"So there's no world where Mousesack doesn't mock me."
He says it with good humor; he and the druid are good friends, after all. What's a little poking fun at bad disguises between friends? Mousesack saw through the disguise immediately, anyway. It would've been useless to keep up the farce.
Jaskier takes his wine and Geralt can see his approval in the first sip. It really is a good wine, and one that Dandelion was fond of as well, despite the name. He hadn't been amused when Geralt had returned with a few bottles, all bearing his old moniker on their labels. He'd called him ungrateful, and Geralt had had to show him how very grateful he is for everything that Dandelion has done for him that night.
He winces at the mention of the Law of Surprise-- he never learns, apparently. After having just seen the kind of chaos that the law could wreak, what does he do? Go and call for it immediately after all that horseshit had gotten resolved. Of course it bites him in the ass. He had been quite literally asking for it.
"I admit, calling for Law of Surprise wasn't my best moment." And admission! From Geralt! It's a less momentous occasion for him than for his very stubborn counterpart. "And neither was how I handled it afterward."
Geralt of Rivia, deadbeat dad. He really wasn't racking up the wins then. But he eventually pulled his head out of his ass, it just took about twelve years and getting Law of Surprised the same child twice. Destiny had decided that he would be a father and it wasn't going to take no for an answer.
Jaskier looks at him with those cornflower blue eyes and says the most obvious truth of Geralt's life.
"Yes," he says and sits down at the table as well, bringing his glass of wine with him. "But I'd still rather have him out of danger than in the middle of it. He's got a great talent for attracting trouble, though."
It's one of Dandelion's great talents, aside from music and poetry. A troublemaker through and through.
"There's one thing I want to know," he says. "Why did you need a bodyguard at a royal banquet? You couldn't have known about Duny or that Calanthe would want him dead."
Jaskier snorts around the fork he's taken to his mouth when Geralt says that hadn't been his best moment (no shit) and raises his eyebrows at the rest. He shouldn't be surprised, this is a Geralt after all, but well... he's come to think this one treated his people better, made better decisions when it came to relationships. Then again, he did say he used to be a brooding grunter too, didn't he?
Head tilted, blue eyes look intensely at the witcher again, this time filled with curiosity.
"But you claimed her in the end, didn't you? Your Child Surprise. You mentioned a 'Ciri' when I arrived, and I didn't want to believe what I was hearing."
Because the one at home is also a deadbeat dad. Jaskier visiting Cintra to play every now and then doesn't make up for that, especially not when Calanthe doesn't allow him to sing about said deadbeat dad.
And here comes the next surprise - Geralt can't truly guess why Jaskier would need a bodyguard? Really? Everything he's heard about Dandelion so far tells him they're similar in that aspect too. Surely new Geralt has had to keep cuckold husbands away too, especially considering that comment.
"Dandelion attracts trouble yet you need to ask that question?" He asks as he raises his eyebrows again, and he takes another sip of wine before continuing. "To quote your counterpart - I hid my sausage in the wrong royal pantry."
But he doesn't sound like he regrets a single minute of it. Because he doesn't.
"I did," he confirms. "It took me longer than it should've, but I went back for her."
And it was one of the best decisions that he'd made in his life. He and Yen were hardly perfect parents-- though, who is?-- but they had tried their best and Ciri had grown into a strong, confident, and intelligent woman. She's more dangerous than Geralt is, and he couldn't be more proud of her.
Jaskier answers his question, though, with an answer that he oughtn't be surprised of. Of course he'd gotten himself into trouble with someone's husband, what else could be expected of a version of Dandelion? Shameless philanderers, the lot of them. It's a universal constant-- if Dandelion exists, in whatever form, he must grope for trout in peculiar rivers.
"I should've guessed," he replies. "I'm surprised I haven't run into any of your bastards by now, there must be at least half a dozen of them from all of the pantries that you've hidden your sausage in. Or Dandelion's, I mean."
The Continent must be peppered with blue-eyed, musically talented and incurably mischievous children, all because of the spectacular reproductive success of one very horny bard. It's probably impressive, except that it so often gets Dandelion into hot water. His dalliances have become fewer and further between in recent years, though-- there could be many explanations for it, perhaps the most obvious being that he's a man of nearly fifty. Despite the fact that he's quite spry and limber for his age, he couldn't be jumping out of windows and outrunning angry fathers every other night.
Will Old Geralt go back for her too, Jaskier has to wonder. His first instinct is to snort, but another part of him has to wonder about the longer than it should've bit. Wouldn't that apply at home too? Then again... that could also mean the witcher getting together with his bard could be possible, and that's laughable in his case.
Ugh, better think about something else.
Like food! Jaskier digs in the stew once more, which is a simple recipe but still delicious... and of course that's the moment Geralt chooses to use the b-word, making Jaskier choke on a potato. He coughs and pats his chest, his mind running through thousands of sex encounters and double checking he's never done anything stupid. (Of course, if you ask anyone, they'll tell you all of his encounters were stupid.)
"BASTARDS!" He finally manages to gasp. "I would never!" His voice is raspy, so he picks up the bottle of wine to refill his glass. "If there's someone in any world that understands how crappy it is to have an absent father it's--"
And that's when he sees it: the name of the wine. Jaskier's face goes pale, his eyes wide. Is this supposed to be a joke? Is this world so different that these words mean something else? But what kind of world thinks the word butcher is a positive thing?
Jaskier chokes at the mere mention of illegitimate children, which... well, is probably quite a concern for him, because of all the philandering. If there is one single good thing that ever came from the witcher mutations, it's Geralt's sterility-- no bastards for him, thank you. And perhaps the immunity to disease. The witcher remembers without fondness an unfortunate dalliance of Dandelion's that resulted in him having... an unwanted gift from his paramour in the form of the clap. He'd complained incessantly until they found an appropriate healer who could cure him.
Geralt is sipping at his wine when the bard refills his own glass and notices the label for the first time. He's almost pleased to note that Jaskier has the exact same reaction to the bottle as Dandelion did when he saw it-- eyes wide, mouth open in indignation. Clearly, whatever he had expected to see on that bottle, it hadn't included the moniker that he'd spend the past few decades trying to get rid of.
"It's a bottle of wine, Jaskier," he replies, knowingly and willingly being a shit. "It's from the Belgaard vineyard, you can tell from the crest, right there."
He points at the bottom of the bottle's label, where the coat of arms of the vineyard in question is drawn, along with its bottling year. He's being very helpful right now, isn't he, Jaskier? Providing information.
"Oh, don't you get all smartarse on me, you buffoon of a witcher!"
People always call Jaskier a peacock, which is incredibly accurate of course, but a comparison to a blowfish should be considered. Here he is, puffing up again, huffing in indignation and wagging a finger at Geralt to scold him like a housewife - which isn't far off, really, considering the decades spent together on the same crappy beds and sharing food.
"I'm willing to bet my lute on Dandelion having worked hard all these years to erase this slandering, malicious 'nickname'--" He puts the bottle down just so he can do air-quotes with both hands. It's part of the dramatics, okay. "And you're allowing them to sell wine with it on its label?"
Jaskier gets punched for using it, yet the rest of the world gets fucking wine. How is that fair? Have his songs been for nothing?
Dandelion, too, has been compared to a peacock, and while Geralt would be inclined to agree just based on the fact that he's about as vibrantly dressed as one, he can say that Dandelion has never attempted to peck him to death for feeding him, which is more than he can say for the flocks of peacocks that have decided to call Corvo Bianco their home. The little bastards hate him and he can't, for the life of him, figure out why, and just has to assume that it's because he's a witcher. And thus he is burdened with the task of tending to a flock of birds that never mastered the concept of not biting the hand that feeds them.
