Geralt grumbles when Jaskier tugs at his boots, pulling them off one by one, and when he makes the witcher roll over so that he can yank the blankets out from underneath him. It's certainly more comfortable this way, and a few moments later, Jaskier joins him underneath the covers. He feels the warm weight of the bard against his chest, his senses filled with his scent, the sound of his heart. He sighs, gets an arm around Jaskier, and settles; sleep pulls him under with surprising swiftness.
At some point during the night, he rolls, shifting the both of them onto their sides and trapping the bard in the cage of his arms. Had Geralt not spent the past god knows how long staying awake, he would have risen long before Jaskier, would have already been dressed and gone down to train with his brothers by the time the bard had stirred from slumber. But he was making up for an impressive sleep deficiency today, and when Jaskier wakes, he is oblivious to it. Even when the bard tries to wriggle out from underneath his arm, all Geralt does is tighten his grip in his sleep.
Eskel comes to his rescue by bringing up their bags, and thus discovers the poor bard's plight. He laughs about it at first, of course, before he makes any movement to help. In the end, he has to smack Geralt's shoulder a few times and tell him to 'Roll your heavy fucking ass over, Geralt,' before the witcher would budge an inch. He makes some vague, sleepy sounds of protest before releasing his vice grip on the bard and rolling onto his back.
Geralt doesn't wake again until much later; the spot next to him is cold, Jaskier long since gone. He drags himself out of bed and, since their things are there, changes into fresh clothes. Eskel must have been in a good mood that morning; he doubted that Jaskier would want to go down to the stables and haul everything up himself.
By the time Geralt makes it down to the common areas, it's past noon and the morning training is already complete. Eskel and Lambert are seated at a table, their empty lunch plates pushed to the sides, reading from the same book like a pair of schoolboys. He had planned to head for the kitchens and get himself something to eat, but now this is happening and he can't help but investigate. Geralt approaches and looks over Eskel's shoulder to read what's on the page, and sees... something about menstrual cycles, and stops reading.
Lambert looks back at him, his head propped up on his fist. "Did you know that your bard's got balls, Geralt?"
"I had assumed as much," Geralt replies.
"Yeah, no shit, but he had the stones to toss this book at Vesemir and tell us we all need to study up. Where the fuck did you find him again?"
"Posada," he says. "I got the same lecture." Geralt shrugs, then starts walking towards the kitchen; he hasn't been awake long enough to deal with this. "Just read the damn book."
Geralt makes his way into the kitchen; there's leftover kasha from breakfast, and though it's not as good when it's cold, it'll do for a late lunch. He just finished eating it with a little honey when Vesemir emerges from the larder, probably taking stock of their supplies. The fact that the old witcher is here precisely when Geralt is and no one else is not coincidence. He knows this, and waits.
"We need to talk about your bard."
Geralt nods. What Vesemir means, more likely, is that he needs to talk and he wants Geralt to listen. This is not a dialogue, it's an... admonition.
"I will not lecture you on why this bard should not know the secrets that he does," Vesemir says. "What's done is done. We shall see how that trust is repaid, in time."
"Jaskier would not--"
"You brought a bard to our keep. Will you be responsible for every word that comes from his mouth once he's left it?"
Geralt frowns, his forehead furrowing. Jaskier is not always... discreet, and he makes no secret of wanting to know everything he can about Geralt, about witchers, to write it into his songs. And, of course, the purpose of his songs are to be sung throughout the whole damn Continent, that's why he's in such trouble to begin with.
"I am reminding you of this lesson as a kindness to the both of you. Remember what you are, Geralt, because he certainly won't forget. You've been his meal ticket for twenty years, his protection. You do not need him, but he has a great need of you. Do not confuse need, or even want, with something more."
No one wants witchers, so don't think that someone is going to love you. It's an old lesson, from back when he was one of many boys and was still stupid enough to look at Vesemir's scars with admiration. Seems the lesson didn't stick, because here he is, soft on a bard before he'd even gotten the chance to tumble him. And not just any bard-- Jaskier, who has a reputation for falling in and out of love faster than the wind changes, the man who so many have had but no one can keep.
What makes Geralt think that he's somehow any different? If countesses and lords and countless beauties couldn't keep the bard's interest, why the hell would a scarred monster hunter? What does Geralt have to offer him but an early death?
"I don't care what you do with him behind closed doors. Melitele knows you could use an outlet so that I'm not cleaning Lambert's blood off of the floor again this year." If Geralt could flush, he might have done so at that reminder of his poor temper the previous winter. "Just remember that there are some kinds of foolishness that have no place on the Path."
