For once, Geralt rouses himself from meditation after Jaskier has already left. The side of the bed where Jaskier had been sleeping is still a little warm, so he can't have been gone for too long. Geralt gets out of bed shortly after he's awake, preferring not to linger underneath the blankets without another warm body there with him; he has plenty that he needs to get done in a relatively short period of time. The horses need to be prepared, their belongings packed up. His armor has to be cleaned off from last night's werewolf hunt. Geralt had already planned out the route that they would take to Kaer Morhen, and when Jaskier returns from his class, he'll have to inform him of it fully. The most direct route would take them through Rinde, and he has a feeling that the bard will kick up a fuss about it, just from the negative connotations associated with the place.
Geralt's not exactly thrilled, either. But following the Pontar is the best way that they can go, and if no one does anything abysmally stupid while they're there, hopefully they'll only have to be in town for one night.
When the witcher returns from the stables, both horses and their belongings in order, Jaskier is already back and had brought lunch with him. He's interested in the smell of stew when he walks in, but quickly finds himself distracted by an armful of amorous bard. Not the worst thing to come back to, all things considered; he thinks that he might get used to this, but then quashes the thought. Geralt tries to get a word in about the fishing thing, some reasonable explanation for a gesture that has few explanations other than the romantic, but Jaskier cuts him off before he has the chance. He's not surprised, really, he could never get a word in edgewise even before Jaskier had the option of kissing him.
The bard says some silly things about about loving him and then pushes a pouch into Geralt's hand. When he opens it and turns the bag upside down, a silver wolf brooch falls into his palm. He approves of the material-- silver is useful, and he'd been meaning to make sure that Jaskier had something on him that could be useful against monsters in a pinch, perhaps a silver dagger. There might be some still left at Kaer Morhen that would be serviceable, once repaired and sharpened; he may not have the funds for it now.
But.
The meaning of the jewelry is obvious, and it will be obvious to anyone who sees it. A claim, as Jaskier says, and while there's a part of Geralt that would be pleased to have his mark on his bard, the rest of him recognizes that as dangerous. A bard with a silver wolf brooch while Nilfgaard is on the hunt for the White Wolf's bard. It isn't smart, but it's something that Jaskier badly wants.
And, gods, when he brings Jaskier to Kaer Morhen with that on him, his brothers are going to have a field day. He'll have to kick both of their asses just to get a moment's peace.
Geralt turns the brooch over and unclasps the pin.
"Bring your cloak."
Once Jaskier complies, he'll pin it near the throat, a bright contrast against the dark fabric.
"Hm." He leaves his hands on Jaskier's sternum longer than necessary, his thumb ghosting over the silver wolf's head. "You may need to cover it. I've seen little of Nilfgaard since we left Vizima, and I don't trust it."
Blue eyes watch Geralt's face closely, trying to find even the smallest of muscle movements for a reaction. Geralt seems to really like the marks on his neck, so this should be a good gift, right? Then again, he doesn't care much about jewelry and other pretty things, so maybe-- Bring your cloak. Oh. Well then.
Jaskier has never put on clothes so fast in his life, not even when a cuckold husband caught him in the act. He looks down at the brooch with the biggest smile on his face, a smile that almost reaches his ears when Geralt's hand stays for longer than it should. There is the gesture in Geraltese he's been looking for! Gift choosing mission has been a success!
"Yeah, yeah, we're being sneaky, I know. Let me enjoy it while I can." His scent overwhelming sweet now, Jaskier grabs the witcher hand on his chest and brings it to his lips to kiss the knuckles, then pulls to bring Geralt with him towards the desk. "Have you chosen a route according to these suspicions of yours, then?"
Once Geralt takes the chair, Jaskier doesn't hesitate to sit on the witcher's lap, cloak and all. He picks the bowl of stew and takes a bite, only to try and feed Geralt next. Sharing is caring, and after learning about the whole fishing deal, he's feeling rather more romantic than usual. He knows there won't be much of this on the road, so he'll try to indulge in the little Oxenfurt time he has left.
Jaskier draws his hand up to his mouth and kisses Geralt's scarred knuckles, and the witcher gives him that exasperated what the hell are you doing kind of look that he's most certainly quite familiar with by now. Apparently the bard's peculiar forms of demonstrative affection aren't going to end now that he's aired his romantic feelings. Geralt is easily led to the table, desk, because lunch is there and he would very much prefer to have a full stomach before they leave. He sits and his lap is soon appropriated by Jaskier, which is... fine, if a bit cumbersome, and Geralt puts an arm around his hips to keep him steady. He draws the line when Jaskier tries to feed him.
