Jaskier has been patient with Geralt for far longer than any person should ever have to, or ever want to. Two decades is a long time for a human, and Geralt isn't always as cognizant of the shortened lifespans of most of the Continent, but the thought of it, that Jaskier is steadily walking to a place that he can't follow, make the chest-vice squeeze up again. One day, Jaskier will have grey in his hair. One day, he won't be able to go on hunts. One day, and every day after that, he won't be there at all.

Twenty years is a lot of time to make up for. If Geralt works very hard for the rest of the time that he is granted with the bard, maybe he can get close.

"Yes."

It's a single word, and saying it is both easy and hard. The admission that he had been so wrong chafes him, but-- it's the reparations that Jaskier needs. He needs to hear the words, or at least close enough to them.

"You've earned that and more. We are... we're friends, Jaskier."

It's a word that took twenty godsdamned years to come out of his mouth, one that plenty of other people had said about them. But Geralt will make amends for that lack. He can't afford not to.

This has been very... emotional and heart-bearing and all of that shit that Geralt is shit at, so the easiest thing is to turn it back around to something practical.

"You should eat something. And rest. You'll need to heal before we can leave, and I don't want to stay this far south for too long. Nilfgaard's too close."