"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?"
"Hmmh," is Jaskier's first reply. Ironic, he knows. Learned from the best! But a wish that Geralt didn't truly want? He can't help thinking that only applies here, in this world. He still remembers Geralt's heartbroken face when Yennefer turned to leave - don't tell him he didn't truly want her. Never had Jaskier seen that expression on him before. And when he yelled at him, well...
And why would Dandelion believe me? Hard not to believe that it was a true wish after that question. If Jaskier could believe it so easily then...
He downs another glass of wine before crossing his arms on the table and resting his chin on it - he really needs to talk about this. Geralt tried to get him to upstairs, and he avoided it, which is weird - every heartbreak of his must be talked about, in his opinion. Yet this time he's been avoiding it - why? Because... he's scared, he's realizing now. He's scared of what he may discover about himself, of what this tells about his life, of the wasted two decades.
The wine is helping, that's for sure.
"I thought I did," he finally confesses with a sigh. "I thought I understood him. A man that has been through a lot, a man that society has treated that shit, a man that doesn't know how to relate to people and that's why he kept me at arm's length... I just had to read between the lines, I thought. Why should I have believed him when he said we weren't friends if he kept me around?"
I shaved him, he told New Geralt in the morning. He thought it had meant something, that it was a sign. And now? Well, he doesn't understand Old Geralt's behavior any better than his counterpart does.
"It wasn't always so bad, no. He taught me to start a fire and clean a rabbit, I washed his hair and tended his wounds. He saved me from cuckold husbands, I saved him from having to talk to people. I sang Toss a Coin five times an evening, he stayed until the end because he knew his presence helped. I asked for the stories behind his scars, he gave them to me, stingy with the details as he was - I wrote the best songs in his name in return. We shared chats by the fire and tiny beds and rationed food..."
There's a pause. He closes his eyes, his scent showing how sweet memories are quickly becoming something else. Sad, bittersweet.
"I got told we weren't friends and that my voice was fillingless pie... I tried to be understanding of his hard temperament because life shaped him that way." That sure is a way to describe his dramatics - once a bard, always a bard, spinning the facts even when confessing something sad and deep. "But not even I can read between the lines of if life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands."
His eyes are opened then, already getting teary at the memory. It's been echoing in his mind since he left the mountain, a little bit of heart falling off every time he replayed the scene in his head, trying to understand what happened, what went wrong. It can't even be blamed on Yennefer this time, like his ignored confession on the rock.
No, it's always been him.
"...I suppose befriending a witcher was too ambitious even for me." Big words for the guy that ran from home and started a new life from cero, spending twenty years being too stubborn to give up on his muse. But what else can he feel when said muse destroyed what he so strongly believed in?
Jaskier gives him a long list of all the ways that Geralt had shown his trust in him; the shaving and baths and tending to wounds, sitting in the crowded tavern common rooms while the bard sang just because his presence gave credence to his ballads. Stories about scars and lessons in basic survival skills, giving the bard his food so that he wouldn't go hungry on cold nights. It sounds like everything that Geralt had done for Dandelion, and done out of friendship and genuine concern. They had taken care of each other over the years, and Geralt would never have let a stranger, a man he didn't trust, put his hands in his hair or stitches in his wounds. Hell, there had been a time when he wouldn't have even let Lambert put stitches in him, would have only just tolerated Eskel's, and they were his brothers.
And that's why what Jaskier tells him about the mountain-- if life could give me one blessing-- is so confusing. It's the piece of the puzzle that doesn't fit. Years of trust and companionship, of allowing Jaskier to work his way into all facets of his life and inexorably change it, all to tell him that he was nothing but a burden? Geralt wouldn't have tolerated a burden for twenty years. He wouldn't have pretended to trust a man. And out of what? Politeness? Since when has he been well-versed in social niceties?
"I think," he says, and he takes some care in deciding what he wants to say, "without having met this man, that it would be a stretch for him to spend two decades pretending to tolerate and trust you. It wouldn't make any sense when he could easily just ride off in the morning and leave you behind."
