"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."
An amused snort escapes Jaskier's when he hears Geralt say he isn't exactly a poet (no kidding!) but indignation makes a come-back when the witcher finishes that sentence. Jaskier leans away from the table just so his hands can do all the gesturing.
"Because ladies are told they are as elegant as swans all the time! It's not a metaphor to be used on warriors!"
There's a duh tone in his voice that says he shouldn't explain this, it's quite obvious. Geralt, please! This is why he isn't the poet. The pouting doesn't go away quite yet, though. In fact it stays, the huffing as well, when Geralt explains what happened to Eyck. Borch's tail? Is this for real? For fuck's sake.
"So bloody Eyck got to see the dragon but I didn't. Fantastic." The sarcasm is strong in this one. Time to chug more wine. "The Reavers killed him in the middle of our trip while he was relieving himself."
A much less heroic death than against a manticore. As annoying as he was, Jaskier does feel bad for him. Fucking dragon hunt destroyed so many lives, so many bonds. Did Borch predict any of it? Is he a firm believer in Destiny and pushing things to happen because they need to happen? Jaskier isn't sure if he regrets going or not. A shitshow it was, that's for sure, and he didn't get to see the dragon in the end. But was it the wake-up call he needed or should've he continued to live a lie next to that fucking witcher?
Speaking of... Jaskier raises his eyebrows at the rest. Nearly killed by Reavers plus Borch and his daughter living sound about right, yet the rest...
"You fell off the mountain with her instead of fucking her. That's almost an improvement." A completely unfair comment - Geralt getting hurt is never a good thing, never the better option. But he's feeling petty, tipsy, and overall miserable over having to remember that fucking trip all over again. "Our dwarves got the thingy they needed, so that was another good thing out of that shitshow. Did Dandelion miss all the action as well?"
Since apparently he didn't fall off the mountain - Jaskier will feel a liiiiiittle better if he isn't alone in this.
"I most definitely didn't fuck her," he says. "She was... upset with me at the time, and it had been years since we'd last seen each other. She had told me that if I killed the dragon for her, she would forgive me for everything, but we both knew that wasn't true."
And Dandelion had begged him not to kill the dragon, after they had seen the golden one win Eyck's ill-fated duel, because something so rare and beautiful should be allowed to exist in peace. When he thinks back on it, on his bright eyes and earnest voice, Geralt wonders if he'd been only talking about Borch in that moment. He had never been brave enough to actually ask him, and he's not sure if he'd be brave enough to do it even now.
"Dandelion was in the thick of it, though, as he always is despite my best efforts. There was another mage in the hunting party, and he wanted to stop the hunt before we reached the dragon. Dandelion and I tried to help him, but... the fight went poorly for us. Yen wasn't on our side."
Which, as much as it had disappointed him at the time, was hardly unexpected. She wanted to kill the dragon, of course she would oppose any attempts at stopping the hunt prematurely.
"She changed her mind after seeing the true nature of the dragon's hoard." The infant golden dragon-- even Yen had been swayed to mercy by the sight of the orphaned wyrmling. "The Reavers turned on her, and she was held captive with us. With Borch's aid, we were able to escape our bonds and drive off the Reavers. The dwarves, as you said, were given dragon teeth to satisfy them. Borch gave Yen and I advice and then left with his child and swordswomen."
He drinks again and opens the next bottle of wine, because they've run through what he already opened.
"All in all, it could've gone better." Understatement. Geralt personally could've used about a hundred percent less falling off a fucking mountain.
I most definitely didn't fuck her, Geralt says as if it was obvious, as if that wasn't how they ended up every time they met, as if being upset with each other weren't how their entire relationship worked in the first place. The envy that slips into his scent isn't because of her this time, though, it's because of hearing how Dandelion got to be there - not only that, he got to help.
This alternate self of his has everything Jaskier has ever wanted and more. And while part of him is happy there's a Jaskier out there that is doing so good, it also stings a little. It makes everything that happened at home feel even worse, like he did something wrong not to get this ending too.
Geralt's last comment gets a snort from him, one quite bitter at that. "You think?"