"I can feed myself, Jaskier."
He's not an invalid, nor is he one of those couriers that swoons on a chaise lounge before their doting lover. He'll eat his damn stew like the big grumpy brute that he is, because he's godsdamned hungry.
"We'll follow the Pontar east," he says, pulling the other bowl of stew within eating range. "To Rinde. Then we'll cut north through the southern pass of the Kestrel Mountains, to Ard Carraigh. There will be no more stops from there until Kaer Morhen."
It won't be an easy journey, but it's a necessary one, and the fastest route that he can plan. If they're lucky, the weather won't be too bitter by the time they reach the trail leading up to the keep, but Geralt doesn't like to bet on his own luck.
"We'll have to keep a good pace. It's been getting colder here than I'd like, and it'll be colder in the mountains. I've only been caught once in a blizzard on my way to the keep, and it's not something I want to experience again. Nearly killed me."
And if it was nearly the death of a witcher, it would certainly be the death of a bard. If they dawdle too long, or the snows come too early, they wouldn't be able to risk the trip up.
An arm around his hips means Geralt likes having Jaskier on his lap, and that makes up for the fact Geralt doesn't let him feed him (spoilsport!). The witcher's lap is very comfortable and Jaskier is already planning to appropriate as often as possible from now on - there's something to be said about having your lunch while surrounded by wolf warmth and muscle, to say the least.
The real pouting comes when Geralt mentions Rinde - Jaskier's whole body tenses as soon as he hears the word, his scent becoming sour at the memory. Bollocks, he doesn't want to go back to Rinde, even in passing. It's not even about Yennefer (although the fact that's the place where she came into their lives definitely doesn't help), it's about his body still remembering the tumor on his throat as it happened yesterday - his worst nightmare coming to life.
The stew bowl is put down for a moment just so Jaskier can down some wine instead. And by 'some' we mean 'more than half the tankard'.
"I wouldn't want to be caught in a blizzard either. And I understand the need for no stops." It'll be annoying as hell, but he'll endure. It's the price of adventure. Usually he would jump on Geralt's anecdote, it sounds like something ballad worth it, but his mind continues to go through a mental map, considering their options to avoid bloody Rinde. "But why going south to take north again? Why not the northern pass?"
His mind gives him the answer as soon as he finishes asking the question: Blaviken. Fuck. Oh, bloody fucking hell. Catching on his mistake, Jaskier puts his hands up and shakes them, babbling through an attempt to cover his mistake.
"Through Ghelibol, I mean! Good old Ghelibol, home of the largest private library in the Northern Kingdoms! A wonderful and rich history that goes all the way back to the First Landing... not that we're interested in it, that goes without saying, we aren't traveling for sightseeing, I swear I do know that, Geralt."
Rinde isn't exactly full of pleasant memories for Geralt, either-- it's where Yen took his free will and forced him to exact her petty revenge on the townsfolk. But it's a better alternative than going north from Oxenfurt, which would take them to Blaviken. Geralt would go hundreds of miles out of his way to avoid ever setting foot near that fucking pisshole town again and, as a matter of fact, has done exactly that in the past.
Jaskier suggests the northern pass to avoid Rinde, but doesn't realize his mistake until the words are already out of his mouth and Geralt's expression has turned dark. He tries to cover it up by suggesting that they go straight through Ghelibol, babbling some shit about libraries and history. They aren't out on a pleasure tour, they wouldn't have time to stop at any libraries even if Ghelibol weren't a stone's throw away from the town that named him a butcher.
"The Lutonski road will be poor traveling at this time of year," he says, starting off with the least traumatic part of this conversation. "The southern pass will still be clear."
He chases some of the stew with ale. Perhaps if he was a better man, he would risk getting stoned in Ghelibol for Jaskier's sake; he has not attempted to travel through that city since he became the Butcher, but he wouldn't doubt that they had heard about what happened in Blaviken. He would likely not be welcome.
"And I'm not going anywhere near fucking Blaviken." His mouth twists into something sour at the name. Talking about the place is going to put him off his fucking food if he keeps it up. "We're going east and taking the southern pass."
His tone brooks no arguments; either the bard travels the route that Geralt has planned, or he can go back to the dean and beg for his winter lecturing position and the reservation on his room.
The change in the mood is instant, and Jaskier can feel his stomach dropping. He's fucked up big time. To think he had wanted to at least get a hand or blow job going before leaving, a little extra thank you for Geralt to go with the brooch. But there's no way he's directing the mood back in that direction, and even if he could, he wouldn't dare to try. Geralt and his past deserve more respect than that.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." He never does, does he? His mouth just runs without breaks. "Rinde, southern pass, Ard Carraigh. It's a good plan. I'm in, I promise."
