drowners were known to hunt in packs, so Geralt took precautions by preparing a speed-enhancing potion while he waited for darkness to fall.
“You’ll be fine here, girl,” Geralt assured Roach as he led her to a nearby meadow of sweetgrass.
If Jaskier were well enough to travel with Geralt, he could have been tasked with tending to Roach while Geralt waded along the lake shore. It truly was kind of Jaskier to offer to tag along, despite it being impossible in his debilitated state. Now that Jaskier seemed to accept wholeheartedly Geralt’s apology for his actions on the mountain, Geralt looked forward to the future when Jaskier could join him on monster hunts again. Maybe by then, Geralt could learn more about the fluttery feeling he had in his chest whenever he thought of the bard.
Geralt trudged through the murky waters. Ripples of waves washed against the shore. Their foam was illuminated by moonlight so bright that Geralt didn’t need to use special abilities to see in the dark. He wondered if Jaskier had fallen asleep yet. The moon would be visible outside his window at Yennefer’s manor house. Geralt hoped that the brightness wouldn’t interfere with his rest. He worried that the bard would get little sleep while Geralt was away. He hoped that his restlessness wouldn’t interfere with his healing.
Geralt never had difficulty falling into a meditative trance when he needed to sleep, but he had become accustomed to sleeping at Jaskier’s side again. He hated to think of the sleepless night he, too, would get without the bard.
The lake was painfully silent. After an hour or two, Geralt doubted whether drowners inhabited the waters there at all. He made his way back to Roach and grabbed his bedroll from her saddlebags.
“We’ll rest here and wait,” Geralt said to the mare.
He made a crude fire-ring from stones at the edge of the meadow and used his powers to cast a spark of igni into the kindling. If Jaskier were here, he could be given the chore of gathering firewood. Geralt missed his company, as well as the extra set of hands that were always willing to do what was necessary to make a rough camp more inviting.
Geralt hoped that the fire would attract some drowner activity, but it wasn’t to be. He curled up on his side. The weak fire and Roach served as his only companions. He would remain alert through the night, in case the monsters dared to rear their heads.
Tucked into his bedroll, Geralt bunched a blanket into a ball and held it to his chest. In his mind’s eye, it served as a substitute for Jaskier. Geralt let his fingers tenderly caress the blanket, wishing it were the bard’s hair, his shoulder, his flank. He allowed a dream to wash over him, a dream where Jaskier truly did love him. The absurdity of such a promise was pushed aside and in his dream state, he believed in the dream and its truth. Before he drifted off to a restless sleep, fingers stroking an imaginary body, he whispered, “Goodnight, Jaskier.”
The following day was less than rewarding. Drowners were known to be most active at night, so Geralt spent the day brushing Roach and hunting a rabbit that he skinned and cooked for his dinner before night fell.
When an orange sky remained after the sun slipped beneath the horizon, Geralt stood at the water’s edge. He scanned the surface, hoping that the drowners would appear and that he could get on with the hunt that would earn him some coin, as well as keep him in Yennefer’s good graces.
He waded into the shallow water.
He had led Roach away from the lake, as he had done the previous night. Like Jaskier, Roach needed to be kept as far from danger as possible. The benefit of having a companion, be it in the form of a horse or a sweet-voiced bard, was not something to sacrifice by engaging in an ill-prepared hunt. If Geralt had an oren for every time he had to change his intended attack plan to keep Jaskier or Roach out of harm’s way, he’d be able to afford a bath and a room in every backwater town from Nilfgaard to Kaedwen.
Under a moonlit sky, Geralt sensed movement in the water, just beneath the surface. He drew the silver blade from its sheath. He had been so focused on his thoughts about Jaskier that he hadn’t noticed the swarm of drowners that fearlessly emerged from the water behind him.
He quickly downed his potion and, taking advantage of the speed he gained from it, Geralt turned swiftly to meet the first drowner with his blade. The drowner let out an ear-piercing shriek as it slid beneath the surface of the water with its head removed from its shoulders. The cacophony incited the other drowners to attack.
Geralt estimated that there were at least six drowners in the lake, now five because of the one that he had dispatched. But, there was no time to think. One of the drowners landed on his back with the wet slap of putrid flesh against the leather of Geralt’s armour.
Geralt pivoted to the left, slicing through a third drowner’s gelatinous limb as it reached out for him. Grabbing the leg of the drowner on his back, Geralt yanked the limb so it stretched to twice its length, forcing the drowner off Geralt’s back and into the depths where it met Geralt’s blade that pinned him to the shallow lake bottom.
If Jaskier were here, he could have warned Geralt about the pair of drowners who teamed up to dive below the surface of the lake. They wrapped themselves, one around each of Geralt’s legs, knocking him off balance.
But Jaskier wasn’t here. Geralt hoped that he was sound asleep, his injuries wrapped in new dressings and a peaceful smile on his lips.
Jaskier… the bard was going to be the death of Geralt.
Geralt knew he needed to put Jaskier out of his mind for a moment while he addressed the monster issue at hand. “Sorry, Jask,” Geralt muttered before giving his full attention to the drowners that tugged at his legs. He nearly nicked himself with a slash of his sword as he released one, then the other, of the monsters. Both were sent to their death in the depths.
There was still another drowner unaccounted for. Geralt pirouetted to his right as the monster rose from the water. The vile beast got one slash in, before meeting its end at the tip of Geralt’s blade. Geralt’s hand moved involuntarily to his right bicep, where the drowner’s claws had sliced through the leather to break his skin.
“Fuck,” Geralt grunted as he sloshed through the water to reach the shore. He sat on the sandy beach and applied pressure to the wound. It would heal well enough, but he regretted suffering an injury to his sword arm.
Geralt whistled for Roach to come to him. The ever-obedient horse sensed that the hunt was over. She stood still while Geralt took a satchel from her saddlebag.