Instead, he'd, what, ridden Roach at a slow enough pace for a human bard to keep up with him on foot? Made sure to travel only as long as said human bard could manage in a day, calling for rests early even though he could go on longer? The idea that he'd do that for a burden is absurd. Even if he'd felt some kind of obligation to him, Geralt would have gotten him to the nearest town and left him there, not continued to travel with him.
"Instead of trying to make sense of twenty years being a lie, maybe it's more reasonable to assume that what he said to you on the hunt is a lie. Then the question becomes why would he want to drive away his closest companion?"
Geralt knows that he is prone to fits of self-loathing, a habit of his that had exasperated both Dandelion and Yennefer in turns. With fewer friends and even less communication, he could imagine that these bouts of moodiness might be somehow even worse.
"Did something else happen on this hunt that you haven't mentioned?"
"That's what I said, isn't it?" he replies with a tone that can only be described as duh. "That's why I stayed, that's the logic I used for twenty years to keep myself convinced that I wasn't wasting my time. He said my singing is like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling, I just told him he needed a nap. I thought it didn't make sense back then either."
Fuck, this is the worst time to be remembering that horrible day - he can already feel the stretch marks on his throat tingling. Which is all in his head, he knows, but he can't exactly help it. It's not like he's feeling rational at the moment, or at all since he's arrived...
Hell, make it since he's come down that fucking mountain.
Huffing in frustration, he refills his glass with wine and drinks it all before letting his head rest on his crossed arms again. It says a lot about his mood that he is keeping his dramatics in check - Jaskier is supposed to be a loud drunk, just like he's loud about everything else in life.
That question takes him by surprise, both eyebrows quickly going up as he stares at Geralt to try to get a better feeling of the meaning behind it. He knows pretty well by now there is quite a number of differences between their worlds but... they can't be that many. Right?
"The entire dragon hunt was a fucking disaster. Are you saying it wasn't the same for you?"
Geralt has to pour himself more wine just to talk about the disaster that was the dragon hunt. It was a mess for everyone involved-- including himself, and Yen, and Jaskier. But if talking about the damned dragon hunt will somehow shed some light on this situation, on why Jaskier's Geralt is cold and distant to him, than he'll manage to muddle through.
"Of course it was a disaster," he says. "Yennefer wanted me to kill a dragon in the pursuit of a cure that wouldn't help her. Eyck tried to challenge Borch to a duel. Niedamir only wanted the dragon dead to win the hand of a princess. I told a golden dragon that golden dragons don't exist."
He grimaces at the memory of it even now. Geralt had always prized his extensive knowledge of monsters and beasts, and to be so wrong about this, and so wrong right in front of an actual living member of that species... it's mortifying even years after the fact. Worse because of the night with the tub and Borch and his two lovely bodyguards...
Oh.
That's an interesting question, too.
"Did, uh. The Geralt from your world, did he happen to spend an evening with Borch and his companions?"
The way Geralt pours himself more wine is distinctive and Jaskier immediately recognizes it as a sign of the dragon hunt having been a complete fuck-up in this world too. Which shouldn't be a good thing, but honestly? So far Geralt has told him so much about how much better things are over here, it does feel kinda nice to know this world doesn't beat his at everything.
Although to be fair, Dandelion didn't get yelled at by Geralt, so he supposes their dragon hunt is still better. And what is this? Niedamir? As in the ruler of Caingorn? What the fuck! And Eyck is even more of a disaster here but--
Ah. Well, it seems not everything is different. Jaskier goes from a surprised face to outright laughing.
"Geralt if I haven't learned or seen it, it doesn't exist of Rivia strikes again, I see. Borch should've fed you to his children for that." And speaking of the devil... Jaskier frowns and tilts his head at the witcher, not making the connection quite yet. He's drunk, okay, don't judge him. "An evening with them? No, he..."