Rinde won't be easy, he knows. But Blaviken would be one hundred times worse. He would never do that to Geralt, especially not after he's fought so hard to convince the man that he deserves kindness and two days at Oxenfurt to know what that kindness can be like. This little vacation, if it can be called that, can't end on a sour note. He refuses.
After a very short moment of hesitation, he kisses Geralt's forehead, and lets his hand run through white hair, hoping to be soothing. Lunch forgotten for now, for once Jaskier knows not to push the subject and only hums a little melody as lowly as possible - it's not 'blessed silence', because the idiot is incapable of that, but hey, close enough, right?
It's up to Geralt if he wants to chew him out now - Jaskier isn't going to risk another punch to his stomach.
If Jaskier wants something amorous out of Geralt, he ought to try better foreplay than bringing up Blaviken. There's nothing that would kill Geralt's already slow-rising cock better than mentioning one of the greatest clusterfucks of his exceptionally long adult life. He might have been amenable to the idea of a little quick fooling around before getting out on the road, even if that wouldn't be nearly enough time for him to get anywhere with it, but now? All amorousness is gone.
"Hm."
A simple grunt as a response is likely a poor comfort for Jaskier, but Geralt's mood has been soured and he wants to finish his damned lunch and get out onto the road as soon as possible. He'll feel better once they're past Rinde and on the other side of the fucking Kestrels, well on the way toward the only place he's ever been able to call home. He likely won't be fine until they're actually inside the fortress and the snows are at least chest-deep on the trail, rendering it completely impassible.
He finishes eating in silence, except for Jaskier's soft humming. When done, he taps Jaskier's thigh and tells him "Up," so that he'll vacate the witcher's lap. If the bard's business in Oxenfurt is concluded, there's no reason for them to linger.
"The horses are ready. Get your things, we're wasting daylight."
The last things that Geralt has to grab are his swords and his potion bag, retrieved from the trunk where he had stored it. Then-- to the horses, and eastward to Rinde.
A grunt isn't the best response out there, no, but Jaskier can deal with it. Especially in the context of a fucking Blaviken mention - it could be way worse. A grunt? It's just going back to the old days, something he's used to. Something familiar. Jaskier and Geralt, having one more boring lunch in their long history of boring lunches.
Well, except for the part where Jaskier is sitting on Geralt's lap and running his fingers through his hair. That's definitely new. A good sign, he realizes, that what comes off as an old scene has a little change in it to match the shift in their relationship.
The mood follows them when they leave. Jaskier says good bye and chitchats with the people around them on their way out of the city, and once they've crossed the bridge, he's feeling a bit lighter. This is familiar too, traveling with a brooding Geralt, so Jaskier does what he used to: fills the silence with babbling, which includes talking to their horses, who thankfully are getting along.
Camping and water breaks are the same as they used to be, too, and Jaskier decides that trying anything would be an awful idea (he would like their first time to be on a bed anyway, but what can he say, he's having desperate thoughts here). He sneaks a peck on the lips or cheek when he can, though, to both remind Geralt he's here and he's his, and simply because he can and needs it himself. It's what couples do, he wants to keep in his mind that what happened in Oxenfurt is still real, and he's always a touch starved bard anyway.
At least they still cuddle to sleep at night.
The babbling abruptly stops when Rinde comes into view - Jaskier doesn't brood, not in the way Geralt does (nobody can brood like Geralt, to be fair) but damn if he isn't close to it. It's a big deal for this bard to fall silent after all, and it shows in his body language. His scent becomes sour, his back is tense, and his hand unconsciously reaches for this throat when the memory of that awful day comes back to his mind, completely unwelcome and unwilling to leave.
Distracting himself becomes even harder when, on their way to the nearest inn, a familiar voice greets them.
"I never thought I would see you again."
Chireadan. Unbelievable, just their luck. Jaskier offers a very awkward smile and is about to at least greet him politely when he feels the elves' eyes on his chest... "Bollocks", his lips say instead, and he hurries to take off the brooch and put it on his doublet instead, protected under the cloak.
Which makes Chireadan look incredibly amused. "What brings you back to Rinde?"
Jaskier treats Geralt's broody mood as he would have back before the Mountain-- by mostly ignoring it and chattering away like songbird in spring. He fills the silence with idle talk, either to Geralt, who barely responds, or to their horses, who also don't respond but whose unresponsiveness is only to be expected, as they are horses. Roach, at least, flicks her ears towards the bard whenever he talks, rather than laying them back as she used to do when Jaskier had first started following them.