Geralt waded into the water with his steel sword. The sooner he could collect the heads from the drowners to bring to the alderman, the sooner he could get back to Jaskier.
~
Yennefer strode across the cobbled path in the front garden when Geralt arrived at the manor.
“I need to see him,” Geralt said, without preamble. The scent of autumn lilies filled his nostrils with their sharp aroma. It drowned out the familiar sweet scent of lilac and gooseberries.
“He’s just fallen asleep,” Yennefer said, stepping back to put herself between Geralt and the entry door.
“It’s past noon.”
“I take it your hunt was successful?”
“There were more monsters than I bargained for,” Geralt said, casting a suspicious glance at Yennefer.
“I’m sorry, Geralt. But had I known, I still couldn’t have done anything differently,” Yennefer said. “You know how alderman can be. How many were there?”
“Six,” Geralt said, catching his breath. He should have known better than to rush back when Yennefer wanted to play gatekeeper to Jaskier.
“And you dispatched them without incident?”
“Hardly.”
“You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.”
“I could-” Yennefer began as she opened the front door of her manor.
“It’s nothing. I want to see Jaskier.”
“Let him sleep, Geralt,” Yennefer said, laying her hand on Geralt’s chest. “He’s had a couple rough nights without you.”
Geralt sighed. The least he could do was go to Jaskier. He needed to check on him. He wanted to see him to make sure he was alive, breathing, recovering well. Only then would he be able to change out of his armour that still dripped with lake water and drowner viscera.
“Come with me, I want to show you something,” Yennefer said.
Geralt followed Yennefer down the hall and into the room where their meals were served. The long table never had more guests than the two of them, although there was seating and elaborate place settings for more than twenty.
“I obtained something for him while you were away,” Yennefer said. “But I saved it, so you could give it to him yourself.”
Yennefer walked to a chest that graced her dining area.
“He doesn’t know about it,” she said. “And we may want to wait until he’s a bit stronger before you gift it to him.”
Geralt’s eyes went wide as Yennefer took the lute from the chest.
“Where did you get it?” Geralt asked. He took the instrument from Yennefer and rubbed his hand along its neck.
“Some elves owed me a favour,” Yennefer said.
Geralt turned the lute in his hands-gently, because Jaskier had admonished him many times over the years about being too rough with the delicate instrument. He admired the rich polish and intricate scrollwork it possessed. It was beautiful, as beautiful as Jaskier himself.
“Of course it’s not the original one that was destroyed at Lord Mathen’s place.”
“It was destroyed…” Geralt said, nodding with sadness.
“I tried to get it back. I opened a portal and searched the premises, but it was hopelessly damaged. The strings broken and the wood burned in the fireplace. But this one is near enough a copy, I think,” Yennefer said. “He’ll probably notice the difference, but it was the best I could do, under the circumstances.”
“No, it’s fine,” Geralt said, holding the instrument carefully. He could well imagine Jaskier lazily strumming the strings, although he took care to ensure that the instrument remained silent in his clumsy hands. “He’ll get used to it in time. It’s perfect.”
“I was thinking we shouldn’t give it to him until we’re sure he can move his fingers well enough to play?”
“Maybe,” Geralt said. “Or maybe it will be just the thing to inspire his healing?”
“In any case, do whatever you think is best with it,” Yennefer nodded.
“Yennefer,” Geralt said, “you could have given it to him yourself. You didn’t have to wait.”
“I suppose not,” Yennefer said, taking the lute from Geralt. “But I think he’ll appreciate it more coming from you. After all, you are his favourite mutant.”
Geralt laughed at that. “I’ll be sure to let him know that you had a hand in getting it for him. He owes you so much thanks, as do I.”
“You’re welcome,” Yennefer said, as she secured the instrument in its case. “As for Jaskier, I do feel like I owe him an apology for getting off on the wrong foot with him. Perhaps this is my own small way of making up for it.”
Geralt quirked an eyebrow at Yennefer. He wasn’t sure what she meant.
“When you brought him to me after he had been strangled by the djinn….”
“Hmm,” Geralt grunted, but he had no idea what Yennefer was going on about.
“When I tried to bend him to my will,” Yennefer said. “I thought if he cast his final wish for the djinn, I could get what I wanted. I may have made demands of him… physical demands, for which he did not give consent.”
“He doesn’t have any grievance with you for that,” Geralt said. He vaguely remembered the story of how Yennefer had groped at Jaskier’s crotch when she was hell-bent on having her way. “It was years ago.”
“That may be true,” Yennefer said, stepping forward to take the lute from Geralt. “But the condition he was in when you brought him to me has made me reflect on my past actions with regret.”
“You can apologize to him, if you think it will make you feel better,” Geralt said. “I have no doubt he’ll put your mind at ease.”
Of course he would, just as Jaskier had always put Geralt’s mind at ease. Not only had he forgiven Geralt’s punishing words on the mountain, but he also gave Geralt reason to believe that their friendship could be renewed. And not only friendship, the affection they felt for each other lingered just below the surface, as it had for years… but Geralt didn’t share those thoughts with Yennefer.
“I will offer my apology if a suitable time comes,” Yennefer said, averting her eyes.
Geralt wondered what brought this regret to the forefront of Yennefer’s thoughts. He became concerned that there was more to Yennefer’s reminiscence over the first time she and Jaskier met.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Geralt asked.
Yennefer looked like a cat caught with her paw in the cream. She huffed out a breath. “It’s the damage he’s suffered at the hands of Lord Mathen’s men.”
“Damage?”
“Damage, yes, Geralt. He still has some internal injuries from the abuse he suffered, but he’s making an effort to walk a bit each day,” Yennefer said. “Still, I fear he is more damaged by the fact that his will was taken away by those men. He hasn’t slept soundly since you left to take care of the drowners. Potions don’t seem to make a difference.”
