Jaskier is so much like Dandelion that Geralt can't help looking at him fondly, reaching over to pat his hand where it rests on his scarred forearm. There's that touch of worry and discomfort in his scent, recognizable because it's so similar between the two bards. Dandelion hated to think about that wound, too, though he never shied away from kissing it whenever it was revealed to him.
"Witchers do heal faster than humans," he says, and he knows that those words are exactly the kind of thing that riles up bards. But that's a pretty damn good impression of his deep, rough growl, he has to admit. "Though I certainly heal better with a little salve and some bandaging."
And that was what his bard was good for-- getting him the potions that he needed or putting salve on wounds that he couldn't reach and bandaging them up. Helped keep him alive, even if it didn't make his wounds any prettier.
"Dandelion's a shit seamstress," he says after a moment or two of mulling over Jaskier's anecdote, "and he isn't any better on skin. He puked the first time he saw me with worse than some bruises and scrapes, too. Spared his doublet, didn't spare his shoes."
Then complained about how he'd just thrown up a belly full of piss ale all over his pretty embroidered leather. Geralt had been less than sympathetic at the time, but that was in large part due to the fact that he had a rather troublesome wound that he was bleeding profusely from. Puts him in a sour mood, a gaping hole in the side.
"I told him that vomit doesn't stain as badly as a few pints of witcher blood, and that's why I wore so much black." Geralt sighs. "Would've thought I punched him, by the look on his face. Fussed over me for the rest of the night."
And that had been an experience that was, somehow, simultaneously both uncomfortable and... kind of nice. Geralt wasn't used to being fussed over-- hell, he wouldn't take to it well even now. But the fact that Dandelion cared so much about whether he lived or died was a novelty that was hard to pass up even if, at the time, Geralt assumed that it was solely entrenched in self-preservation. If Geralt died, after all, Dandelion lost his protection against monsters, bandits, and angry fathers.
"It was... strange. Most humans wouldn't go out of their way to help a witcher, even if one fell over at their feet. You and Dandelion did more than just that."
They stayed, too. Even after the work had been done, they stayed and were there the next time it happened, and the next, despite how terrifying it was for them. It took Geralt far longer than it should've to realize why.
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"Witchers do heal faster than humans," he says, and he knows that those words are exactly the kind of thing that riles up bards. But that's a pretty damn good impression of his deep, rough growl, he has to admit. "Though I certainly heal better with a little salve and some bandaging."
And that was what his bard was good for-- getting him the potions that he needed or putting salve on wounds that he couldn't reach and bandaging them up. Helped keep him alive, even if it didn't make his wounds any prettier.
"Dandelion's a shit seamstress," he says after a moment or two of mulling over Jaskier's anecdote, "and he isn't any better on skin. He puked the first time he saw me with worse than some bruises and scrapes, too. Spared his doublet, didn't spare his shoes."
Then complained about how he'd just thrown up a belly full of piss ale all over his pretty embroidered leather. Geralt had been less than sympathetic at the time, but that was in large part due to the fact that he had a rather troublesome wound that he was bleeding profusely from. Puts him in a sour mood, a gaping hole in the side.
"I told him that vomit doesn't stain as badly as a few pints of witcher blood, and that's why I wore so much black." Geralt sighs. "Would've thought I punched him, by the look on his face. Fussed over me for the rest of the night."
And that had been an experience that was, somehow, simultaneously both uncomfortable and... kind of nice. Geralt wasn't used to being fussed over-- hell, he wouldn't take to it well even now. But the fact that Dandelion cared so much about whether he lived or died was a novelty that was hard to pass up even if, at the time, Geralt assumed that it was solely entrenched in self-preservation. If Geralt died, after all, Dandelion lost his protection against monsters, bandits, and angry fathers.
"It was... strange. Most humans wouldn't go out of their way to help a witcher, even if one fell over at their feet. You and Dandelion did more than just that."
They stayed, too. Even after the work had been done, they stayed and were there the next time it happened, and the next, despite how terrifying it was for them. It took Geralt far longer than it should've to realize why.