That's the end of the story though, and Jaskier knows what the witcher expects next: his own. Fuck, he usually loves talking about himself and his aventures, and especially about his heartbreak, but usually his love shenanigans don't make him feel this... stupid.
He's going to need more wine.
Jaskier throws his head back and drinks directly from the bottle, which is then returned to the table. But his head stays back, staring at the ceiling, not wanting to meet golden eyes as he speaks. Which fucking sucks, because he's never been afraid of meeting Geralt's eyes, but there's only so much he can take to talk about this.
"It was Borch the fell off the mountain for us, and his warriors followed him. Obviously they turned out to be alright later, but... you know. We didn't know then." Not his best storytelling, that's for sure, and that says a lot about his current state of mind - alcohol probably not helping his case either. "Geralt wasn't taking it well - failed to save a life, you know how it goes. And I..."
He swallows and closes his eyes. Every interaction he's ever had with the witcher is being looked at in a new light now, and it stings.
"I tried to comfort him, I said... I said we should take a break. Go to the coast. My heart was in my bloody sleeve and he just fucking grunted and left to her tent! Which shouldn't be surprising because he had refused to do that fucking hunt until she showed up and then spent the entire trip being jealous of Sir Eyck of Fatuousness!"
...bollocks. He's ranting, and he hates it. He doesn't like being affected by these things, jealousy has always been a secondary emotion to him. It was there, a little annoyance at the back of his head, but he never let it get the best of him - he supported Geralt going to brothels, encouraged him even, tried to play wingman when in taverns with no luck. He had been rather supportive during the trip as well, he would like to think, but the way he's telling the story now is probably not painting him in a good light.
It's probably the alcohol's fault.
He drinks more anyway.
"I knew not to expect big gestures from him, but was an actual fucking considerate answer so much to ask for, even if it was a negative? My hopes for the beach trip were tiny yet he somehow managed to destroy them anyway." Ignored and dimissed as if he had offered him dirty water and not his heart. His body slumps on the table then, cheek against the wood, blue eyes staring at nothing but the memories in his own head. "I woke up on my bedroll to find everyone gone. The dwarves told me later that Yennefer froze them and she and Geralt defended the dragon against the Reavers. They got the teeth they wanted so they didn't give a fuck about the rest. And instead of seeing the action I got to see that fucking witch yell at him, dump him and then get the heat and the blame for the djinn and the Child surprise and because apparently whenever he's covered in shit I'm the one shoveling it."
If life could give me one blessing... New Geralt has already heard that. No point in repeating it. He may guess Jaskier is thinking it, though, just by how sour his scent becomes.
"That was a month ago. I stayed in Hengfors to earn some coin for my trip back to Oxenfurt." A sigh. "I just wanted to start over."
Is it possible at fucking forty? He doesn't know, but he's gotta try.
Geralt decides that it's prudent not to mention that, when the dragon hunt was over, Dandelion had looked at him and said let's get the fuck off of this awful mountain, Geralt, and go to Oxenfurt. He'd had a salary to pick up from the university, and he knew the best brothels to go to and was willing to pay for a few nights of Geralt's entertainment if he agreed to show up for a few of his performances. So he spent the next two weeks playing gwent during the day, and at night, split between a whore's bed and companionably sharing Dandelion's. Which was its own kind of torment, mostly Geralt's own fault because he wouldn't recognize why he felt a strange, wistful longing when he shared the bard's bed until later.
(It is a truly fine bed. Geralt also found that out later.)
Best not to mention it.
Yen would likely be interested in the stark differences between their universe and Jaskier's, and how it impacts the decisions that Jaskier's Geralt has made. This Geralt, meanwhile, is mostly confused and angered by these decisions, because of how contradictory they seem. Spending twenty years looking after the bard, saving him from both cuckolds and monsters, only to later call him a burden and send him off. Blaming him for things that he knows were not his fault; Jaskier didn't put the words for the djinn wish into his mouth, didn't make him call for law of surprise. He must know this. It can't be simple cruelty, so what's the reason for it? A fit of Yennefer-induced self-loathing? A revelation about the feelings of a certain bard after he'd basically asked him to run off with him? Both?