Jaskier wags a finger at him. It's so familiar that Geralt is almost pleased at the fact that he's being scolded. He's terribly offended about the name on Dandelion's behalf, and Geralt watches him with an expression of deeply fond amusement, just like he would if his bard was sitting in front of him, lodging the same complaints.
"Mostly I was thinking about how a bunch of nobles were going to pay two hundred crowns apiece for wine named after a man they despised," he says. "Though I can see that you aren't as amused by that as I am."
And, really, the only people who are ever going to see a bottle of this stuff are nobles with enough coin to buy it, and Geralt has never given a shit about what nobles think, present company excluded.
"Not amused!" Huff, huff. "Not amused he says! How observant of you, Geralt of Rivia!"
The wine is good, though, that much he does agree with. And the idea of getting back at nobles, well. The finger is lowered, which should tell Geralt the concept is good as well. It's the perfect amount of revenge and petty, just like when Jaskier enjoys singing tavern songs usually enjoyed by the lower class in taverns at fancy banquets, the same enjoyment he used to get from proving people wrong about Geralt and watching them toss a coin as the song tells them too.
The same kind of enjoyment he gets when he imagines rubbing his success on his family's faces, a thing he hasn't done yet only because that would require going back to Lettenhove, and he isn't stepping in that hellhole ever again. He made a promise to himself.
So yes, Jaskier approves of the idea, so he deflates... at least a little bit. It's not over yet.
"The man they despise has other names he could've chosen." He comments as he goes back to poking his stew with his spoon. "Like, oh I don't know, White Wolf. Or Gwynbleidd! Then they would be drinking their hate for you and their hate towards elves! How about 'Witcher Elixir'? You had so many options to choose from over destroying decades of you best friend's work!"
Should he be using 'best friends', he wonders, considering they're more here. Geralt didn't use a particular word to define them, Jaskier realizes, other than friend, so better keep it like that for now. Not gonna ruin a witcher/bard relationship like the one that got destroyed at home.
"Destroyed? I doubt it. There's surprisingly little that I can do to make a dent in the decades of reputation-building that Dandelion dedicated himself to."
Like it or not, in the eyes of the common folk, Geralt is the White Wolf, heroic slayer of monsters and defender of the innocent. And, unfortunately, potential deflower-er of their daughters, though Geralt blames all of that on the bard's surprising aptitude for writing bawdy songs about his cock and ability to satisfy lovers. Dandelion had claimed, at the time, that he wrote them purely to improve Geralt's reputation in the brothels and get him better service, but they seldom stayed as brothel-songs. One of them that had gotten particularly popular was supposedly about the witcher giving 'fencing lessons' to a young lady, and afterwards Geralt received an annoying number of requests from bored noblewomen about becoming their fencing tutor. Geralt had threatened Dandelion with a tutoring if he let another song like that get out of hand, and in hindsight the bard had been surprisingly interested in what that might entail.
Best friend, Jaskier says. It's true enough, so whether he calls him best friend or lover or whatever else, it's fine. He's all of those things and more.
"But you're right, Dandelion was just as angry when he saw it," Geralt says, and he has the decency to at least look a little chastened about it. "I found a few ways to make it up to him. He never stays angry with me for very long."
What did he do to make it up to him? Who knows. Maybe he rubbed his feet, or listened to him try out his latest compositions. There are all sorts of things that a strong, willing witcher could do to please a humble bard.
The mental images start flooding his mind as soon as Geralt finishes saying up to him. Which is already awkward by itself, but made worse by the fact that he doesn't know what Dandelion looks like, so Jaskier is picturing a slightly different version of himself wearing the clothes he saw in the wardrobe earlier under this older, kinder Geralt, who is trying to please his bard after making him angry...
"...yeah, well." Woah there, his throat is getting rather dry, what could've possibly caused that? He takes another sip of wine before continuing. "It's the least you could do for him."
He brings his attention back to the stew for a moment, taking advantage of the pause to reassess his thoughts. He didn't lie to Geralt when he told him that knowing about his relationship with Dandelion didn't make him uncomfortable, but it's not like is easy to hear about it either. He can accept it, and be happy for his alternate self, but he doesn't want it haunting his thoughts, whispering mean things about what it means for himself.
"So. A whole estate and your own brand of wine, and of course a daughter. Have you actually retired, Geralt?"
Geralt has many ways of begging for Dandelion's forgiveness, and only some of them involve the things that Jaskier's thinking about. Amazingly enough, he does know of ways to please his bard that don't require anyone to be unclothed, but... well, it certainly helps.
There's silence for a few moments, which they both use to eat a little more. It's a nice dinner, and there has always been a part of him that is pleased when he keeps Dandelion well-fed and comfortable. Perhaps it stems from those times when contracts had been scarce and the bard's hard work had gone towards keeping his belly full, too. This might be a different bard, but there's still satisfaction in his comfort. And, anyway, Jaskier has just come in after who knows how many months on the road-- he could use a few good meals to fill him out a bit.
"Something like that," he says, "or at least half-retirement. I'll still take a few contracts, if they aren't too far, but... I'm not walking the Path."
He's wandered the Continent enough. Now he has an estate and a bard to come back to every night, and brothers and a daughter who plan to overwinter in his house, sorceresses who sometimes drop by. It's more than he deserves, but Geralt wants to rest for a little while. Maybe he's even earned a little rest.
Yeah, definitely not a sentence Jaskier thought he would hear in his lifetime. Such a big difference from when they slow and get killed. And there it is again, the Cintra conversation sneaking into his thoughts once more, because somehow it's always haunting him, even after all these years.
I need no one, and the last thing I want is someone needing me.
He should've seen the signs, Jaskier thinks, the mountain incident could've been prevented, and-- he's doing it again, thinking about how foolish he feels. He's supposed to be enjoying this little vacation, gotta concentrate on the good. Food, wine, and a story from an old-but-not-really friend. Keep yourself together, self!
"Wow." He finally comments after whistling his surprise. "Decades later you're still full of surprises. And you don't get bored or restless here? Do you feel accomplished? Do you feel..."
A pause to worry his lower lip, calloused fingers rubbing the spoon between them as blue eyes search gold for answers. He doesn't know exactly what kind of answers he wants (needs), just... answers.
"Restless, sometimes. That's when I go and find a contract. Toussaint's got its fair share of monsters, I'll always be needed somewhere."
And it's good, sometimes, to go out and feel useful again. Feel like he has a purpose. The Path was bloody and brutal and there were times that he truly hated it, but it was also simple. Kill monsters, get coin. Protect the people from the teeth and claws that waited in their woods, regardless of whether they praised you or cursed your name. But when he thinks about packing everything up onto Roach, about camping on the ground for weeks on end and sleeping in his armor with his swords within reach, about stitching up both himself and his armor until it's more mending thread than leather-- he's tired. He's tired and this house is comfortable and Dandelion's arms are welcoming.
"If I said anything but yes about being accomplished, I think Dandelion might have my head. There's thirty years' worth of poetry and songs about how accomplished I am."
Which isn't exactly the same thing-- having someone say that you're impressive and actually feeling like anything that you've done is worthwhile are two very different things. Geralt drinks again, taking that moment to prepare a real answer. Jaskier wants a real answer, and Geralt has always had a bard-shaped weak spot in his heart. Perhaps his honesty is the something else that the sorceress had thought that Jaskier needs.