“Hmm,” Geralt grunted. So this was what reminded Yennefer of the transgressions she made against Jaskier when they first met. This was something he’d need to address further, since Yennefer apparently had no intention of making things clear with him. She knew more about Jaskier’s condition than she refused to discuss openly. It made him curious and not a little suspicious. He wondered what else Yennefer knew. What other secrets did she keep locked inside her mage’s mind?
“Why don’t you enjoy a bath for now?” Yennefer said, wrinkling her nose.
“Jaskier.”
“I’ll go watch over Jaskier’s sleep and I’ll notify you as soon as he awakens,” Yennefer said, dipping her head to inspect the drowner slash on Geralt’s bicep. “It will please him to see you cleaned up and relatively unharmed from your drowner hunt.”
Geralt agreed. If anything, a private bath would allow him time to consider the damage Yennefer spoke of. There was more to this that she wasn’t telling him.
“He called for you in his half-sleep, you know,” Yennefer said, lifting her eyes from Geralt’s injury.
Geralt made a huff of acknowledgement and headed for the bathing room.
Perhaps Jaskier was more damaged than he thought.
~
Geralt inspected the gash on his arm. The wound had sealed somewhat already. A thin line of scabbing rose from his skin like a road on a relief map. When the scab fell off, he probably wouldn’t even have much of a scar to show for his experience.
If only Jaskier could heal as quickly.
Sinking down into the water, Geralt let its soothing heat soak into his skin. The bathing room was silent. Only the gentle splash of water against the marble walls of the tub and the hinted sound of steam rising reached Geralt’s sensitive ears.
He wouldn’t need Yennefer to tell him if Jaskier awoke calling his name. He’d be able to sense it through the walls of the manor, despite the distance between Jaskier’s room and the room where Geralt bathed. Geralt’s senses had always been more attuned to Jaskier.
Yennefer had told him that Jaskier had called for him in his fevered sleep state. Geralt inhaled deeply to calm himself. The scent of chamomile from the bath worked its wonders.
Geralt knew well the dire feeling of calling out for help, only to go unanswered. When he began his journey on the Path, he had lost count of how many times he had called out for his mother. How many sleepless nights he spent crying into his pillow at Kaer Morhen?
He wouldn’t wish such trauma on anyone, especially not Jaskier. And yet, here they were.
Jaskier was as damaged as young Geralt had been. The thought of having someone who cared about him in those days washed over him like the rush of a tide. The young witcher, grieving over his abandonment was tended to by his brother wolves and Vesemir. The crying in the night for his mother became less frequent as time went on. With care, the orphaned boy would grow into the witcher he was destined to become.
But such damage could seldom be completely undone. Geralt still carried the scars of his mother’s abandonment within him, no matter how the Trial of the Grasses sought to bury it beneath the scarred flesh and the equally scarred mind of a witcher. Perhaps it would be the same for Jaskier. Whatever Mathen’s men had done to him, it wasn’t something that Jaskier could brush aside with his usual good cheer.
Geralt needed to help Jaskier to overcome this. Not only because he felt responsible for Jaskier’s plight, but because Jaskier was his friend, his companion, his bard, and more. But where to begin? If Jaskier handled such abuse in the same manner as Geralt did, burying it deeply beneath his layers of stoicism and solitude, it would be years before the subject could be discussed. And even then, it would need to be accompanied by a substantial amount of ale.
“Master Geralt?”
A knock came on the door, interrupting Geralt’s thoughts.
“What is it?” he grunted.
The door opened and one of Yennefer’s handmaidens poked her head into the bathing room.
“It’s the bard,” she said. “Mistress Yennefer asked me to tell you that he was awake.”
“Thank you for letting me know,” Geralt said with a nod.
He waited until the handmaiden left, then dried himself quickly and dressed to go see Jaskier. Perhaps he’d figure a way to help him in the moments it took to traverse the manor along its torchlit passageways, but he doubted it.
~
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Geralt of Rivia | Geralt z Rivii/Jaskier |Dandelion
Rating: R
Words: 41,668
Warnings: Rape/non-con elements. Mind control. Implied/referenced mind control. Implied/referenced homophobia. Canon-typical violence.
A/N: For All the Things We Wished We’d Done was written for The Witcher Big Bang 2020. Please see Chapter 1 for additional notes.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!
“There’s been talk of drowners terrorizing a village on the outskirts of Novigrad,” Yennefer said over a breakfast of boiled eggs and toast smeared with butter.
“Hmm,” Geralt replied.
“Goats have been disappearing from the lakeside all summer, apparently. Nash Walenty is worried he won’t have enough milk to make cheese to last the winter.”
“Get to the point,” Geralt said.
“News travels fast,” Yennefer said, resolutely. “It’s no secret that I’m hosting a witcher who could rid the town of drowners and earn some coin for his efforts.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt said, although he knew Yennefer needed no reminder.
During the past week, Yennefer plied Jaskier with potions to heal his broken body. Lucid moments were few. When Jaskier was awake, Geralt tended to him. He took the place of Yennefer’s handmaidens whenever he could. Many nights, he simply lay with Jaskier until he fell asleep again.
“I’m capable of watching over him,” Yennefer said.
Geralt had no intention of insulting Yennefer by indicating that Jaskier was in less than capable hands with her at his bedside.
Geralt wordlessly grunted.
“Is that a yes or a no?” Yennefer asked.
“I’ll ask him what he thinks of the idea,” Geralt said. “But if he so much as hints that he’d be uncomfortable with me gone, I’m staying.”
Yennefer drank from her goblet and levelled her gaze at Geralt. “For a man who owes me a favour in return for my healing skills, you have fewer options than you might think.”
Geralt didn’t like this game at all. “Drowners are no problem for me,” he said sternly, “but Jaskier will make the decision.”