...spent it with bloody Yennefer of fucking Vengerberg in her tent, after Jaskier had opened his heart and gotten completely ignored. His scent sours immediately at the memory - it was always so easy for her to get Geralt's attention. She only had to show up, not even say a word, to change Geralt's answer to the hunt offer. It's not even about the fucking--
Oh.
Oh fuck.
"...bollocks. You can't be serious."
Jaskier's eyes widen as he stands up, hands slamming the table under him. Oh, did we say his mood killed the dramatics? Never mind, Geralt has managed to bring them back. Because of course he has, he's always been good at affecting Jaskier's emotions no matter the universe.
"YOU FUCKED THEM?! I spent the whole trip flirting with them and YOU got to fuck them?!" A pause, then a gasp. "You fucked A DRAGON?! What the fuck, Geralt!"
So yeah, that's a no on Jaskier's Geralt spending his evening in a fucking orgy.
Jaskier stands up and slams the table with his hands, probably hard enough to sting a bit. Well, that really tells Geralt everything that he needs to know about alternate universe-him and the orgy in the tub-- namely that it didn't happen. And apparently Jaskier takes great offense at the idea that it did happen in one world. He's a bit confused as to whether the main problem here is that Geralt got to fuck Tea and Vea while Jaskier didn't, that Geralt fucked an actual dragon, or a combination of both.
"Well, I didn't know he was a dragon at the time," Geralt says, as though that makes things better. Or as though that makes a difference? After all, Borch is a sentient creature and older than Geralt, if he wanted to bed a scarred up witcher, who's Geralt to tell him otherwise?
"Technically, he invited me to his rooms, so I suppose it's more accurate to say that a dragon fucked me. He was interested in new experiences, so I'd imagine that bedding a witcher was new for him."
Because it isn't as though anyone would've wanted to sleep with him for other reasons, and it's not as though Geralt had high standards. Borch offered him good conversation and treated him well, why not fuck him if he wanted to?
"Dandelion's flirtations went terribly, though." Geralt reaches over with the bottle and tops Jaskier's glass off. "I've heard that he's supposed to be fantastic with women, but I rarely see those skills. He tried to tell Vea that she had a neck like a sexy goose, what was he thinking?"
It's a combination of Geralt fucking the girls, of Geralt fucking a dragon, and Geralt having an orgy and not inviting his best friend in the whole wide world. Simple, really.
Interested in new experiences. That actually resonates with him, because Jaskier is always interested in new experiences as well. He remembers asking Geralt about mermaids, fairies, druids and the like - he supposes he's more shocked now because dragons enter more into the beast category, which he's never considered for... this. Would he have stopped flirting with Tea and Vea if they had been dragons? Probably not.
Jaskier returns to his seat, worrying his lower lip as he considers how to tackle that bedding a witcher comment, but then Geralt sucker-punches him with a jab at Dandelion's flirting skills. Wow. Since he's learned how these different realms work, Jaskier has taken every insult towards Dandelion pretty personal, since they're supposed to technically be the same person. This time it hurts more, though, because... well. Sexy goose had been his line, too.
"Maaaaybe--" he replies after chugging most of the wine glass. Time to pout and huff? Definitely time to pout and huff. Tsk. "--he had a lovely metaphor in mind about geese and how they look beautiful but they are actually vicious little fucks but he lost track of it because warrior women that can kill you with their hands are intimidating, unlike court ladies and tavern maids."
...just a theory. Ahem.
He finishes his glass while pretending he isn't offended by this jab (not at all, hot him, sir!) before going back to fishing for more details of the story, as he always does.
"So what made your dragon hunt such a disaster anyway? You told the other participants' intentions, but what did actually happen? Obviously you didn't kill that dragon for the witch, Eyck only tried to duel Borch. Does that mean he's alive in this world?"
"Jaskier, I think I'm the furthest thing you could get from a poet," regardless of what he said to Lambert that one time when he composed an insulting limerick for him, "but if you wanted to compare her to a long-necked bird that can break your arm, why wouldn't you use a swan?"