He doesn't know. But he does know that Dandelion is likely to be in the company of this version of himself, so it should be simple for Yen to fetch him when she fetches his bard, as well. And there are few fits of idiocy that can't be solved with a good punch to the face.
"As I said before, you're welcome to stay here for as long as you wish."
He doubts if that would ever be permanent-- this bard is still young enough to want to travel the Continent, to find new stories to tell. He's not ready for semi-retirement, wouldn't be content to spend multiple seasons in one place. No matter how good the wine is.
And staying he does, falling into a simple routine. Which is, quite frankly, quite scary. Sure, the day he reached the conclusion that he should enjoy this while it lasts, that he earned it. So this is temporary, so this Geralt isn't "his", and basking into his gentleness would make it hurt more when he's gone. But so what? It's going to hurt anyway, so may as well get something out of it, right? It still bothers him a bit how easy he falls for (any) Geralt's charms, he's supposed to leave being a fool for the witcher behind.
Those thoughts don't last long whenever they appear, though, because said witcher continues to be very good at distracting him.
The estate is fucking beautiful and has enough to do and explore to keep Jaskier busy the first few days. He starts singing more, although never about the White Wolf, and he even gives in and uses Dandelion's desk, which is pretty much the same as his own desk at the university. He flirts a lot with the servants as well, and while they don't mind flirting back just for fun, that's where their participation ends - while they don't understand who he truly is, they obviously still sense the whole witcher's bard motif here. And honestly, Jaskier isn't sure what he'd do if they accepted. Wouldn't it be weird to sleep with someone else here, when this is also Dandelion's home and he is currently seeing Geralt? Why would it be weird when he isn't Dandelion? Because it would bother Geralt? He isn't Dandelion, so it shouldn't count, and it's not like this Geralt feels anything for him like he does for his own bard.
Even if he did call him handsome...
Ugh, thinking about alternate selves is so incredibly confusing.
For now, he can keep on exploring and tasting horribly named wines. It's this exploring that takes Jaskier to a hallway with paintings in it, the first one he finds being one of Cirilla - even in this word he can recognize her, still the living image of Pavetta. The amount of sympathy he feels for her seeing this horrible thing can't be described with mere words: sure, the panting technique is good, but good lord, they destroyed her expression. As someone who also had to sit for shit like this when he was a kid, Jaskier gets mad at Geralt for displaying it anyway. Bad dad move.
Speaking of Geralt, there's a painting of him, which is... well.
If Jaskier licks his lips, it's simply because the artistic ability impresses him. Yeah, totally.
It's an interesting piece, to say the least. Jaskier isn't sure if he can't quite understand the motif or his brain can't cooperate because blood is trying to go somewhere else. There are many details to notice: most scars Jaskier recognizes, but the shape of his body is different from the witcher of his world. Less thick, more lean and... triangle?
How did this even happen anyway? No matter how different this Geralt is, Jaskier can't picture him posing for art, especially nude. This is a story he must hunt. Where's the old guy anyway?
After questioning a couple of servants, Jaskier finally makes it to the area of the estate where they keep all the animals... only to find Geralt being attacked by a bunch of lovely peacocks.
Excuse Jaskier for laughing his ass off.
"Even after retirement the White Wolf continues to howl, but his mighty snarl ain't enough to scare the colorful fowl!"
Jaskier settles in at Corvo Bianco quite well for a man who is, ostensibly, heartbroken. He sings and flirts with the maids, which is basically like having Dandelion back, and gets drunk on fine wine, and every once in a while would even deign to play a game or two of Gwent with him. It's pleasant, and Geralt enjoys his company and the stories that he tells, the differences between his version of events and the ones that Geralt remembers. There are a number of differences between their worlds, some seemingly quite arbitrary, like the shape of Geralt's medallion, and some quite a bit more important, like the Cintran banquet.
Little by little, Jaskier seems to bloom again. Like a flower transplanted into fresh soil.