~
“You’re still awake,” Geralt greeted, lowering himself onto Jaskier’s bed so he could sit beside him. He brought a plate of buttered toast to offer, in case Jaskier was hungry.
“You just missed the ladies,” Jaskier said with a wave of a wrapped and splinted hand.
“I saw them leaving,” Geralt said. Yennefer’s helpers had been tending to Jaskier several times each day. A fire had been lit in the hearth and Jaskier’s skin glowed, fresh from a recent bathing. “I know they’re taking good care of you.”
Jaskier shifted to get more comfortable, grimacing as he did so.
Geralt suspected that the broken ribs made Jaskier’s every movement painful. He had suffered broken ribs many times in his monster hunts, and he remembered how painful they were to endure. Geralt healed quickly, but Jaskier lacked the healing powers of a witcher and so he suffered worse from the pain than Geralt ever had.
“Let me help you,” Geralt said, adjusting the pillow behind Jaskier’s head.
Geralt was new to playing nursemaid and it showed. No matter how he tried to help, he always felt inadequate. Still, he tried. He was committed to doing anything he could to alleviate Jaskier’s pain. It wasn’t simply the guilt that made Geralt want to help care for Jaskier in these days he had spent at Yennefer’s. Now that Jaskier allowed him to apologize for the way he treated him on the mountain, Geralt worked to restore their friendship.
“Did you eat breakfast?” Geralt asked. “I brought you some toast.”
“It’s humiliating to be spoon fed by Yennefer’s lackeys, I’ll have you know,” Jaskier said.
Geralt doubted it was a terrible experience for Jaskier. He always had eyes for beautiful maidens. Geralt couldn’t imagine Jaskier being too upset by being waited on, literally hand and foot, by them.
“I thought you went in for that sort of thing,” Geralt said, picking at the coverlet that was draped over Jaskier. “Almost a royal treatment. Didn’t you once tell me that you’re a viscount?”
“Pfft,” Jaskier dismissed Geralt’s notions. “It doesn’t matter to them. They treat me like a baby.”
Whether Jaskier realized it or not, he needed to be treated like a fragile human. He was near death when Geralt brought him to Yennefer. Bruised, beaten, and suffering all manner of physical torture, to say nothing of the damage to his spirit. Jaskier deserved to be treated with delicate care and kindness.
“They’re doing the best they can to help you,” Geralt said.
“I took a few bites of the porridge they offered me. It seemed to appease them,” Jaskier said. “Where’s that toast?”
“Hmm,” Geralt grunted. Whoever said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach had it right. Geralt shifted on the bed and reached for the plate of toast. The butter had fully melted into the crispy bread. He took a slice between his fingers and offered it to Jaskier.
“See what I mean? I’m like a helpless child,” Jaskier noted with a raised eyebrow before he took a bite.
Jaskier had a point. Geralt would find the inability to feed himself as frustrating as Jaskier did. He held the toast within the grasp of Jaskier’s teeth, allowing the bard to bite off and chew as much as he wanted. Geralt found himself mesmerized as Jaskier’s pink tongue darted out to lick the crumbs from his fingers.
“Do I have any more ale left?” Jaskier asked, shaking Geralt from his concentration.
“Of course,” Geralt said, wiping his fingers on a napkin before fetching Jaskier’s ale cup for him.
He held the cup steady while Jaskier’s bandaged hand clumsily guided the cup to his mouth. When Jaskier was satisfied, Geralt returned the cup to the small table at his bedside.
“How are your hands this morning?” Geralt asked. “It looks like you’re able to move them around a bit better.”
“They ache,” Jaskier said dramatically, without giving it too much thought.
“I’m sorry,” Geralt said, observing the splints and bandages that held his fingers straight.
“I wish they weren’t so bound up like this,” Jaskier said. “I know it’s for the best, but it’s maddening to be unable to touch my own fingers with the fingers of my other hand. Do you know what I mean?”
Geralt nodded his head. He didn’t quite understand what Jaskier was getting at. Any time he had been injured in the past, he simply dealt with the inconvenience until he had healed. Of course, he healed quickly, but the bandages and stitches that he endured were never particularly bothersome.
“My fingers itch,” Jaskier complained. “And they’re stiff. I doubt I’ll ever be able to move them again.”
Geralt noted the resignation in Jaskier’s eyes. He wished there were something he could do to alleviate his distress.
“Give me your hand,” Geralt said.
Without showing signs of too much discomfort, Jaskier lifted an arm so Geralt could take one of his wrapped hands in both of his.
“Yennefer probably won’t approve of this, but I know something that might help,” Geralt said.
“Well, get on with it before she barges in here,” Jaskier said. “I know you rely on her to heal me, but I still don’t trust her. Oh… oh….”
“How does this feel?” Geralt asked. He had unwound the strips of bandages that held Jaskier’s fingers in place. Exposed to the air, the fingers looked straight, but a bit like wilted carrots. With feather-light strokes, Geralt traced each finger in its turn, letting the warmth of his touch seep into Jaskier’s skin.
Jaskier closed his eyes and let his head drop onto his pillows.
“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier moaned. “That feels wondrous.”
Geralt could not contain his smile. It seemed like he could finally do something to alleviate the bard’s pain. He did his best to avoid jostling a finger out of place. He simply supported Jaskier’s fingers in one hand while he gently stroked each digit.
Jaskier shivered when Geralt traced the straight line of the bones past each knuckle to Jaskier’s fingertips.
“They look good,” Geralt said. “You’ll be able to use them in no time.”
“You know… I’m still a bit angry that you left me on the mountain,” Jaskier gasped. “But if you can do this whenever I command, I think I could let bygones be bygones.”
Geralt smiled. The closed eyes and satisfied expression on Jaskier’s face was all that Geralt needed for him to continue stroking Jaskier’s fingers as he wished. Root to tip, root to tip, with the lightest of touches. It was a comfort that Geralt found easy to give.