"There's no end to the Path. No real metric for success, other than survival. If you aren't killed by ghouls for a bounty of thirty crowns a head, you're as successful as any other witcher is," he says. "I suppose I should feel proud about killing monsters and saving men. But the best thing I've done? What's really left a mark on the world?"
It's not blood and violence. He's had enough of that in his life, enough to know that it's not the glorious thing that the ballads made it out to be.
"I found a scared little girl in the woods and raised her to be a strong, kind, intelligent woman who can do whatever she wants. That's the best thing I ever did." He leans back in his chair, and just thinking about Ciri makes his face soften. "I think I can be content with that being my greatest accomplishment."
Jaskier chuckles at the comment about Dandelion having the witcher's head, and he nods his agreement. Indeed, he wouldn't allow Geralt (this Geralt anyway, and maybe the one at home once upon a time) to say he hasn't accomplished anything. That would be a big fucking lie, and the only one allowed to lie around here is the bard's artistic license.
Geralt is right, though - Jaskier doesn't want Dandelion's opinion, he wants to know how Geralt truly feels. While he can be impatient at times, he's learned to be better with Geralt, whose words comes slower. Well, again, not this one, but the point stands. Jaskier drinks more wine and finishes his stew, quietly waiting for what the witcher has to say on the matter.
The mention of the Path comes, and for a moment he thinks this conversation is going down a very familiar path. But then Geralt mentions 'a mark on the world', a legacy if you will, and-- fuck. Look at that handsome expression soften, listen to the pride in that deep voice.
This. This is the Geralt he fell in love with.
Dandelion is a lucky bastard, he thinks for what probably is the hundredth time since he arrived in the morning. Still, Jaskier smiles at Geralt, openly and honestly, his scent mostly sweet with affection with that hint of envy that's probably not leaving any time soon.
"You think? You should be content. And very proud. I'm glad you've found a family, Geralt. I'm glad to see you happy. It's the least you deserve." It's weird, saying those words aloud. It's what he once believed, and all those beliefs have become complicated (to say the least) since the mountain. Should he be trusting his heart again? Who even knows anymore. "Does she visit you here? I'd love to meet her. I never got to sing to her the song about her parents' betrothal."
No songs about the White Wolf, he said before, and while that particular ballad isn't about specifically Geralt, he's included in it. So that was a no from Calanthe.
There it is-- sweetness with a bitter twist at the end, that hint of envy. The Geralt of his world had really done a number on him, hadn't he, if this is the end result. Jaskier should have no need to be envious of Dandelion. Hell, he should have no need to doubt his place at Geralt's side, or his place in the witcher's affections. It should have been obvious, the easiest truth of Geralt's life.
It's the least you deserve.
It had taken Geralt a very long time to believe that he deserved anything good or kind at all, that there is value to him beyond his ability to slay monsters or perform a designated task. It had taken time and the efforts of more than a few people-- Dandelion among them-- to make him believe that he is more than an efficient tool to be used and then set aside. More time even than that to convince him that he is allowed to have good things, like daughters and terrifying sorceresses and a bard who whispers poetry to him at night when he thinks he's asleep.
"She drops by whenever she feels like it," he replies, because it's the truest answer he can give-- Ciri goes wherever she pleases, whenever she pleases. "Every other month or so, usually. And she wants to come back for the winter, when Lambert and Eskel will be here."
A full house for the winter. He could probably convince Yen to drop by for a little while, too, since Ciri will be here, and that would be the majority of his odd family, all in one place.
"She'd like to hear you sing. I've told her about the banquet, but you'd tell it better."
"Ah, a wandering soul, just like her daddy." His grin says he's definitely not talking about Duny. "Does she still look like a copy of Princess Pavetta?" And then a snort. "Of course I would! I bet you were stingy with the details too."
While this Geralt is way more open and talkative, Jaskier can't help the suspicion of him having kept some of the more embarrassing details for himself. And even if he hadn't, well-- he'd sing it anyway, of course. Because Cirilla deserves the better version of events, and that's obviously his own, no questions asked, thank you very much.
Will he ever get to sing it to the princess in his own world? Will she ever get to leave Cintra and the vigilant eyes of her grandmother? Will Destiny be kinder to her after the loss of her parents?
Hopefully that's one thing that stays true across all worlds. (Because you see, Jaskier does not know Cintra falls. Oops.)
As Jaskier finishes his bowl of stew, the rest of what Geralt said finally sinks in. With eyes filled with curiosity, he tilts his head at the witcher, sensing the potential for a story there.
"You don't winter at Kaer Morhen anymore?" He looks down at his bowl and realizes how that sounds. "I mean - I can see this obviously is a far better place to spend winter at. But your brothers join you here too? What about your old teacher?"
For a few long moments, Geralt goes still. It's not intentional, he reminds himself-- this version of Dandelion is from some six years ago, he doesn't know. He doesn't know what happened with the Wild Hunt, has no idea that the Wolf witchers don't go back to the keep anymore because there's nothing left to return to.
Geralt pours himself more wine, then takes a long drink. It doesn't really help brace him, but it's better than nothing.
"Vesemir," he says, once he's certain that his voice will remain steady, "is dead. Kaer Morhen is uninhabitable."
Ruined beyond repair, even for witchers. With the death of Vesemir and the aftermath of the battle with the Wild Hunt, the Wolf School is truly and undeniably dead. The final nail in its already mostly buried coffin.
"I haven't had this place for very long, but it's big enough for them to overwinter, if they want to come. I sent word to them, but I doubt I'll get a reply."
It's difficult to send letters while on the Path. Now it just remains to be seen whether or not they would make the trip south and show up on his doorstep one day after the chill starts to set in. The prospect of seeing Ciri-- something that he'd been sure to include in the letters that he sent-- is a tempting draw for them. They like her, and even Lambert, grumpy fuck that he is, doesn't like to leave her disappointed.
Geralt goes still and all the alarms go off in Jaskier's head - fuck, what did he say now? He knows he puts his foot in his mouth often, but for Geralt to react like this... For once in his life, Jaskier stays patiently silent, letting the witcher have a moment to say what needs to be said and--
"...bollocks."
Witchers die on the Path, it is to be expected. But that doesn't mean it ever gets easier to hear about it. And this time is a lot worse as well - Geralt has lost a beloved teacher and his home. Bloody Hell. Jaskier's face instantly falls, blue eyes filling with sympathy, sadness and -he can't stop it- a bit of pity as well. His scent, of course, matches, sweetness going away to give room to sourness.
"Fuck, Geralt." After a moment of hesitation, he reaches out across the table and closes his hand around the witcher's wrist, giving it a squeeze. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to bring back such memories - but I'll listen, if you do want to talk about it."
Kaer Morhen is gone... because apparently one attack hadn't been enough. Not even after Dandelion's hard work on witcher reputation such a tragedy could be prevented. Can he take this information home and make it a better place? If Dandelion truly is there right now, is he doing something about it? Melitele have mercy, this is such a huge responsibility for a mere couple of humble bards.
He'll try, though, even if it means having to talk to Old Geralt again. Because it's still nothing compared to what witchers have to go through.
"I'm sure your brothers would love making this place their new home with you. Can't you use the xenothingy to contact them as well?"
Jaskier's hand settles on Geralt's wrist, and the gentle pressure of it is a comfort. They had all known that, one day, Kaer Morhen would be gone, but he hadn't thought that it would be so soon-- he'd thought there would be more time. Vesemir was old but still strong, they had thought that there would surely be a few more decades of winters spent in the old keep, of the old Wolf squabbling with Lambert and Geralt sparring with Eskel in the snow. Of Ciri returning to the place that she had spent her childhood.