It's mid-morning when he finally gets around to feeding Dandelion's flock of abominable peacocks, a noisy and fussy mob of brilliantly-colored cocks mingling with the dully-colored peahens. Dandelion favors them terribly, and for whatever reason they're equally as enthralled with him, sometimes even thronging around his feet like ardent admirers when he sings for them. And for Geralt? The man who feeds them regularly and makes sure that they have a warm, dry place to sleep at night? The man whose land they live on?
They peck him. Quite viciously, really, he's bled before because of the little bastards. He's got a scar on his forearm from when one of them got him with its claws. And while he curses and tries to distract the animals from pecking at his shins by tossing out fistfuls of grain, Jaskier comes across his plight. He doesn't aid him, of course, but merely mocks him in verse, which is on-brand enough that it makes something twist a little in his chest. Geralt dumps the whole bucket out for the little bastards to finally catch their attention, then retreats back to a safe distance.
"Little shits," he says, and there's a spot on his arm that's bleeding afresh after one of them had gotten him. "I feed them, and this is the thanks I get."
He expected this kind of treatment from people, not animals.
"To think I considered you to be an animal virtuoso," he replies when he manages to calm down his laughter a little. "It seems it's not only cats that escape your expertise."
And alright, this may not be the Geralt that broke his heart, but as a poet and a petty little shit, Jaskier can't feel savoring the irony of a peacock biting the witcher's hand that feeds him. A reversal of what happened at home, so to speak.
Jaskier favors peacocks as much as Dandelion does, another thing in common. Many a time he's been called a peacock and every time Jaskier considers a compliment - who can be mad at such beautiful creatures? The Countess de Stael used to have them in her estate as well, Jaskier loved composing under a tree near the flock. They liked it when he sang for them, too.
Hmm.
Geralt retreats and Jaskier does the exact opposite: he approaches the birds with an idea in his mind. He hasn't sung about the White Wolf since he came down the mountain, but considering he's in the middle of teasing the hell out of Geralt... well. He can't help it.
"♪ When a humble bard graced a ride along with Geralt of Rivia, along came this song. ♪" The peacocks raise their heads and stare as Jaskier comes close enough to let them make the final choice to approach him or not. "♪ From when the White Wolf fought a silver-tongued devil, his army of elves at his hooves did they revel. ♪"
The peacocks finally realize this is another "breed" of Dandelion and quickly approach the bard, moving in circles around him as they squawk along to the song. Delighted as he can be by this turn of events, Jaskier laughs brightly as he lets his fingertips brush their colorful tails.
The bard steps up to the birds and starts to sing for them, some catchy song that must be about the elves at Dol Blathanna, judging from the lyrics about elves and devils. The peafowl seem quite taken by it, though, judging from how quickly they decide to flock around him, the peahens cuddling up around his shins while the peacocks croak along with his singing. One or two of them lift their brilliant tails up, strutting around Jaskier and shaking their vibrant plumage. They seem pleased when the bard touches them, if their quivering feathers are anything to go by.
Geralt leans against a fencepost and presses the heel of his hand against the bleeding cut on his arm, to encourage it to clot. The sight of the bard amongst a flock of noisy birds is so familiar that it makes something ache under his breastbone. He misses his bard, the lilt of his voice and his smile and the particular drum of his heartbeat. He worries, even though he knows that Dandelion can take care of himself without a witcher at his side. Is it such a terrible thing, though, to always want to be the witcher that he runs to?
(On another Continent, a bard follows a witcher on his contract, despite the witcher's protests. He's told to wait with Roach at a reasonable distance, but disregards that command almost as soon as Geralt is out of eyesight; how can be write anything if he doesn't see what happens? When he gets close enough to see the fight, there are a few wonderful moments where he can observe the action before one of the endrega drones comes after him; he calls for the witcher-- Geralt!-- and flees, and years of running from man and beast alike has given him a particular alacrity in tree climbing. It's a useful skill.)
"I hate to tell you, bard," he says, pushing down the melancholy feeling in his chest for now, "but your adoring audience has an ulterior motive."
That lovely feather display is the exact same thing that the peacocks do when they're trying to impress the hens, and it is that time of year. Apparently they've just decided that the big, loud man wearing bright colors is more attractive than the usual selection of hens, so they're vying for his attention.