“Your other hand,” Geralt asked. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Yes, please,” Jaskier said blinking his blue eyes open and placing his other hand in Geralt’s so he could provide it with the same attention.
Geralt sighed and unwrapped the bandages while Jaskier looked on. He slowly caressed the wrinkled skin of Jaskier’s broken fingers while he supported his hand.
“The insane witch will kill us for this,” Jaskier said. “It feels too good for her to approve of it.”
“Watch your tongue,” Geralt said with a smile. “She’s done her best to heal you.”
“True,” Jaskier said reluctantly.
“Don’t fret. I won’t let her interfere with whatever small scrap of pleasure you might get from this,” Geralt said.
It was such a simple thing. To gently stroke Jaskier’s damaged fingers while he recovered. A monster hunt would have been more exciting, but the satisfaction that came from giving Jaskier some relief from his pain was a better reward than any coin.
Jaskier closed his eyes again as Geralt tended to his other hand. His dark lashes splayed over his cheeks, no longer badly marred by the bruising that coloured them when Geralt first brought him to Yennefer.
“You like to watch me,” Jaskier said without opening his eyes.
“Hmm,” Geralt grunted. And then he boldly admitted, “I do.”
“What are you thinking?” Jaskier asked, opening his eyes.
Geralt stumbled over his words, but he figured it could do no harm to confess his thoughts. Not when Jaskier had always willingly shared so much of himself with Geralt.
“I was thinking that the bruises on your face are healing well,” Geralt said.
“I must have looked terrible when I first arrived here,” Jaskier said.
“It was dark when we arrived,” Geralt said perfunctorily.
The guilt still peeked out from the recesses of Geralt’s memory from that night. It was difficult to think about what abuse Jaskier had suffered before he found him. The stench of blood, mud, and semen was not something Geralt could easily forget. It would be impossible for Geralt to engage in a conversation about the experience with Jaskier. Geralt was terrible with words. The nature of Jaskier’s injuries put a discussion about them even more out of reach, but he supposed the day would soon come. He’d try to be ready for it, although he had no idea how to prepare to discuss such an uncomfortable topic.
Jaskier manoeuvred his hand so he drew Geralt’s fingers to his face. He raised his eyes to meet Geralt’s.
With his battle-hardened knuckles, Geralt stroked the soft skin of Jaskier’s cheek. The bruising had changed from dark purple to greenish yellow-and now to a lighter shade of pink, in the days that had passed. Geralt was relieved that there didn’t seem to be any permanent scarring to Jaskier’s face.
“I thought about you… I’m glad you came… on that night.... Thank you for helping me,” Jaskier said.
To Geralt, it was unthinkable that he would do anything but help Jaskier in his recovery. He slid his thumb across Jaskier’s cheek and let it rest by his ear.
“I’ll do whatever I can,” Geralt said feebly.
More than anything, Geralt wanted to kiss him. But it wasn’t the time to test Yennefer’s affirmation that Jaskier loved him, nor was it time to find out whether a monster like him could be worthy of Jaskier’s kiss. Geralt feared the answer he’d receive.
Geralt hated that Yennefer had asked him to take care of the drowners. He belonged here with Jaskier and he wanted to stay by his side so he could help him. He needed to discuss the possibility of leaving Jaskier for a few days. Perhaps now was as good a time as any. If anything, it would take the possibility of discussing Jaskier’s injuries off the table.
“I need to ask you something,” Geralt said.
Jaskier’s eyes brightened and he rested his unbound hand on his chest. It was almost as if his hand weighed as much as a boulder that Jaskier found difficult to support.
“Yennefer told me that some of the townsfolk know that I’m here.”
“Is there trouble?” Jaskier asked.
“No, not with my presence,” Geralt assured him. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“What is it?” Jaskier asked curiously.
“There’s been a problem with drowners inhabiting one of the lakes. They’ve killed some livestock and pose a threat to the villagers. They’d like me to take care of them,” Geralt said.
Jaskier looked worried.
Geralt gently tapped Jaskier’s forehead with a finger. “I told Yennefer that I wouldn’t do it, if you wanted me to stay here with you.”
Jaskier sighed softly.
“If you need me to stay here, I will,” Geralt said.
“No,” Jaskier said resolutely. His lips drew into a thin line.
“You’re sure?”
“No, you need to help the villagers. It’s what you do… a friend of humanity and all that,” Jaskier said with a nod. “I don’t want you to stop your witchery business on my account.”
“I won’t be gone long,” Geralt said. “A few days at most.”
So, it was settled, but more importantly, Jaskier’s reaction pleased Geralt. The encouragement he gave him to accept the contract indicated that Jaskier was on his way to healing- not only on the outside, but within his mind as well. It was a good sign, on par with the fading bruises on Jaskier’s cheek.
“When will you leave?” Jaskier asked. He unthinkingly reached for Geralt’s hand.
“Careful,” Geralt said, grasping the unbandaged fingers before they could be damaged by so much unsupported movement. “I think I’ll try to contact the town’s alderman tomorrow morning. Another night to locate the drowners, and another day for good measure. I should be able to dispatch the drowners without too much trouble.”
“Drowners never stand a chance against you,” Jaskier said with a sparkle in his eye.
Normally, Geralt would have responded with a grunt that meant, of course they are no match for me, but instead Geralt tilted his head in acknowledgement. The compliment warmed Geralt to his core.
“I could go with you, if you think you need me as silent back-up,” Jaskier said quickly.
Geralt laughed and shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but I think it’s for the best that you stay here to continue your recovery.”
“You’re probably right,” Jaskier said, examining his fingers.
Geralt registered Jaskier’s disappointment that he wouldn’t be able to accompany him this time. It would be months before Jaskier would be able to tag along. For one thing, he was still quite fragile. He could barely walk with the help of Yennefer’s servants. He’d have a difficult time following Geralt on foot, and just as difficult a time if Geralt let him ride Roach. It was a pity because Jaskier did so love the hunts for monsters and the tales he could craft from the many daunting experiences.