Geralt takes the bard's hand and gives it a squeeze in return, as thanks for his kindness.
"I don't want to tell you too much," he says. "But thank you for offering."
Who knows what could happen if he tells this younger Dandelion about the Wild Hunt? Gods, would he then have to tell him about the Rivian pogrom, as well, and his and Yennefer's brush with death? The two year gap between bleeding out in the street and reappearing, a confused amnesiac, in the woods near Kaer Morhen?
How different would things have been, he wonders, if Dandelion had been there at the keep when he had been brought back. He had known that Triss was important to him the moment that he saw her, and he had known the same the moment that he'd set eyes on the bard, too, so many weeks later. But such things are impossible to predict. Maybe the course of his life would've run differently, for the better. Maybe Dandelion would've died when the keep was attacked, like Leo.
And even if he does tell him, what could a bard do to stop elves from a parallel world who want to take Ciri?
Thinking of the future, perhaps, is better. A future that has the possibility of making Corvo Bianco a safe haven for his friends and brothers.
"The xenovox is a one-way means of communication," he says. "I can only use it to speak to Yennefer. They're rare to find and difficult to make, too, so she can't just give them out to anyone. I'm stuck with letters, unless I want to try to ride out and find one of them myself."
Which would be a difficult thing to do even if Geralt had been out on the Path. He's an excellent tracker, but locating two wandering witchers somewhere in the Continent? Not an easy feat. Well--
"Hm. Keira might know where Lambert is. She was looking into a cure for the plague and might have gotten him to help."
Words like I don't want to tell you too much usually don't go well with bards, especially this one. There's so much to unpack there - a good story, obviously, but also a warning about the future. Jaskier doesn't think he should go back to his realm without having learned anything that can help making the Continent a better place for witchers and general not-humans.
Those are rational thoughts, though, something Jaskier isn't having at the moment. Because Geralt is fucking holding his hand.
Melitele please have mercy.
It's not easy to make Jaskier blush - it's not that he isn't capable of it, he just happens to be a shameless bastard. There's simply nothing left in the world for him to blush at. Yet here comes Geralt, being an exception in his life as always, no matter the world. Holding his hand like the soft bastard he secretly is, making his cheeks pink and his heart stop for a minute.
Oh gods, he's so pathetic.
"R-right." He mumbles with a nod. "You're welcome."
It's what friends do, he wants to say, but even everything they've shared and discussed, he isn't sure where they stand. It's still confusing to sort his feelings for the golden eyes in front of him - they are not the ones that hurt him, and for that he likes them, but it'd be naive to think he's managed to completely separate them from the ones at home. There's a reason why the hand holding has shaken him so much - it wouldn't have happened if a maid had done the same.
Riding out and finding a witcher is hard, even for a fellow witcher, so Jaskier understands the hesitation. The name that follows, however, isn't one he recognizes. Lambert and Eskel he knows, even if he hasn't met them, but-
"Keira?" He asks with a tilted head. "Has your brother found someone in his life as well?"
If Geralt notices Jaskier's sudden bashfulness, he doesn't comment on it. The fact that he is a soft bastard is a poorly kept secret at this point, in no small part due to the endless ballads lauding his kindness and nobility (as much as he might dispute the latter). How's a man to keep his reputation when the most popular bard on the Continent keeps writing songs painting him as a defender of the innocent and slayer of evil? And no amount of arguing would make Dandelion change his themes.
The conversation moves to Lambert's new flame, and, well. Jaskier, like Dandelion, undoubtedly loves gossip, and hearing about how the littlest Wolf has managed to net himself a sorceress after she saved his life would be right up his alley. It's not as though it's a secret, anyway. What's the harm?
"At least for as long as she'll suffer him," Geralt says. "She's a sorceress, and saved Lambert's skin when Kaer Morhen was besieged. He was--" probably about halfway to hard by the time she had finished talking, "--impressed. He's been trailing after her since she asked him to help."
And not a single djinn wish required. It's a better love story than his and Yenn's, that's for certain. And if Lambert is happy and Keira is, somehow, content with a lover who can be an unbridled bastard, than who is Geralt to judge? His own love life has been nothing short of an unmitigated disaster for the past several decades, and only now has settled into something stable.
"It's good that he's found someone again. He's less of a prick when he's getting laid."
New Geralt is... still holding his hand. Well, that's a thing now, he supposes. Jaskier is relaxing back into the conversation, but that doesn't mean he stops being aware of their little link. Is it weird? Kinda. Does it bother him? It's hard to tell - he wants to say no, part of him is definitely delighted by this little gesture of affection and basks in it. The other part is still a mix of emotions that can't separate this place from home.
One thing is true though, Jaskier does love gossip, especially when it's witcher related and it goes beyond witchers suck. So he brings the chair closer to the table and rests his chin on his free hand, ears ready for new stories about--
"A sorceress." He says with a raised eyebrow and a snort. "And he trailed after her. I'm sensing a pattern here."
Except this story he likes way better. Love found in the battlefield, a mighty witcher saved by a powerful ally - it would make an amazing song. If Dandelion truly is so much like himself, though, he's probably already covered it. Kaer Morhen was besieged is a detail to remember, however, when he returns home.
When? If. ...right?
He shouldn't be thinking about that.
"I'm glad to hear he's doing better too. Does that also apply to you, though, I must wonder?" He can't help but tease - it's so easy to fall in old habits when it comes to those golden eyes that watch him. The mixed emotions can't stop that. "Geralt was never less of a prick after visiting a brothel."
Dandelion had theorized that there's something about witchers and sorceresses that make them particularly predisposed towards being attracted to each other; Geralt just thinks that part of it is easily explainable by the fact that sorceresses are all preternaturally beautiful. The rest may be a result of their shared longevity and otherness, working for and closely with humans but never part of them. Regardless of the reasons, though, Lambert's fond of Keira and it seems that she's quite taken with him, and that's not a bad place to start.
Geralt huffs a laugh; there had been a number of times, before they were together, that Dandelion would've attributed his foul moods to a lack of whores.
"I don't know, does it?" he asks. "I haven't been much of a prick to you. Not that I've been visiting brothels lately, I don't really need to."
Not when he's had a bard warming his bed for the past year. For a man his age, Dandelion is... vigorous, and even if Geralt had the inclination to visit a whore, he certainly wouldn't have the energy. Were this any other man, Geralt might have thought that he was trying to keep him too well-fucked to ever want another, but he knows Dandelion.
"If yours is still such an ass even after he's dropped all of his coin on whores," Geralt says, "perhaps he needs something that he can't get from whores."
And that's not just an idle observation-- whores are good for scratching an itch, dealing with something that's just a biological function. And Geralt likes a good orgasm just fine, but there are things beyond just an orgasm that he craves and that a loving partner provides. Soft touches and tender words, falling asleep with a warm body tucked securely in his arms. Even this Geralt would be grumpier if all that was lost to him, too.
Hearing Geralt laugh always puts a smile on Jaskier's face. It's not a sound he gets to hear often, and he cherishes every time he does. This particular occasion is extra special because Jaskier knows Geralt (or at least he thought he did), he is a master translator of grunts, he can tell the little differences in nuance in witcher speech. And this laugh... it may be huffed, sure, but it's still different from huffed laughs at home.
It's the laugh of a happy man.