Even he knows that geese are foul little bastards and swans, despite actually being equally foul bastards, are considered elegant and pretty. A neck like a swan, that's something that a woman wouldn't immediately take offense to. Hell, Geralt should remember that just so that he can use it on Dandelion sometime and see if he gets the joke. He might end up sleeping in the guest room that night for it, but Dandelion always manages to find enough kindness in his heart to forgive him for his bad jokes.
The conversation returns to the disastrous dragon hunt, and, well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Might as well go into the gory details of why it was such a shitshow.
"Yes, Eyck tried to duel him, because I can't really call it much of a duel when he got knocked off of his horse with one swipe of Borch's tail." And badly injured by it, too. Took him right out of the hunt because of the damage to his spine and legs; he had to recover at the Temple of Melitele for quite some time to regain function.
"He's dead now, though. Killed by a manticore."
Geralt can't say that he's entirely sad to have heard the news; Eyck wasn't the worst sort, despite his hatred of non-humans, but the fact that he went out and hunted monsters for free, taking contracts from his brethren, well. Hard to like a man for that.
"As for the rest of the hunt, I fell off of the mountain with Yen, had too many damn arguments about the ethics of killing dragons, and we all nearly got killed by Reavers. It was shit and the only good thing about it was that Borch and his daughter lived."
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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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And why would Dandelion believe me? Hard not to believe that it was a true wish after that question. If Jaskier could believe it so easily then...
He downs another glass of wine before crossing his arms on the table and resting his chin on it - he really needs to talk about this. Geralt tried to get him to upstairs, and he avoided it, which is weird - every heartbreak of his must be talked about, in his opinion. Yet this time he's been avoiding it - why? Because... he's scared, he's realizing now. He's scared of what he may discover about himself, of what this tells about his life, of the wasted two decades.
The wine is helping, that's for sure.
"I thought I did," he finally confesses with a sigh. "I thought I understood him. A man that has been through a lot, a man that society has treated that shit, a man that doesn't know how to relate to people and that's why he kept me at arm's length... I just had to read between the lines, I thought. Why should I have believed him when he said we weren't friends if he kept me around?"
I shaved him, he told New Geralt in the morning. He thought it had meant something, that it was a sign. And now? Well, he doesn't understand Old Geralt's behavior any better than his counterpart does.
"It wasn't always so bad, no. He taught me to start a fire and clean a rabbit, I washed his hair and tended his wounds. He saved me from cuckold husbands, I saved him from having to talk to people. I sang Toss a Coin five times an evening, he stayed until the end because he knew his presence helped. I asked for the stories behind his scars, he gave them to me, stingy with the details as he was - I wrote the best songs in his name in return. We shared chats by the fire and tiny beds and rationed food..."
There's a pause. He closes his eyes, his scent showing how sweet memories are quickly becoming something else. Sad, bittersweet.
"I got told we weren't friends and that my voice was fillingless pie... I tried to be understanding of his hard temperament because life shaped him that way." That sure is a way to describe his dramatics - once a bard, always a bard, spinning the facts even when confessing something sad and deep. "But not even I can read between the lines of if life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands."
His eyes are opened then, already getting teary at the memory. It's been echoing in his mind since he left the mountain, a little bit of heart falling off every time he replayed the scene in his head, trying to understand what happened, what went wrong. It can't even be blamed on Yennefer this time, like his ignored confession on the rock.
No, it's always been him.
"...I suppose befriending a witcher was too ambitious even for me." Big words for the guy that ran from home and started a new life from cero, spending twenty years being too stubborn to give up on his muse. But what else can he feel when said muse destroyed what he so strongly believed in?
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And that's why what Jaskier tells him about the mountain-- if life could give me one blessing-- is so confusing. It's the piece of the puzzle that doesn't fit. Years of trust and companionship, of allowing Jaskier to work his way into all facets of his life and inexorably change it, all to tell him that he was nothing but a burden? Geralt wouldn't have tolerated a burden for twenty years. He wouldn't have pretended to trust a man. And out of what? Politeness? Since when has he been well-versed in social niceties?