“I don’t think I’ve ever told you this before,” Geralt said. “But you’ve always been quite brave for following me on my hunts.”
It felt good for Geralt to unburden himself by sharing one of the things he admired most about Jaskier. It was another small way that Geralt could express how much he cared for the bard, without expecting anything in return.
Jaskier looked down, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. “But I’m not brave at all,” he said, resting both free hands on his own chest. “I just pretend to be brave, so I can accompany you. It lessens the chance that you’ll send me away.”
Geralt closed his eyes as the words gripped his heart. He needed to say something, anything to acknowledge Jaskier’s affection.
“You don’t need to pretend,” Geralt said, opening his eyes. He lay one large hand over both of Jaskier’s mangled hands. “I know what you’re capable of, and I know your fears.”
“Witcher senses, right?” Jaskier asked with a grin.
Geralt sighed. “Jaskier, you need never pretend to be something, anything other than yourself. Not for me.”
Jaskier blinked owlishly at Geralt. It was as if he hadn’t considered that he could simply be himself where Geralt was concerned.
Geralt nodded and said, “Now, let’s get these hands bandaged up again before Yennefer has both of our heads.”
~
The drowners would have been less problematic, if not for Jaskier.
Geralt met with the alderman who described the lake where the drowners were suspected to dwell. The lake, and the waterways that emptied into it, seemed to be the base for the terror that the drowners brought to the livestock of the town. Gone unchecked, they’d start making off with small children.
The alderman promised a hefty sum if Geralt brought him the heads of more than one drowner. The reward for a solitary beast was less than Geralt would have liked, but it was the best he could negotiate since the alderman already knew that Geralt was taking advantage of the local mage’s hospitality. Yennefer wasn’t to be trusted entirely with this arrangement, but at least Jaskier would be safe in her hands for a few days.
Geralt set off alone, following the crudely drawn map. Drowners were known to hunt in packs, so Geralt took precautions by preparing a speed-enhancing potion while he waited for darkness to fall.
“You’ll be fine here, girl,” Geralt assured Roach as he led her to a nearby meadow of sweetgrass.
If Jaskier were well enough to travel with Geralt, he could have been tasked with tending to Roach while Geralt waded along the lake shore. It truly was kind of Jaskier to offer to tag along, despite it being impossible in his debilitated state. Now that Jaskier seemed to accept wholeheartedly Geralt’s apology for his actions on the mountain, Geralt looked forward to the future when Jaskier could join him on monster hunts again. Maybe by then, Geralt could learn more about the fluttery feeling he had in his chest whenever he thought of the bard.
Geralt trudged through the murky waters. Ripples of waves washed against the shore. Their foam was illuminated by moonlight so bright that Geralt didn’t need to use special abilities to see in the dark. He wondered if Jaskier had fallen asleep yet. The moon would be visible outside his window at Yennefer’s manor house. Geralt hoped that the brightness wouldn’t interfere with his rest. He worried that the bard would get little sleep while Geralt was away. He hoped that his restlessness wouldn’t interfere with his healing.
Geralt never had difficulty falling into a meditative trance when he needed to sleep, but he had become accustomed to sleeping at Jaskier’s side again. He hated to think of the sleepless night he, too, would get without the bard.
The lake was painfully silent. After an hour or two, Geralt doubted whether drowners inhabited the waters there at all. He made his way back to Roach and grabbed his bedroll from her saddlebags.
“We’ll rest here and wait,” Geralt said to the mare.
He made a crude fire-ring from stones at the edge of the meadow and used his powers to cast a spark of igni into the kindling. If Jaskier were here, he could be given the chore of gathering firewood. Geralt missed his company, as well as the extra set of hands that were always willing to do what was necessary to make a rough camp more inviting.
Geralt hoped that the fire would attract some drowner activity, but it wasn’t to be. He curled up on his side. The weak fire and Roach served as his only companions. He would remain alert through the night, in case the monsters dared to rear their heads.
Tucked into his bedroll, Geralt bunched a blanket into a ball and held it to his chest. In his mind’s eye, it served as a substitute for Jaskier. Geralt let his fingers tenderly caress the blanket, wishing it were the bard’s hair, his shoulder, his flank. He allowed a dream to wash over him, a dream where Jaskier truly did love him. The absurdity of such a promise was pushed aside and in his dream state, he believed in the dream and its truth. Before he drifted off to a restless sleep, fingers stroking an imaginary body, he whispered, “Goodnight, Jaskier.”
The following day was less than rewarding. Drowners were known to be most active at night, so Geralt spent the day brushing Roach and hunting a rabbit that he skinned and cooked for his dinner before night fell.
When an orange sky remained after the sun slipped beneath the horizon, Geralt stood at the water’s edge. He scanned the surface, hoping that the drowners would appear and that he could get on with the hunt that would earn him some coin, as well as keep him in Yennefer’s good graces.
He waded into the shallow water.
He had led Roach away from the lake, as he had done the previous night. Like Jaskier, Roach needed to be kept as far from danger as possible. The benefit of having a companion, be it in the form of a horse or a sweet-voiced bard, was not something to sacrifice by engaging in an ill-prepared hunt. If Geralt had an oren for every time he had to change his intended attack plan to keep Jaskier or Roach out of harm’s way, he’d be able to afford a bath and a room in every backwater town from Nilfgaard to Kaedwen.
Under a moonlit sky, Geralt sensed movement in the water, just beneath the surface. He drew the silver blade from its sheath. He had been so focused on his thoughts about Jaskier that he hadn’t noticed the swarm of drowners that fearlessly emerged from the water behind him.