Geralt nods, just once. That's all that Vesemir needs from him; he turns, leaves Geralt sitting in the kitchen while he goes to do whatever else he had planned for that day besides bringing a witcher back to harsh reality.
no subject
At some point during the night, he rolls, shifting the both of them onto their sides and trapping the bard in the cage of his arms. Had Geralt not spent the past god knows how long staying awake, he would have risen long before Jaskier, would have already been dressed and gone down to train with his brothers by the time the bard had stirred from slumber. But he was making up for an impressive sleep deficiency today, and when Jaskier wakes, he is oblivious to it. Even when the bard tries to wriggle out from underneath his arm, all Geralt does is tighten his grip in his sleep.
Eskel comes to his rescue by bringing up their bags, and thus discovers the poor bard's plight. He laughs about it at first, of course, before he makes any movement to help. In the end, he has to smack Geralt's shoulder a few times and tell him to 'Roll your heavy fucking ass over, Geralt,' before the witcher would budge an inch. He makes some vague, sleepy sounds of protest before releasing his vice grip on the bard and rolling onto his back.
Geralt doesn't wake again until much later; the spot next to him is cold, Jaskier long since gone. He drags himself out of bed and, since their things are there, changes into fresh clothes. Eskel must have been in a good mood that morning; he doubted that Jaskier would want to go down to the stables and haul everything up himself.
By the time Geralt makes it down to the common areas, it's past noon and the morning training is already complete. Eskel and Lambert are seated at a table, their empty lunch plates pushed to the sides, reading from the same book like a pair of schoolboys. He had planned to head for the kitchens and get himself something to eat, but now this is happening and he can't help but investigate. Geralt approaches and looks over Eskel's shoulder to read what's on the page, and sees... something about menstrual cycles, and stops reading.
Lambert looks back at him, his head propped up on his fist. "Did you know that your bard's got balls, Geralt?"
"I had assumed as much," Geralt replies.
"Yeah, no shit, but he had the stones to toss this book at Vesemir and tell us we all need to study up. Where the fuck did you find him again?"
"Posada," he says. "I got the same lecture." Geralt shrugs, then starts walking towards the kitchen; he hasn't been awake long enough to deal with this. "Just read the damn book."
Geralt makes his way into the kitchen; there's leftover kasha from breakfast, and though it's not as good when it's cold, it'll do for a late lunch. He just finished eating it with a little honey when Vesemir emerges from the larder, probably taking stock of their supplies. The fact that the old witcher is here precisely when Geralt is and no one else is not coincidence. He knows this, and waits.
"We need to talk about your bard."
Geralt nods. What Vesemir means, more likely, is that he needs to talk and he wants Geralt to listen. This is not a dialogue, it's an... admonition.
"I will not lecture you on why this bard should not know the secrets that he does," Vesemir says. "What's done is done. We shall see how that trust is repaid, in time."
"Jaskier would not--"
"You brought a bard to our keep. Will you be responsible for every word that comes from his mouth once he's left it?"
Geralt frowns, his forehead furrowing. Jaskier is not always... discreet, and he makes no secret of wanting to know everything he can about Geralt, about witchers, to write it into his songs. And, of course, the purpose of his songs are to be sung throughout the whole damn Continent, that's why he's in such trouble to begin with.
"I am reminding you of this lesson as a kindness to the both of you. Remember what you are, Geralt, because he certainly won't forget. You've been his meal ticket for twenty years, his protection. You do not need him, but he has a great need of you. Do not confuse need, or even want, with something more."
No one wants witchers, so don't think that someone is going to love you. It's an old lesson, from back when he was one of many boys and was still stupid enough to look at Vesemir's scars with admiration. Seems the lesson didn't stick, because here he is, soft on a bard before he'd even gotten the chance to tumble him. And not just any bard-- Jaskier, who has a reputation for falling in and out of love faster than the wind changes, the man who so many have had but no one can keep.
What makes Geralt think that he's somehow any different? If countesses and lords and countless beauties couldn't keep the bard's interest, why the hell would a scarred monster hunter? What does Geralt have to offer him but an early death?
"I don't care what you do with him behind closed doors. Melitele knows you could use an outlet so that I'm not cleaning Lambert's blood off of the floor again this year." If Geralt could flush, he might have done so at that reminder of his poor temper the previous winter. "Just remember that there are some kinds of foolishness that have no place on the Path."
Geralt nods, just once. That's all that Vesemir needs from him; he turns, leaves Geralt sitting in the kitchen while he goes to do whatever else he had planned for that day besides bringing a witcher back to harsh reality.