While Geralt does his thinking, Jaskier finishes singing the chorus of Toss A Coin for the peacocks, although it gets no reaction from the witcher. And it says a lot about his relationship with Geralt at home, he realizes, for him to consider no reaction a good thing. No reaching your audience is never a good sign for a performer, but compared to certain witcher's annoyed face whenever he used to sing the White Wolf songs? This is actually an improvement.
Which is kinda depressing, to be honest.
Thankfully, Geralt's comment brings him back from sad-thoughts-land, although Jaskier isn't sure he understands said comment.
"What?"
He looks down at the peacocks and carefully watches their movements, trying to guess what Geralt meant by--
Oh.
"Part of me is flattered, honestly." He wrinkles his nose. "On the other hand - eww."
It's a bit hard to walk away with so many birds surrounding him - Jaskier ends up tripping twice before he gets to Geralt's side, but at least he doesn't end up on the ground. Little mercies. Now he's closer to the witcher, he notices exactly how deep the cute must be if that's how much it's bleeding.
"Bollocks. Did they truly bite that hard?" He grabs Geralt's hand and pulls it away for a better look at the wound - yikes. He pulls a face, his witcher-caretaking instincts kicking in before he can confront them. "Let's go back inside so I can patch you up." He doesn't wait for an answer, he's already pulling Geralt along. "And meanwhile you can tell me the stories behind those paintings in the west wing, mmh?"
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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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"Because ladies are told they are as elegant as swans all the time! It's not a metaphor to be used on warriors!"
There's a duh tone in his voice that says he shouldn't explain this, it's quite obvious. Geralt, please! This is why he isn't the poet. The pouting doesn't go away quite yet, though. In fact it stays, the huffing as well, when Geralt explains what happened to Eyck. Borch's tail? Is this for real? For fuck's sake.
"So bloody Eyck got to see the dragon but I didn't. Fantastic." The sarcasm is strong in this one. Time to chug more wine. "The Reavers killed him in the middle of our trip while he was relieving himself."
A much less heroic death than against a manticore. As annoying as he was, Jaskier does feel bad for him. Fucking dragon hunt destroyed so many lives, so many bonds. Did Borch predict any of it? Is he a firm believer in Destiny and pushing things to happen because they need to happen? Jaskier isn't sure if he regrets going or not. A shitshow it was, that's for sure, and he didn't get to see the dragon in the end. But was it the wake-up call he needed or should've he continued to live a lie next to that fucking witcher?
Speaking of... Jaskier raises his eyebrows at the rest. Nearly killed by Reavers plus Borch and his daughter living sound about right, yet the rest...
"You fell off the mountain with her instead of fucking her. That's almost an improvement." A completely unfair comment - Geralt getting hurt is never a good thing, never the better option. But he's feeling petty, tipsy, and overall miserable over having to remember that fucking trip all over again. "Our dwarves got the thingy they needed, so that was another good thing out of that shitshow. Did Dandelion miss all the action as well?"
Since apparently he didn't fall off the mountain - Jaskier will feel a liiiiiittle better if he isn't alone in this.
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And Dandelion had begged him not to kill the dragon, after they had seen the golden one win Eyck's ill-fated duel, because something so rare and beautiful should be allowed to exist in peace. When he thinks back on it, on his bright eyes and earnest voice, Geralt wonders if he'd been only talking about Borch in that moment. He had never been brave enough to actually ask him, and he's not sure if he'd be brave enough to do it even now.
"Dandelion was in the thick of it, though, as he always is despite my best efforts. There was another mage in the hunting party, and he wanted to stop the hunt before we reached the dragon. Dandelion and I tried to help him, but... the fight went poorly for us. Yen wasn't on our side."
Which, as much as it had disappointed him at the time, was hardly unexpected. She wanted to kill the dragon, of course she would oppose any attempts at stopping the hunt prematurely.
"She changed her mind after seeing the true nature of the dragon's hoard." The infant golden dragon-- even Yen had been swayed to mercy by the sight of the orphaned wyrmling. "The Reavers turned on her, and she was held captive with us. With Borch's aid, we were able to escape our bonds and drive off the Reavers. The dwarves, as you said, were given dragon teeth to satisfy them. Borch gave Yen and I advice and then left with his child and swordswomen."