He quickly downed his potion and, taking advantage of the speed he gained from it, Geralt turned swiftly to meet the first drowner with his blade. The drowner let out an ear-piercing shriek as it slid beneath the surface of the water with its head removed from its shoulders. The cacophony incited the other drowners to attack.
Geralt estimated that there were at least six drowners in the lake, now five because of the one that he had dispatched. But, there was no time to think. One of the drowners landed on his back with the wet slap of putrid flesh against the leather of Geralt’s armour.
Geralt pivoted to the left, slicing through a third drowner’s gelatinous limb as it reached out for him. Grabbing the leg of the drowner on his back, Geralt yanked the limb so it stretched to twice its length, forcing the drowner off Geralt’s back and into the depths where it met Geralt’s blade that pinned him to the shallow lake bottom.
If Jaskier were here, he could have warned Geralt about the pair of drowners who teamed up to dive below the surface of the lake. They wrapped themselves, one around each of Geralt’s legs, knocking him off balance.
But Jaskier wasn’t here. Geralt hoped that he was sound asleep, his injuries wrapped in new dressings and a peaceful smile on his lips.
Jaskier… the bard was going to be the death of Geralt.
Geralt knew he needed to put Jaskier out of his mind for a moment while he addressed the monster issue at hand. “Sorry, Jask,” Geralt muttered before giving his full attention to the drowners that tugged at his legs. He nearly nicked himself with a slash of his sword as he released one, then the other, of the monsters. Both were sent to their death in the depths.
There was still another drowner unaccounted for. Geralt pirouetted to his right as the monster rose from the water. The vile beast got one slash in, before meeting its end at the tip of Geralt’s blade. Geralt’s hand moved involuntarily to his right bicep, where the drowner’s claws had sliced through the leather to break his skin.
“Fuck,” Geralt grunted as he sloshed through the water to reach the shore. He sat on the sandy beach and applied pressure to the wound. It would heal well enough, but he regretted suffering an injury to his sword arm.
Geralt whistled for Roach to come to him. The ever-obedient horse sensed that the hunt was over. She stood still while Geralt took a satchel from her saddlebag.
Geralt waded into the water with his steel sword. The sooner he could collect the heads from the drowners to bring to the alderman, the sooner he could get back to Jaskier.
~
Yennefer strode across the cobbled path in the front garden when Geralt arrived at the manor.
“I need to see him,” Geralt said, without preamble. The scent of autumn lilies filled his nostrils with their sharp aroma. It drowned out the familiar sweet scent of lilac and gooseberries.
“He’s just fallen asleep,” Yennefer said, stepping back to put herself between Geralt and the entry door.
“It’s past noon.”
“I take it your hunt was successful?”
“There were more monsters than I bargained for,” Geralt said, casting a suspicious glance at Yennefer.
“I’m sorry, Geralt. But had I known, I still couldn’t have done anything differently,” Yennefer said. “You know how alderman can be. How many were there?”
“Six,” Geralt said, catching his breath. He should have known better than to rush back when Yennefer wanted to play gatekeeper to Jaskier.
“And you dispatched them without incident?”
“Hardly.”
“You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.”
“I could-” Yennefer began as she opened the front door of her manor.
“It’s nothing. I want to see Jaskier.”
“Let him sleep, Geralt,” Yennefer said, laying her hand on Geralt’s chest. “He’s had a couple rough nights without you.”
Geralt sighed. The least he could do was go to Jaskier. He needed to check on him. He wanted to see him to make sure he was alive, breathing, recovering well. Only then would he be able to change out of his armour that still dripped with lake water and drowner viscera.
“Come with me, I want to show you something,” Yennefer said.
Geralt followed Yennefer down the hall and into the room where their meals were served. The long table never had more guests than the two of them, although there was seating and elaborate place settings for more than twenty.
“I obtained something for him while you were away,” Yennefer said. “But I saved it, so you could give it to him yourself.”
Yennefer walked to a chest that graced her dining area.
“He doesn’t know about it,” she said. “And we may want to wait until he’s a bit stronger before you gift it to him.”
Geralt’s eyes went wide as Yennefer took the lute from the chest.
“Where did you get it?” Geralt asked. He took the instrument from Yennefer and rubbed his hand along its neck.
“Some elves owed me a favour,” Yennefer said.
Geralt turned the lute in his hands-gently, because Jaskier had admonished him many times over the years about being too rough with the delicate instrument. He admired the rich polish and intricate scrollwork it possessed. It was beautiful, as beautiful as Jaskier himself.
“Of course it’s not the original one that was destroyed at Lord Mathen’s place.”
“It was destroyed…” Geralt said, nodding with sadness.
“I tried to get it back. I opened a portal and searched the premises, but it was hopelessly damaged. The strings broken and the wood burned in the fireplace. But this one is near enough a copy, I think,” Yennefer said. “He’ll probably notice the difference, but it was the best I could do, under the circumstances.”
“No, it’s fine,” Geralt said, holding the instrument carefully. He could well imagine Jaskier lazily strumming the strings, although he took care to ensure that the instrument remained silent in his clumsy hands. “He’ll get used to it in time. It’s perfect.”
“I was thinking we shouldn’t give it to him until we’re sure he can move his fingers well enough to play?”
“Maybe,” Geralt said. “Or maybe it will be just the thing to inspire his healing?”
“In any case, do whatever you think is best with it,” Yennefer nodded.
“Yennefer,” Geralt said, “you could have given it to him yourself. You didn’t have to wait.”
“I suppose not,” Yennefer said, taking the lute from Geralt. “But I think he’ll appreciate it more coming from you. After all, you are his favourite mutant.”
Geralt laughed at that. “I’ll be sure to let him know that you had a hand in getting it for him. He owes you so much thanks, as do I.”
“You’re welcome,” Yennefer said, as she secured the instrument in its case. “As for Jaskier, I do feel like I owe him an apology for getting off on the wrong foot with him. Perhaps this is my own small way of making up for it.”