"I think," he says, and he takes some care in deciding what he wants to say, "without having met this man, that it would be a stretch for him to spend two decades pretending to tolerate and trust you. It wouldn't make any sense when he could easily just ride off in the morning and leave you behind."
Instead, he'd, what, ridden Roach at a slow enough pace for a human bard to keep up with him on foot? Made sure to travel only as long as said human bard could manage in a day, calling for rests early even though he could go on longer? The idea that he'd do that for a burden is absurd. Even if he'd felt some kind of obligation to him, Geralt would have gotten him to the nearest town and left him there, not continued to travel with him.
"Instead of trying to make sense of twenty years being a lie, maybe it's more reasonable to assume that what he said to you on the hunt is a lie. Then the question becomes why would he want to drive away his closest companion?"
Geralt knows that he is prone to fits of self-loathing, a habit of his that had exasperated both Dandelion and Yennefer in turns. With fewer friends and even less communication, he could imagine that these bouts of moodiness might be somehow even worse.
"Did something else happen on this hunt that you haven't mentioned?"
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Fuck, this is the worst time to be remembering that horrible day - he can already feel the stretch marks on his throat tingling. Which is all in his head, he knows, but he can't exactly help it. It's not like he's feeling rational at the moment, or at all since he's arrived...
Hell, make it since he's come down that fucking mountain.
Huffing in frustration, he refills his glass with wine and drinks it all before letting his head rest on his crossed arms again. It says a lot about his mood that he is keeping his dramatics in check - Jaskier is supposed to be a loud drunk, just like he's loud about everything else in life.
That question takes him by surprise, both eyebrows quickly going up as he stares at Geralt to try to get a better feeling of the meaning behind it. He knows pretty well by now there is quite a number of differences between their worlds but... they can't be that many. Right?
"The entire dragon hunt was a fucking disaster. Are you saying it wasn't the same for you?"
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"Of course it was a disaster," he says. "Yennefer wanted me to kill a dragon in the pursuit of a cure that wouldn't help her. Eyck tried to challenge Borch to a duel. Niedamir only wanted the dragon dead to win the hand of a princess. I told a golden dragon that golden dragons don't exist."
He grimaces at the memory of it even now. Geralt had always prized his extensive knowledge of monsters and beasts, and to be so wrong about this, and so wrong right in front of an actual living member of that species... it's mortifying even years after the fact. Worse because of the night with the tub and Borch and his two lovely bodyguards...
Oh.
That's an interesting question, too.
"Did, uh. The Geralt from your world, did he happen to spend an evening with Borch and his companions?"
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Although to be fair, Dandelion didn't get yelled at by Geralt, so he supposes their dragon hunt is still better. And what is this? Niedamir? As in the ruler of Caingorn? What the fuck! And Eyck is even more of a disaster here but--
Ah. Well, it seems not everything is different. Jaskier goes from a surprised face to outright laughing.
"Geralt if I haven't learned or seen it, it doesn't exist of Rivia strikes again, I see. Borch should've fed you to his children for that." And speaking of the devil... Jaskier frowns and tilts his head at the witcher, not making the connection quite yet. He's drunk, okay, don't judge him. "An evening with them? No, he..."
...spent it with bloody Yennefer of fucking Vengerberg in her tent, after Jaskier had opened his heart and gotten completely ignored. His scent sours immediately at the memory - it was always so easy for her to get Geralt's attention. She only had to show up, not even say a word, to change Geralt's answer to the hunt offer. It's not even about the fucking--
Oh.
Oh fuck.
"...bollocks. You can't be serious."
Jaskier's eyes widen as he stands up, hands slamming the table under him. Oh, did we say his mood killed the dramatics? Never mind, Geralt has managed to bring them back. Because of course he has, he's always been good at affecting Jaskier's emotions no matter the universe.