And one of the many reasons for that happiness apparently is the fact he's getting regularly and thoroughly fucked. Bollocks. How could he forget? How can he have mixed emotions one second, then easily fall into chatting with Geralt and forgetting about all the rest? He hadn't lied to Geralt, it doesn't make him uncomfortable to hear about it, it just keeps sneaking on him and catching with his heart open and-- well. His hand holding Geralt's.
When he woke up, he decided he would enjoy this little break while he could, but he needs to control himself before he goes in too deep.
"No," He replies as he shakes his head and takes his hand back. It already feels cold. "You've been nothing but good to me."
Good, and kind, and welcoming and understanding, and simply a better friend in a few hours than Geralt has been in twenty years. So Jaskier drinks to that, because his heart is stuck in his throat again. He finishes his glass and pours so more wine as he snorts at New Geralt's observation - that's what he used to think as well. He used to think Old Geralt needed more than whores, he needed someone that cared, that helped him with his wounds and showed him he mattered.
Oh, what a fool had he been.
"Yeah. Twenty horses and 'blessed silence'." The bitterness is loosening up in his tongue thanks to the wine. "He's got one wish down now, I guess."
Blessed silence. It's a phrase that haunts Geralt, really, from all those years ago when there had been a djinn and he'd made a stupid, stupid wish. He'd wanted a little peace and quiet, yes, but never if the sacrifice for it was Dandelion's life.
"I am certain that I've never made a wish that's ever been what I truly wanted in my entire life," he says, because it's the truth-- every wish that he'd made had never turned out how he wanted. He'd wished for quiet so that he could sleep, and gotten a best friend with a tumor in his throat; he'd made a wish to save Yen's life and ended up with her emotionally and magically bound to him. And apparently this alternate universe version of himself made a stupid wish to have Jaskier out of his life, and Geralt hopes that he's realized by now how much of a mistake that wish was.
(On another Continent, a white-haired witcher opens the door to an inn to find a bard already waiting for him, tuning his lute before the nightly rush. The witcher had left him in the dust two towns ago, and had only stopped for two days to complete a contract in the meanwhile. There shouldn't have been any way that the bard could get in front of him, not unless he knew exactly where he was going. The bard winks at him in a truly infuriating manner and tells him that his room is the third door on the right, and that there's a bath already drawn. Geralt grinds his teeth, but it's been over a week since he's had the coin for a hot bath, and he won't pass up the opportunity for a free one.)
"I really don't understand your universe's version of me," Geralt continues. "Maybe I won't, unless I meet him. The reasons for his behavior are a mystery to me."
Geralt doesn't like leaving mysteries unsolved. Though-- with a call to Yen, this mystery could, perhaps, eventually be uncovered. She's already interested in this alternate universe business, it might not be so difficult to convince her to bring this other him into their world along with Dandelion, just for a little while. Just long enough for her to get a look at him and for Geralt to get a better understanding, and maybe even to learn his younger self a few much-needed lessons.
"He can't have always been so cruel to you, if you've stayed with him for so long?"
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He says it with good humor; he and the druid are good friends, after all. What's a little poking fun at bad disguises between friends? Mousesack saw through the disguise immediately, anyway. It would've been useless to keep up the farce.
Jaskier takes his wine and Geralt can see his approval in the first sip. It really is a good wine, and one that Dandelion was fond of as well, despite the name. He hadn't been amused when Geralt had returned with a few bottles, all bearing his old moniker on their labels. He'd called him ungrateful, and Geralt had had to show him how very grateful he is for everything that Dandelion has done for him that night.
He winces at the mention of the Law of Surprise-- he never learns, apparently. After having just seen the kind of chaos that the law could wreak, what does he do? Go and call for it immediately after all that horseshit had gotten resolved. Of course it bites him in the ass. He had been quite literally asking for it.
"I admit, calling for Law of Surprise wasn't my best moment." And admission! From Geralt! It's a less momentous occasion for him than for his very stubborn counterpart. "And neither was how I handled it afterward."
Geralt of Rivia, deadbeat dad. He really wasn't racking up the wins then. But he eventually pulled his head out of his ass, it just took about twelve years and getting Law of Surprised the same child twice. Destiny had decided that he would be a father and it wasn't going to take no for an answer.
Jaskier looks at him with those cornflower blue eyes and says the most obvious truth of Geralt's life.
"Yes," he says and sits down at the table as well, bringing his glass of wine with him. "But I'd still rather have him out of danger than in the middle of it. He's got a great talent for attracting trouble, though."
It's one of Dandelion's great talents, aside from music and poetry. A troublemaker through and through.
"There's one thing I want to know," he says. "Why did you need a bodyguard at a royal banquet? You couldn't have known about Duny or that Calanthe would want him dead."
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Jaskier snorts around the fork he's taken to his mouth when Geralt says that hadn't been his best moment (no shit) and raises his eyebrows at the rest. He shouldn't be surprised, this is a Geralt after all, but well... he's come to think this one treated his people better, made better decisions when it came to relationships. Then again, he did say he used to be a brooding grunter too, didn't he?
Head tilted, blue eyes look intensely at the witcher again, this time filled with curiosity.
"But you claimed her in the end, didn't you? Your Child Surprise. You mentioned a 'Ciri' when I arrived, and I didn't want to believe what I was hearing."
Because the one at home is also a deadbeat dad. Jaskier visiting Cintra to play every now and then doesn't make up for that, especially not when Calanthe doesn't allow him to sing about said deadbeat dad.
And here comes the next surprise - Geralt can't truly guess why Jaskier would need a bodyguard? Really? Everything he's heard about Dandelion so far tells him they're similar in that aspect too. Surely new Geralt has had to keep cuckold husbands away too, especially considering that comment.
"Dandelion attracts trouble yet you need to ask that question?" He asks as he raises his eyebrows again, and he takes another sip of wine before continuing. "To quote your counterpart - I hid my sausage in the wrong royal pantry."
But he doesn't sound like he regrets a single minute of it. Because he doesn't.
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And it was one of the best decisions that he'd made in his life. He and Yen were hardly perfect parents-- though, who is?-- but they had tried their best and Ciri had grown into a strong, confident, and intelligent woman. She's more dangerous than Geralt is, and he couldn't be more proud of her.
Jaskier answers his question, though, with an answer that he oughtn't be surprised of. Of course he'd gotten himself into trouble with someone's husband, what else could be expected of a version of Dandelion? Shameless philanderers, the lot of them. It's a universal constant-- if Dandelion exists, in whatever form, he must grope for trout in peculiar rivers.
"I should've guessed," he replies. "I'm surprised I haven't run into any of your bastards by now, there must be at least half a dozen of them from all of the pantries that you've hidden your sausage in. Or Dandelion's, I mean."
The Continent must be peppered with blue-eyed, musically talented and incurably mischievous children, all because of the spectacular reproductive success of one very horny bard. It's probably impressive, except that it so often gets Dandelion into hot water. His dalliances have become fewer and further between in recent years, though-- there could be many explanations for it, perhaps the most obvious being that he's a man of nearly fifty. Despite the fact that he's quite spry and limber for his age, he couldn't be jumping out of windows and outrunning angry fathers every other night.
That's clearly the reason why.
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Ugh, better think about something else.
Like food! Jaskier digs in the stew once more, which is a simple recipe but still delicious... and of course that's the moment Geralt chooses to use the b-word, making Jaskier choke on a potato. He coughs and pats his chest, his mind running through thousands of sex encounters and double checking he's never done anything stupid. (Of course, if you ask anyone, they'll tell you all of his encounters were stupid.)