He drinks again and opens the next bottle of wine, because they've run through what he already opened.
"All in all, it could've gone better." Understatement. Geralt personally could've used about a hundred percent less falling off a fucking mountain.
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This alternate self of his has everything Jaskier has ever wanted and more. And while part of him is happy there's a Jaskier out there that is doing so good, it also stings a little. It makes everything that happened at home feel even worse, like he did something wrong not to get this ending too.
Geralt's last comment gets a snort from him, one quite bitter at that. "You think?"
That's the end of the story though, and Jaskier knows what the witcher expects next: his own. Fuck, he usually loves talking about himself and his aventures, and especially about his heartbreak, but usually his love shenanigans don't make him feel this... stupid.
He's going to need more wine.
Jaskier throws his head back and drinks directly from the bottle, which is then returned to the table. But his head stays back, staring at the ceiling, not wanting to meet golden eyes as he speaks. Which fucking sucks, because he's never been afraid of meeting Geralt's eyes, but there's only so much he can take to talk about this.
"It was Borch the fell off the mountain for us, and his warriors followed him. Obviously they turned out to be alright later, but... you know. We didn't know then." Not his best storytelling, that's for sure, and that says a lot about his current state of mind - alcohol probably not helping his case either. "Geralt wasn't taking it well - failed to save a life, you know how it goes. And I..."
He swallows and closes his eyes. Every interaction he's ever had with the witcher is being looked at in a new light now, and it stings.
"I tried to comfort him, I said... I said we should take a break. Go to the coast. My heart was in my bloody sleeve and he just fucking grunted and left to her tent! Which shouldn't be surprising because he had refused to do that fucking hunt until she showed up and then spent the entire trip being jealous of Sir Eyck of Fatuousness!"
...bollocks. He's ranting, and he hates it. He doesn't like being affected by these things, jealousy has always been a secondary emotion to him. It was there, a little annoyance at the back of his head, but he never let it get the best of him - he supported Geralt going to brothels, encouraged him even, tried to play wingman when in taverns with no luck. He had been rather supportive during the trip as well, he would like to think, but the way he's telling the story now is probably not painting him in a good light.
It's probably the alcohol's fault.
He drinks more anyway.
"I knew not to expect big gestures from him, but was an actual fucking considerate answer so much to ask for, even if it was a negative? My hopes for the beach trip were tiny yet he somehow managed to destroy them anyway." Ignored and dimissed as if he had offered him dirty water and not his heart. His body slumps on the table then, cheek against the wood, blue eyes staring at nothing but the memories in his own head. "I woke up on my bedroll to find everyone gone. The dwarves told me later that Yennefer froze them and she and Geralt defended the dragon against the Reavers. They got the teeth they wanted so they didn't give a fuck about the rest. And instead of seeing the action I got to see that fucking witch yell at him, dump him and then get the heat and the blame for the djinn and the Child surprise and because apparently whenever he's covered in shit I'm the one shoveling it."
If life could give me one blessing... New Geralt has already heard that. No point in repeating it. He may guess Jaskier is thinking it, though, just by how sour his scent becomes.
"That was a month ago. I stayed in Hengfors to earn some coin for my trip back to Oxenfurt." A sigh. "I just wanted to start over."
Is it possible at fucking forty? He doesn't know, but he's gotta try.
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(It is a truly fine bed. Geralt also found that out later.)
Best not to mention it.
Yen would likely be interested in the stark differences between their universe and Jaskier's, and how it impacts the decisions that Jaskier's Geralt has made. This Geralt, meanwhile, is mostly confused and angered by these decisions, because of how contradictory they seem. Spending twenty years looking after the bard, saving him from both cuckolds and monsters, only to later call him a burden and send him off. Blaming him for things that he knows were not his fault; Jaskier didn't put the words for the djinn wish into his mouth, didn't make him call for law of surprise. He must know this. It can't be simple cruelty, so what's the reason for it? A fit of Yennefer-induced self-loathing? A revelation about the feelings of a certain bard after he'd basically asked him to run off with him? Both?