"YOU FUCKED THEM?! I spent the whole trip flirting with them and YOU got to fuck them?!" A pause, then a gasp. "You fucked A DRAGON?! What the fuck, Geralt!"
So yeah, that's a no on Jaskier's Geralt spending his evening in a fucking orgy.
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"Well, I didn't know he was a dragon at the time," Geralt says, as though that makes things better. Or as though that makes a difference? After all, Borch is a sentient creature and older than Geralt, if he wanted to bed a scarred up witcher, who's Geralt to tell him otherwise?
"Technically, he invited me to his rooms, so I suppose it's more accurate to say that a dragon fucked me. He was interested in new experiences, so I'd imagine that bedding a witcher was new for him."
Because it isn't as though anyone would've wanted to sleep with him for other reasons, and it's not as though Geralt had high standards. Borch offered him good conversation and treated him well, why not fuck him if he wanted to?
"Dandelion's flirtations went terribly, though." Geralt reaches over with the bottle and tops Jaskier's glass off. "I've heard that he's supposed to be fantastic with women, but I rarely see those skills. He tried to tell Vea that she had a neck like a sexy goose, what was he thinking?"
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Interested in new experiences. That actually resonates with him, because Jaskier is always interested in new experiences as well. He remembers asking Geralt about mermaids, fairies, druids and the like - he supposes he's more shocked now because dragons enter more into the beast category, which he's never considered for... this. Would he have stopped flirting with Tea and Vea if they had been dragons? Probably not.
Jaskier returns to his seat, worrying his lower lip as he considers how to tackle that bedding a witcher comment, but then Geralt sucker-punches him with a jab at Dandelion's flirting skills. Wow. Since he's learned how these different realms work, Jaskier has taken every insult towards Dandelion pretty personal, since they're supposed to technically be the same person. This time it hurts more, though, because... well. Sexy goose had been his line, too.
"Maaaaybe--" he replies after chugging most of the wine glass. Time to pout and huff? Definitely time to pout and huff. Tsk. "--he had a lovely metaphor in mind about geese and how they look beautiful but they are actually vicious little fucks but he lost track of it because warrior women that can kill you with their hands are intimidating, unlike court ladies and tavern maids."
...just a theory. Ahem.
He finishes his glass while pretending he isn't offended by this jab (not at all, hot him, sir!) before going back to fishing for more details of the story, as he always does.
"So what made your dragon hunt such a disaster anyway? You told the other participants' intentions, but what did actually happen? Obviously you didn't kill that dragon for the witch, Eyck only tried to duel Borch. Does that mean he's alive in this world?"
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Even he knows that geese are foul little bastards and swans, despite actually being equally foul bastards, are considered elegant and pretty. A neck like a swan, that's something that a woman wouldn't immediately take offense to. Hell, Geralt should remember that just so that he can use it on Dandelion sometime and see if he gets the joke. He might end up sleeping in the guest room that night for it, but Dandelion always manages to find enough kindness in his heart to forgive him for his bad jokes.
The conversation returns to the disastrous dragon hunt, and, well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Might as well go into the gory details of why it was such a shitshow.
"Yes, Eyck tried to duel him, because I can't really call it much of a duel when he got knocked off of his horse with one swipe of Borch's tail." And badly injured by it, too. Took him right out of the hunt because of the damage to his spine and legs; he had to recover at the Temple of Melitele for quite some time to regain function.
"He's dead now, though. Killed by a manticore."
Geralt can't say that he's entirely sad to have heard the news; Eyck wasn't the worst sort, despite his hatred of non-humans, but the fact that he went out and hunted monsters for free, taking contracts from his brethren, well. Hard to like a man for that.
"As for the rest of the hunt, I fell off of the mountain with Yen, had too many damn arguments about the ethics of killing dragons, and we all nearly got killed by Reavers. It was shit and the only good thing about it was that Borch and his daughter lived."
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