"BASTARDS!" He finally manages to gasp. "I would never!" His voice is raspy, so he picks up the bottle of wine to refill his glass. "If there's someone in any world that understands how crappy it is to have an absent father it's--"
And that's when he sees it: the name of the wine. Jaskier's face goes pale, his eyes wide. Is this supposed to be a joke? Is this world so different that these words mean something else? But what kind of world thinks the word butcher is a positive thing?
"...Geralt. What the fuck is this?"
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Geralt is sipping at his wine when the bard refills his own glass and notices the label for the first time. He's almost pleased to note that Jaskier has the exact same reaction to the bottle as Dandelion did when he saw it-- eyes wide, mouth open in indignation. Clearly, whatever he had expected to see on that bottle, it hadn't included the moniker that he'd spend the past few decades trying to get rid of.
"It's a bottle of wine, Jaskier," he replies, knowingly and willingly being a shit. "It's from the Belgaard vineyard, you can tell from the crest, right there."
He points at the bottom of the bottle's label, where the coat of arms of the vineyard in question is drawn, along with its bottling year. He's being very helpful right now, isn't he, Jaskier? Providing information.
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People always call Jaskier a peacock, which is incredibly accurate of course, but a comparison to a blowfish should be considered. Here he is, puffing up again, huffing in indignation and wagging a finger at Geralt to scold him like a housewife - which isn't far off, really, considering the decades spent together on the same crappy beds and sharing food.
"I'm willing to bet my lute on Dandelion having worked hard all these years to erase this slandering, malicious 'nickname'--" He puts the bottle down just so he can do air-quotes with both hands. It's part of the dramatics, okay. "And you're allowing them to sell wine with it on its label?"
Jaskier gets punched for using it, yet the rest of the world gets fucking wine. How is that fair? Have his songs been for nothing?
"What the hell were you thinking?"
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Jaskier wags a finger at him. It's so familiar that Geralt is almost pleased at the fact that he's being scolded. He's terribly offended about the name on Dandelion's behalf, and Geralt watches him with an expression of deeply fond amusement, just like he would if his bard was sitting in front of him, lodging the same complaints.
"Mostly I was thinking about how a bunch of nobles were going to pay two hundred crowns apiece for wine named after a man they despised," he says. "Though I can see that you aren't as amused by that as I am."
And, really, the only people who are ever going to see a bottle of this stuff are nobles with enough coin to buy it, and Geralt has never given a shit about what nobles think, present company excluded.
"And it's not bad."
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The wine is good, though, that much he does agree with. And the idea of getting back at nobles, well. The finger is lowered, which should tell Geralt the concept is good as well. It's the perfect amount of revenge and petty, just like when Jaskier enjoys singing tavern songs usually enjoyed by the lower class in taverns at fancy banquets, the same enjoyment he used to get from proving people wrong about Geralt and watching them toss a coin as the song tells them too.
The same kind of enjoyment he gets when he imagines rubbing his success on his family's faces, a thing he hasn't done yet only because that would require going back to Lettenhove, and he isn't stepping in that hellhole ever again. He made a promise to himself.
So yes, Jaskier approves of the idea, so he deflates... at least a little bit. It's not over yet.
"The man they despise has other names he could've chosen." He comments as he goes back to poking his stew with his spoon. "Like, oh I don't know, White Wolf. Or Gwynbleidd! Then they would be drinking their hate for you and their hate towards elves! How about 'Witcher Elixir'? You had so many options to choose from over destroying decades of you best friend's work!"
Should he be using 'best friends', he wonders, considering they're more here. Geralt didn't use a particular word to define them, Jaskier realizes, other than friend, so better keep it like that for now. Not gonna ruin a witcher/bard relationship like the one that got destroyed at home.
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Like it or not, in the eyes of the common folk, Geralt is the White Wolf, heroic slayer of monsters and defender of the innocent. And, unfortunately, potential deflower-er of their daughters, though Geralt blames all of that on the bard's surprising aptitude for writing bawdy songs about his cock and ability to satisfy lovers. Dandelion had claimed, at the time, that he wrote them purely to improve Geralt's reputation in the brothels and get him better service, but they seldom stayed as brothel-songs. One of them that had gotten particularly popular was supposedly about the witcher giving 'fencing lessons' to a young lady, and afterwards Geralt received an annoying number of requests from bored noblewomen about becoming their fencing tutor. Geralt had threatened Dandelion with a tutoring if he let another song like that get out of hand, and in hindsight the bard had been surprisingly interested in what that might entail.
Best friend, Jaskier says. It's true enough, so whether he calls him best friend or lover or whatever else, it's fine. He's all of those things and more.
"But you're right, Dandelion was just as angry when he saw it," Geralt says, and he has the decency to at least look a little chastened about it. "I found a few ways to make it up to him. He never stays angry with me for very long."
What did he do to make it up to him? Who knows. Maybe he rubbed his feet, or listened to him try out his latest compositions. There are all sorts of things that a strong, willing witcher could do to please a humble bard.
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"...yeah, well." Woah there, his throat is getting rather dry, what could've possibly caused that? He takes another sip of wine before continuing. "It's the least you could do for him."
He brings his attention back to the stew for a moment, taking advantage of the pause to reassess his thoughts. He didn't lie to Geralt when he told him that knowing about his relationship with Dandelion didn't make him uncomfortable, but it's not like is easy to hear about it either. He can accept it, and be happy for his alternate self, but he doesn't want it haunting his thoughts, whispering mean things about what it means for himself.
"So. A whole estate and your own brand of wine, and of course a daughter. Have you actually retired, Geralt?"
Never thought he would see the day, honestly.
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There's silence for a few moments, which they both use to eat a little more. It's a nice dinner, and there has always been a part of him that is pleased when he keeps Dandelion well-fed and comfortable. Perhaps it stems from those times when contracts had been scarce and the bard's hard work had gone towards keeping his belly full, too. This might be a different bard, but there's still satisfaction in his comfort. And, anyway, Jaskier has just come in after who knows how many months on the road-- he could use a few good meals to fill him out a bit.
"Something like that," he says, "or at least half-retirement. I'll still take a few contracts, if they aren't too far, but... I'm not walking the Path."
He's wandered the Continent enough. Now he has an estate and a bard to come back to every night, and brothers and a daughter who plan to overwinter in his house, sorceresses who sometimes drop by. It's more than he deserves, but Geralt wants to rest for a little while. Maybe he's even earned a little rest.
"I haven't been north of Maribor in over a year."
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Yeah, definitely not a sentence Jaskier thought he would hear in his lifetime. Such a big difference from when they slow and get killed. And there it is again, the Cintra conversation sneaking into his thoughts once more, because somehow it's always haunting him, even after all these years.
I need no one, and the last thing I want is someone needing me.
He should've seen the signs, Jaskier thinks, the mountain incident could've been prevented, and-- he's doing it again, thinking about how foolish he feels. He's supposed to be enjoying this little vacation, gotta concentrate on the good. Food, wine, and a story from an old-but-not-really friend. Keep yourself together, self!
"Wow." He finally comments after whistling his surprise. "Decades later you're still full of surprises. And you don't get bored or restless here? Do you feel accomplished? Do you feel..."
A pause to worry his lower lip, calloused fingers rubbing the spoon between them as blue eyes search gold for answers. He doesn't know exactly what kind of answers he wants (needs), just... answers.
"...happy?"
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And it's good, sometimes, to go out and feel useful again. Feel like he has a purpose. The Path was bloody and brutal and there were times that he truly hated it, but it was also simple. Kill monsters, get coin. Protect the people from the teeth and claws that waited in their woods, regardless of whether they praised you or cursed your name. But when he thinks about packing everything up onto Roach, about camping on the ground for weeks on end and sleeping in his armor with his swords within reach, about stitching up both himself and his armor until it's more mending thread than leather-- he's tired. He's tired and this house is comfortable and Dandelion's arms are welcoming.