He doesn't know. But he does know that Dandelion is likely to be in the company of this version of himself, so it should be simple for Yen to fetch him when she fetches his bard, as well. And there are few fits of idiocy that can't be solved with a good punch to the face.
"As I said before, you're welcome to stay here for as long as you wish."
He doubts if that would ever be permanent-- this bard is still young enough to want to travel the Continent, to find new stories to tell. He's not ready for semi-retirement, wouldn't be content to spend multiple seasons in one place. No matter how good the wine is.
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And staying he does, falling into a simple routine. Which is, quite frankly, quite scary. Sure, the day he reached the conclusion that he should enjoy this while it lasts, that he earned it. So this is temporary, so this Geralt isn't "his", and basking into his gentleness would make it hurt more when he's gone. But so what? It's going to hurt anyway, so may as well get something out of it, right? It still bothers him a bit how easy he falls for (any) Geralt's charms, he's supposed to leave being a fool for the witcher behind.
Those thoughts don't last long whenever they appear, though, because said witcher continues to be very good at distracting him.
The estate is fucking beautiful and has enough to do and explore to keep Jaskier busy the first few days. He starts singing more, although never about the White Wolf, and he even gives in and uses Dandelion's desk, which is pretty much the same as his own desk at the university. He flirts a lot with the servants as well, and while they don't mind flirting back just for fun, that's where their participation ends - while they don't understand who he truly is, they obviously still sense the whole witcher's bard motif here. And honestly, Jaskier isn't sure what he'd do if they accepted. Wouldn't it be weird to sleep with someone else here, when this is also Dandelion's home and he is currently seeing Geralt? Why would it be weird when he isn't Dandelion? Because it would bother Geralt? He isn't Dandelion, so it shouldn't count, and it's not like this Geralt feels anything for him like he does for his own bard.
Even if he did call him handsome...
Ugh, thinking about alternate selves is so incredibly confusing.
For now, he can keep on exploring and tasting horribly named wines. It's this exploring that takes Jaskier to a hallway with paintings in it, the first one he finds being one of Cirilla - even in this word he can recognize her, still the living image of Pavetta. The amount of sympathy he feels for her seeing this horrible thing can't be described with mere words: sure, the panting technique is good, but good lord, they destroyed her expression. As someone who also had to sit for shit like this when he was a kid, Jaskier gets mad at Geralt for displaying it anyway. Bad dad move.
Speaking of Geralt, there's a painting of him, which is... well.
If Jaskier licks his lips, it's simply because the artistic ability impresses him. Yeah, totally.
It's an interesting piece, to say the least. Jaskier isn't sure if he can't quite understand the motif or his brain can't cooperate because blood is trying to go somewhere else. There are many details to notice: most scars Jaskier recognizes, but the shape of his body is different from the witcher of his world. Less thick, more lean and... triangle?
How did this even happen anyway? No matter how different this Geralt is, Jaskier can't picture him posing for art, especially nude. This is a story he must hunt. Where's the old guy anyway?
After questioning a couple of servants, Jaskier finally makes it to the area of the estate where they keep all the animals... only to find Geralt being attacked by a bunch of lovely peacocks.
Excuse Jaskier for laughing his ass off.
"Even after retirement the White Wolf continues to howl, but his mighty snarl ain't enough to scare the colorful fowl!"
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Little by little, Jaskier seems to bloom again. Like a flower transplanted into fresh soil.
It's mid-morning when he finally gets around to feeding Dandelion's flock of abominable peacocks, a noisy and fussy mob of brilliantly-colored cocks mingling with the dully-colored peahens. Dandelion favors them terribly, and for whatever reason they're equally as enthralled with him, sometimes even thronging around his feet like ardent admirers when he sings for them. And for Geralt? The man who feeds them regularly and makes sure that they have a warm, dry place to sleep at night? The man whose land they live on?
