The frown on Geralt's face deepens momentarily when he sees Jaskier on the floor, the cloak draped over him and his lute in his lap. There's too much in his hands to go tend to him immediately, so Geralt sets everything down, the water and food and supplies, before returning and kneeling in front of the bard again. With the grip that he has on that lute, Geralt's pretty sure that he'd have to break his stupid fingers to get it away from him. Easier to just let him have it, if it gives him comfort.
"I found your room in Gors Velen," he says. "Why would I have left your things?"
And regardless of what Geralt thinks of the barding profession in general, Jaskier loves that damn lute. Loves it more than his own hide, probably, considering that he takes better care of it than he does himself sometimes. But perhaps it's not so alien a concept-- Jaskier's lute is basically the bard's equivalent of Geralt's swords, and he takes meticulous care of his weapons.
There is a part of him, too, that's pleased that Jaskier is pleased. It was nothing for him to carry the lute and his pack along with him, but it's made the bard look at him without bitterness. That makes the minor encumbrance worth it.
"Back to the bed. I can't bandage you when you're on the floor."
It couldn't be comfortable, either. The less that he aggravates his injuries, the better off he'll be. Geralt's arms are plenty strong enough to help a bard back to the bed, even with the added burden of a lute.
Once on the bed again, Geralt could get to work-- the supplies that he'd gotten are sitting on an endtable near the bed, and he takes the pitcher and pours out a glass of water for Jaskier, and a measure into the bowl for cleaning. A brief flash of Igni heats the water to steaming, and the witcher checks it to make sure that it isn't scalding. Then-- with businesslike hands, because anything else would be... too much-- he gets to work, cleaning Jaskier's skin before applying salve and bandages as needed. He even starts from the legs and works his way up, mostly to leave Jaskier to his lute-cuddling for as long as possible.
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"I found your room in Gors Velen," he says. "Why would I have left your things?"
And regardless of what Geralt thinks of the barding profession in general, Jaskier loves that damn lute. Loves it more than his own hide, probably, considering that he takes better care of it than he does himself sometimes. But perhaps it's not so alien a concept-- Jaskier's lute is basically the bard's equivalent of Geralt's swords, and he takes meticulous care of his weapons.
There is a part of him, too, that's pleased that Jaskier is pleased. It was nothing for him to carry the lute and his pack along with him, but it's made the bard look at him without bitterness. That makes the minor encumbrance worth it.
"Back to the bed. I can't bandage you when you're on the floor."
It couldn't be comfortable, either. The less that he aggravates his injuries, the better off he'll be. Geralt's arms are plenty strong enough to help a bard back to the bed, even with the added burden of a lute.
Once on the bed again, Geralt could get to work-- the supplies that he'd gotten are sitting on an endtable near the bed, and he takes the pitcher and pours out a glass of water for Jaskier, and a measure into the bowl for cleaning. A brief flash of Igni heats the water to steaming, and the witcher checks it to make sure that it isn't scalding. Then-- with businesslike hands, because anything else would be... too much-- he gets to work, cleaning Jaskier's skin before applying salve and bandages as needed. He even starts from the legs and works his way up, mostly to leave Jaskier to his lute-cuddling for as long as possible.