"If I said anything but yes about being accomplished, I think Dandelion might have my head. There's thirty years' worth of poetry and songs about how accomplished I am."
Which isn't exactly the same thing-- having someone say that you're impressive and actually feeling like anything that you've done is worthwhile are two very different things. Geralt drinks again, taking that moment to prepare a real answer. Jaskier wants a real answer, and Geralt has always had a bard-shaped weak spot in his heart. Perhaps his honesty is the something else that the sorceress had thought that Jaskier needs.
"There's no end to the Path. No real metric for success, other than survival. If you aren't killed by ghouls for a bounty of thirty crowns a head, you're as successful as any other witcher is," he says. "I suppose I should feel proud about killing monsters and saving men. But the best thing I've done? What's really left a mark on the world?"
It's not blood and violence. He's had enough of that in his life, enough to know that it's not the glorious thing that the ballads made it out to be.
"I found a scared little girl in the woods and raised her to be a strong, kind, intelligent woman who can do whatever she wants. That's the best thing I ever did." He leans back in his chair, and just thinking about Ciri makes his face soften. "I think I can be content with that being my greatest accomplishment."
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Geralt is right, though - Jaskier doesn't want Dandelion's opinion, he wants to know how Geralt truly feels. While he can be impatient at times, he's learned to be better with Geralt, whose words comes slower. Well, again, not this one, but the point stands. Jaskier drinks more wine and finishes his stew, quietly waiting for what the witcher has to say on the matter.
The mention of the Path comes, and for a moment he thinks this conversation is going down a very familiar path. But then Geralt mentions 'a mark on the world', a legacy if you will, and-- fuck. Look at that handsome expression soften, listen to the pride in that deep voice.
This. This is the Geralt he fell in love with.
Dandelion is a lucky bastard, he thinks for what probably is the hundredth time since he arrived in the morning. Still, Jaskier smiles at Geralt, openly and honestly, his scent mostly sweet with affection with that hint of envy that's probably not leaving any time soon.
"You think? You should be content. And very proud. I'm glad you've found a family, Geralt. I'm glad to see you happy. It's the least you deserve." It's weird, saying those words aloud. It's what he once believed, and all those beliefs have become complicated (to say the least) since the mountain. Should he be trusting his heart again? Who even knows anymore. "Does she visit you here? I'd love to meet her. I never got to sing to her the song about her parents' betrothal."
No songs about the White Wolf, he said before, and while that particular ballad isn't about specifically Geralt, he's included in it. So that was a no from Calanthe.
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It's the least you deserve.
It had taken Geralt a very long time to believe that he deserved anything good or kind at all, that there is value to him beyond his ability to slay monsters or perform a designated task. It had taken time and the efforts of more than a few people-- Dandelion among them-- to make him believe that he is more than an efficient tool to be used and then set aside. More time even than that to convince him that he is allowed to have good things, like daughters and terrifying sorceresses and a bard who whispers poetry to him at night when he thinks he's asleep.
"She drops by whenever she feels like it," he replies, because it's the truest answer he can give-- Ciri goes wherever she pleases, whenever she pleases. "Every other month or so, usually. And she wants to come back for the winter, when Lambert and Eskel will be here."
A full house for the winter. He could probably convince Yen to drop by for a little while, too, since Ciri will be here, and that would be the majority of his odd family, all in one place.
"She'd like to hear you sing. I've told her about the banquet, but you'd tell it better."
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While this Geralt is way more open and talkative, Jaskier can't help the suspicion of him having kept some of the more embarrassing details for himself. And even if he hadn't, well-- he'd sing it anyway, of course. Because Cirilla deserves the better version of events, and that's obviously his own, no questions asked, thank you very much.
Will he ever get to sing it to the princess in his own world? Will she ever get to leave Cintra and the vigilant eyes of her grandmother? Will Destiny be kinder to her after the loss of her parents?
Hopefully that's one thing that stays true across all worlds. (Because you see, Jaskier does not know Cintra falls. Oops.)
As Jaskier finishes his bowl of stew, the rest of what Geralt said finally sinks in. With eyes filled with curiosity, he tilts his head at the witcher, sensing the potential for a story there.
"You don't winter at Kaer Morhen anymore?" He looks down at his bowl and realizes how that sounds. "I mean - I can see this obviously is a far better place to spend winter at. But your brothers join you here too? What about your old teacher?"
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For a few long moments, Geralt goes still. It's not intentional, he reminds himself-- this version of Dandelion is from some six years ago, he doesn't know. He doesn't know what happened with the Wild Hunt, has no idea that the Wolf witchers don't go back to the keep anymore because there's nothing left to return to.
Geralt pours himself more wine, then takes a long drink. It doesn't really help brace him, but it's better than nothing.
"Vesemir," he says, once he's certain that his voice will remain steady, "is dead. Kaer Morhen is uninhabitable."
Ruined beyond repair, even for witchers. With the death of Vesemir and the aftermath of the battle with the Wild Hunt, the Wolf School is truly and undeniably dead. The final nail in its already mostly buried coffin.
"I haven't had this place for very long, but it's big enough for them to overwinter, if they want to come. I sent word to them, but I doubt I'll get a reply."
It's difficult to send letters while on the Path. Now it just remains to be seen whether or not they would make the trip south and show up on his doorstep one day after the chill starts to set in. The prospect of seeing Ciri-- something that he'd been sure to include in the letters that he sent-- is a tempting draw for them. They like her, and even Lambert, grumpy fuck that he is, doesn't like to leave her disappointed.
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"...bollocks."
Witchers die on the Path, it is to be expected. But that doesn't mean it ever gets easier to hear about it. And this time is a lot worse as well - Geralt has lost a beloved teacher and his home. Bloody Hell. Jaskier's face instantly falls, blue eyes filling with sympathy, sadness and -he can't stop it- a bit of pity as well. His scent, of course, matches, sweetness going away to give room to sourness.
"Fuck, Geralt." After a moment of hesitation, he reaches out across the table and closes his hand around the witcher's wrist, giving it a squeeze. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to bring back such memories - but I'll listen, if you do want to talk about it."
Kaer Morhen is gone... because apparently one attack hadn't been enough. Not even after Dandelion's hard work on witcher reputation such a tragedy could be prevented. Can he take this information home and make it a better place? If Dandelion truly is there right now, is he doing something about it? Melitele have mercy, this is such a huge responsibility for a mere couple of humble bards.
He'll try, though, even if it means having to talk to Old Geralt again. Because it's still nothing compared to what witchers have to go through.
"I'm sure your brothers would love making this place their new home with you. Can't you use the xenothingy to contact them as well?"
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Geralt takes the bard's hand and gives it a squeeze in return, as thanks for his kindness.
"I don't want to tell you too much," he says. "But thank you for offering."
Who knows what could happen if he tells this younger Dandelion about the Wild Hunt? Gods, would he then have to tell him about the Rivian pogrom, as well, and his and Yennefer's brush with death? The two year gap between bleeding out in the street and reappearing, a confused amnesiac, in the woods near Kaer Morhen?
How different would things have been, he wonders, if Dandelion had been there at the keep when he had been brought back. He had known that Triss was important to him the moment that he saw her, and he had known the same the moment that he'd set eyes on the bard, too, so many weeks later. But such things are impossible to predict. Maybe the course of his life would've run differently, for the better. Maybe Dandelion would've died when the keep was attacked, like Leo.