They peck him. Quite viciously, really, he's bled before because of the little bastards. He's got a scar on his forearm from when one of them got him with its claws. And while he curses and tries to distract the animals from pecking at his shins by tossing out fistfuls of grain, Jaskier comes across his plight. He doesn't aid him, of course, but merely mocks him in verse, which is on-brand enough that it makes something twist a little in his chest. Geralt dumps the whole bucket out for the little bastards to finally catch their attention, then retreats back to a safe distance.
"Little shits," he says, and there's a spot on his arm that's bleeding afresh after one of them had gotten him. "I feed them, and this is the thanks I get."
He expected this kind of treatment from people, not animals.
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And alright, this may not be the Geralt that broke his heart, but as a poet and a petty little shit, Jaskier can't feel savoring the irony of a peacock biting the witcher's hand that feeds him. A reversal of what happened at home, so to speak.
Jaskier favors peacocks as much as Dandelion does, another thing in common. Many a time he's been called a peacock and every time Jaskier considers a compliment - who can be mad at such beautiful creatures? The Countess de Stael used to have them in her estate as well, Jaskier loved composing under a tree near the flock. They liked it when he sang for them, too.
Hmm.
Geralt retreats and Jaskier does the exact opposite: he approaches the birds with an idea in his mind. He hasn't sung about the White Wolf since he came down the mountain, but considering he's in the middle of teasing the hell out of Geralt... well. He can't help it.
"♪ When a humble bard graced a ride along with Geralt of Rivia, along came this song. ♪" The peacocks raise their heads and stare as Jaskier comes close enough to let them make the final choice to approach him or not. "♪ From when the White Wolf fought a silver-tongued devil, his army of elves at his hooves did they revel. ♪"
The peacocks finally realize this is another "breed" of Dandelion and quickly approach the bard, moving in circles around him as they squawk along to the song. Delighted as he can be by this turn of events, Jaskier laughs brightly as he lets his fingertips brush their colorful tails.
"See~? They're sweethearts."
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Geralt leans against a fencepost and presses the heel of his hand against the bleeding cut on his arm, to encourage it to clot. The sight of the bard amongst a flock of noisy birds is so familiar that it makes something ache under his breastbone. He misses his bard, the lilt of his voice and his smile and the particular drum of his heartbeat. He worries, even though he knows that Dandelion can take care of himself without a witcher at his side. Is it such a terrible thing, though, to always want to be the witcher that he runs to?
(On another Continent, a bard follows a witcher on his contract, despite the witcher's protests. He's told to wait with Roach at a reasonable distance, but disregards that command almost as soon as Geralt is out of eyesight; how can be write anything if he doesn't see what happens? When he gets close enough to see the fight, there are a few wonderful moments where he can observe the action before one of the endrega drones comes after him; he calls for the witcher-- Geralt!-- and flees, and years of running from man and beast alike has given him a particular alacrity in tree climbing. It's a useful skill.)
"I hate to tell you, bard," he says, pushing down the melancholy feeling in his chest for now, "but your adoring audience has an ulterior motive."
That lovely feather display is the exact same thing that the peacocks do when they're trying to impress the hens, and it is that time of year. Apparently they've just decided that the big, loud man wearing bright colors is more attractive than the usual selection of hens, so they're vying for his attention.
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Which is kinda depressing, to be honest.
Thankfully, Geralt's comment brings him back from sad-thoughts-land, although Jaskier isn't sure he understands said comment.
"What?"
He looks down at the peacocks and carefully watches their movements, trying to guess what Geralt meant by--
Oh.
"Part of me is flattered, honestly." He wrinkles his nose. "On the other hand - eww."
It's a bit hard to walk away with so many birds surrounding him - Jaskier ends up tripping twice before he gets to Geralt's side, but at least he doesn't end up on the ground. Little mercies. Now he's closer to the witcher, he notices exactly how deep the cute must be if that's how much it's bleeding.
"Bollocks. Did they truly bite that hard?" He grabs Geralt's hand and pulls it away for a better look at the wound - yikes. He pulls a face, his witcher-caretaking instincts kicking in before he can confront them. "Let's go back inside so I can patch you up." He doesn't wait for an answer, he's already pulling Geralt along. "And meanwhile you can tell me the stories behind those paintings in the west wing, mmh?"