Geralt quirked an eyebrow at Yennefer. He wasn’t sure what she meant.
“When you brought him to me after he had been strangled by the djinn….”
“Hmm,” Geralt grunted, but he had no idea what Yennefer was going on about.
“When I tried to bend him to my will,” Yennefer said. “I thought if he cast his final wish for the djinn, I could get what I wanted. I may have made demands of him… physical demands, for which he did not give consent.”
“He doesn’t have any grievance with you for that,” Geralt said. He vaguely remembered the story of how Yennefer had groped at Jaskier’s crotch when she was hell-bent on having her way. “It was years ago.”
“That may be true,” Yennefer said, stepping forward to take the lute from Geralt. “But the condition he was in when you brought him to me has made me reflect on my past actions with regret.”
“You can apologize to him, if you think it will make you feel better,” Geralt said. “I have no doubt he’ll put your mind at ease.”
Of course he would, just as Jaskier had always put Geralt’s mind at ease. Not only had he forgiven Geralt’s punishing words on the mountain, but he also gave Geralt reason to believe that their friendship could be renewed. And not only friendship, the affection they felt for each other lingered just below the surface, as it had for years… but Geralt didn’t share those thoughts with Yennefer.
“I will offer my apology if a suitable time comes,” Yennefer said, averting her eyes.
Geralt wondered what brought this regret to the forefront of Yennefer’s thoughts. He became concerned that there was more to Yennefer’s reminiscence over the first time she and Jaskier met.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Geralt asked.
Yennefer looked like a cat caught with her paw in the cream. She huffed out a breath. “It’s the damage he’s suffered at the hands of Lord Mathen’s men.”
“Damage?”
“Damage, yes, Geralt. He still has some internal injuries from the abuse he suffered, but he’s making an effort to walk a bit each day,” Yennefer said. “Still, I fear he is more damaged by the fact that his will was taken away by those men. He hasn’t slept soundly since you left to take care of the drowners. Potions don’t seem to make a difference.”
“Hmm,” Geralt grunted. So this was what reminded Yennefer of the transgressions she made against Jaskier when they first met. This was something he’d need to address further, since Yennefer apparently had no intention of making things clear with him. She knew more about Jaskier’s condition than she refused to discuss openly. It made him curious and not a little suspicious. He wondered what else Yennefer knew. What other secrets did she keep locked inside her mage’s mind?
“Why don’t you enjoy a bath for now?” Yennefer said, wrinkling her nose.
“Jaskier.”
“I’ll go watch over Jaskier’s sleep and I’ll notify you as soon as he awakens,” Yennefer said, dipping her head to inspect the drowner slash on Geralt’s bicep. “It will please him to see you cleaned up and relatively unharmed from your drowner hunt.”
Geralt agreed. If anything, a private bath would allow him time to consider the damage Yennefer spoke of. There was more to this that she wasn’t telling him.
“He called for you in his half-sleep, you know,” Yennefer said, lifting her eyes from Geralt’s injury.
Geralt made a huff of acknowledgement and headed for the bathing room.
Perhaps Jaskier was more damaged than he thought.
~
Geralt inspected the gash on his arm. The wound had sealed somewhat already. A thin line of scabbing rose from his skin like a road on a relief map. When the scab fell off, he probably wouldn’t even have much of a scar to show for his experience.
If only Jaskier could heal as quickly.
Sinking down into the water, Geralt let its soothing heat soak into his skin. The bathing room was silent. Only the gentle splash of water against the marble walls of the tub and the hinted sound of steam rising reached Geralt’s sensitive ears.
He wouldn’t need Yennefer to tell him if Jaskier awoke calling his name. He’d be able to sense it through the walls of the manor, despite the distance between Jaskier’s room and the room where Geralt bathed. Geralt’s senses had always been more attuned to Jaskier.
Yennefer had told him that Jaskier had called for him in his fevered sleep state. Geralt inhaled deeply to calm himself. The scent of chamomile from the bath worked its wonders.
Geralt knew well the dire feeling of calling out for help, only to go unanswered. When he began his journey on the Path, he had lost count of how many times he had called out for his mother. How many sleepless nights he spent crying into his pillow at Kaer Morhen?
He wouldn’t wish such trauma on anyone, especially not Jaskier. And yet, here they were.
Jaskier was as damaged as young Geralt had been. The thought of having someone who cared about him in those days washed over him like the rush of a tide. The young witcher, grieving over his abandonment was tended to by his brother wolves and Vesemir. The crying in the night for his mother became less frequent as time went on. With care, the orphaned boy would grow into the witcher he was destined to become.
But such damage could seldom be completely undone. Geralt still carried the scars of his mother’s abandonment within him, no matter how the Trial of the Grasses sought to bury it beneath the scarred flesh and the equally scarred mind of a witcher. Perhaps it would be the same for Jaskier. Whatever Mathen’s men had done to him, it wasn’t something that Jaskier could brush aside with his usual good cheer.
Geralt needed to help Jaskier to overcome this. Not only because he felt responsible for Jaskier’s plight, but because Jaskier was his friend, his companion, his bard, and more. But where to begin? If Jaskier handled such abuse in the same manner as Geralt did, burying it deeply beneath his layers of stoicism and solitude, it would be years before the subject could be discussed. And even then, it would need to be accompanied by a substantial amount of ale.
“Master Geralt?”
A knock came on the door, interrupting Geralt’s thoughts.
“What is it?” he grunted.
The door opened and one of Yennefer’s handmaidens poked her head into the bathing room.
“It’s the bard,” she said. “Mistress Yennefer asked me to tell you that he was awake.”
“Thank you for letting me know,” Geralt said with a nod.
He waited until the handmaiden left, then dried himself quickly and dressed to go see Jaskier. Perhaps he’d figure a way to help him in the moments it took to traverse the manor along its torchlit passageways, but he doubted it.
~