And even if he does tell him, what could a bard do to stop elves from a parallel world who want to take Ciri?
Thinking of the future, perhaps, is better. A future that has the possibility of making Corvo Bianco a safe haven for his friends and brothers.
"The xenovox is a one-way means of communication," he says. "I can only use it to speak to Yennefer. They're rare to find and difficult to make, too, so she can't just give them out to anyone. I'm stuck with letters, unless I want to try to ride out and find one of them myself."
Which would be a difficult thing to do even if Geralt had been out on the Path. He's an excellent tracker, but locating two wandering witchers somewhere in the Continent? Not an easy feat. Well--
"Hm. Keira might know where Lambert is. She was looking into a cure for the plague and might have gotten him to help."
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Those are rational thoughts, though, something Jaskier isn't having at the moment. Because Geralt is fucking holding his hand.
Melitele please have mercy.
It's not easy to make Jaskier blush - it's not that he isn't capable of it, he just happens to be a shameless bastard. There's simply nothing left in the world for him to blush at. Yet here comes Geralt, being an exception in his life as always, no matter the world. Holding his hand like the soft bastard he secretly is, making his cheeks pink and his heart stop for a minute.
Oh gods, he's so pathetic.
"R-right." He mumbles with a nod. "You're welcome."
It's what friends do, he wants to say, but even everything they've shared and discussed, he isn't sure where they stand. It's still confusing to sort his feelings for the golden eyes in front of him - they are not the ones that hurt him, and for that he likes them, but it'd be naive to think he's managed to completely separate them from the ones at home. There's a reason why the hand holding has shaken him so much - it wouldn't have happened if a maid had done the same.
Riding out and finding a witcher is hard, even for a fellow witcher, so Jaskier understands the hesitation. The name that follows, however, isn't one he recognizes. Lambert and Eskel he knows, even if he hasn't met them, but-
"Keira?" He asks with a tilted head. "Has your brother found someone in his life as well?"
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The conversation moves to Lambert's new flame, and, well. Jaskier, like Dandelion, undoubtedly loves gossip, and hearing about how the littlest Wolf has managed to net himself a sorceress after she saved his life would be right up his alley. It's not as though it's a secret, anyway. What's the harm?
"At least for as long as she'll suffer him," Geralt says. "She's a sorceress, and saved Lambert's skin when Kaer Morhen was besieged. He was--" probably about halfway to hard by the time she had finished talking, "--impressed. He's been trailing after her since she asked him to help."
And not a single djinn wish required. It's a better love story than his and Yenn's, that's for certain. And if Lambert is happy and Keira is, somehow, content with a lover who can be an unbridled bastard, than who is Geralt to judge? His own love life has been nothing short of an unmitigated disaster for the past several decades, and only now has settled into something stable.
"It's good that he's found someone again. He's less of a prick when he's getting laid."
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One thing is true though, Jaskier does love gossip, especially when it's witcher related and it goes beyond witchers suck. So he brings the chair closer to the table and rests his chin on his free hand, ears ready for new stories about--
"A sorceress." He says with a raised eyebrow and a snort. "And he trailed after her. I'm sensing a pattern here."
Except this story he likes way better. Love found in the battlefield, a mighty witcher saved by a powerful ally - it would make an amazing song. If Dandelion truly is so much like himself, though, he's probably already covered it. Kaer Morhen was besieged is a detail to remember, however, when he returns home.
When? If. ...right?
He shouldn't be thinking about that.
"I'm glad to hear he's doing better too. Does that also apply to you, though, I must wonder?" He can't help but tease - it's so easy to fall in old habits when it comes to those golden eyes that watch him. The mixed emotions can't stop that. "Geralt was never less of a prick after visiting a brothel."
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Geralt huffs a laugh; there had been a number of times, before they were together, that Dandelion would've attributed his foul moods to a lack of whores.
"I don't know, does it?" he asks. "I haven't been much of a prick to you. Not that I've been visiting brothels lately, I don't really need to."
Not when he's had a bard warming his bed for the past year. For a man his age, Dandelion is... vigorous, and even if Geralt had the inclination to visit a whore, he certainly wouldn't have the energy. Were this any other man, Geralt might have thought that he was trying to keep him too well-fucked to ever want another, but he knows Dandelion.
"If yours is still such an ass even after he's dropped all of his coin on whores," Geralt says, "perhaps he needs something that he can't get from whores."
And that's not just an idle observation-- whores are good for scratching an itch, dealing with something that's just a biological function. And Geralt likes a good orgasm just fine, but there are things beyond just an orgasm that he craves and that a loving partner provides. Soft touches and tender words, falling asleep with a warm body tucked securely in his arms. Even this Geralt would be grumpier if all that was lost to him, too.
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It's the laugh of a happy man.
And one of the many reasons for that happiness apparently is the fact he's getting regularly and thoroughly fucked. Bollocks. How could he forget? How can he have mixed emotions one second, then easily fall into chatting with Geralt and forgetting about all the rest? He hadn't lied to Geralt, it doesn't make him uncomfortable to hear about it, it just keeps sneaking on him and catching with his heart open and-- well. His hand holding Geralt's.
When he woke up, he decided he would enjoy this little break while he could, but he needs to control himself before he goes in too deep.
"No," He replies as he shakes his head and takes his hand back. It already feels cold. "You've been nothing but good to me."
Good, and kind, and welcoming and understanding, and simply a better friend in a few hours than Geralt has been in twenty years. So Jaskier drinks to that, because his heart is stuck in his throat again. He finishes his glass and pours so more wine as he snorts at New Geralt's observation - that's what he used to think as well. He used to think Old Geralt needed more than whores, he needed someone that cared, that helped him with his wounds and showed him he mattered.
Oh, what a fool had he been.
"Yeah. Twenty horses and 'blessed silence'." The bitterness is loosening up in his tongue thanks to the wine. "He's got one wish down now, I guess."
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"I am certain that I've never made a wish that's ever been what I truly wanted in my entire life," he says, because it's the truth-- every wish that he'd made had never turned out how he wanted. He'd wished for quiet so that he could sleep, and gotten a best friend with a tumor in his throat; he'd made a wish to save Yen's life and ended up with her emotionally and magically bound to him. And apparently this alternate universe version of himself made a stupid wish to have Jaskier out of his life, and Geralt hopes that he's realized by now how much of a mistake that wish was.
(On another Continent, a white-haired witcher opens the door to an inn to find a bard already waiting for him, tuning his lute before the nightly rush. The witcher had left him in the dust two towns ago, and had only stopped for two days to complete a contract in the meanwhile. There shouldn't have been any way that the bard could get in front of him, not unless he knew exactly where he was going. The bard winks at him in a truly infuriating manner and tells him that his room is the third door on the right, and that there's a bath already drawn. Geralt grinds his teeth, but it's been over a week since he's had the coin for a hot bath, and he won't pass up the opportunity for a free one.)
"I really don't understand your universe's version of me," Geralt continues. "Maybe I won't, unless I meet him. The reasons for his behavior are a mystery to me."
Geralt doesn't like leaving mysteries unsolved. Though-- with a call to Yen, this mystery could, perhaps, eventually be uncovered. She's already interested in this alternate universe business, it might not be so difficult to convince her to bring this other him into their world along with Dandelion, just for a little while. Just long enough for her to get a look at him and for Geralt to get a better understanding, and maybe even to learn his younger self a few much-needed lessons.
"He can't have always been so cruel to you, if you've stayed with him for so long?"
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