Geralt frowns at her. Even his fucking horse.
Their stops are similarly familiar; when they make camp at night, Geralt hunts for whatever autumn game he can supplement their supplies with, and Jaskier starts the fire and sets up the cooking pot. They fall back into their routine with almost disturbing ease, like the bard hadn't had a year's absence from his side.
He still lets Jaskier put their bedrolls together at night, and the bard still falls asleep in his arms. He needs it, and Geralt tells himself that this is a far better arrangement than Jaskier waking up in the middle of the night with a screaming fit. And if Geralt presses his nose to the nape of Jaskier's neck and breathes and only then feels settled enough to meditate, well. No one has to know.
The mood gets somehow worse when they get closer to Rinde, which is a notable feat. Jaskier is quiet and tense, Geralt is still darkly brooding, and the day is... actually quite decent, for the time of year. The air is chill but not biting, with a woodsmoke edge to it that's almost pleasant. It's a shame that neither of them are in the mood to appreciate it.
And Geralt is certainly not in the mood to appreciate running into someone that they already know. He wants to make it through Kaedwen without being noticed, not to run into every damned acquaintance they've made in the past twenty-some odd years.
"Hm." His grunts have been taking a curt, short edge as of late. It's even shorter, now-- Chireadan is staring. There's no need for him to stare, and Jaskier apparently doesn't want him staring, either, considering that he cursed about it. "Passing through."
Jaskier usually loves having people staring at him, it means attention. However, he does remember the warning Geralt gave him about the brooch and, while part of him is eager to show it off, Rinde has him more on the edge. Between his own memories haunting him and the possibility of Nilfgaard catching up on them, Jaskier is (for once in his life) willing to behave.
"I see." Chireadan replies with a tone that implies he thinks something is going on. "Are you staying the night then? I can offer bed and supper, if it pleases you, in exchange of updated tidings."
Now that's an offer he doesn't see coming. Jaskier worries his lower lip as he considers it - it'd be free, and fewer people would see them that way. It's not like he'll be performing today -both because of safety and because of his mood- so an inn doesn't even have that in its favor. In theory, it sounds perfect. And yet... it's Chireadan. A good man, as far as Jaskier knows, but he's so linked to the djinn mess, he isn't sure his company would exactly improve the mood.
(And will he ask about Yennefer? Jaskier doesn't want to talk about Yennefer.)
"A very kind invitation, good sir, it's appreciated." Someone has to keep the manners up around here. "If you excuse us for a second..."
Pegasus is brought closer to Roach, and Jasker whispers as lowly as he can - he knows Geralt can hear it.
"Positives: no coin to spend, no extra people to interact with. Negatives: it's fucking him, Geralt!" Alright, so the last part comes off more like hissing than whispering, but he's getting really nervous here. Give him a break. "What do your--" Awkward hand flapping goes here. "--witchery senses say?"
Geralt isn't pleased about the prospect of spending an evening with Chireadan. It should be a boon-- he is a decent man, will likely be discreet, and staying with him would mean saving some coin. Considering that they used much of Jaskier's teaching payments on supplies for the journey, it would be prudent to save as much as they could. They would need to resupply in Ard Carraigh for the trip up the mountain, and there wouldn't be many opportunities for Geralt to take contracts, and too dangerous for Jaskier to sing. Even just being seen in an inn's common room is risky, because any public house could also be hosting Nilfgaardian agents. Avoiding the inn entirely is not an imprudent move.
But.
He's also going to want tidings of Yennefer, which is both a sore subject for him and Jaskier and also one that Geralt likely won't be able to satisfy the elf on. He hasn't seen her for a year, and the last he had heard of her had been some rumors about the Battle of Sodden. She's doing gods only know what now-- or, for all he knows, she could be dead. But that's another thought that makes his chest do strange things, and he dismisses it. Yennefer of Vengerberg is not dead, because Death is neither strong enough nor stubborn enough to keep her.
He glances at Jaskier's nervously flapping hands, a deeply unsubtle gesture. He hums, then answers back in an undertone-- "Mostly harmless."
The prospect of free room and board for them and their horses is too much to pass up. Hopefully, they could use their travel as an excuse to turn in early and avoid as much interaction as possible, then leave as early as possible. Maximum benefit, minimum awkwardness.
"We would appreciate your... hospitality," he says, only gritting his teeth a little at that last word. But that's fine, no one expects good manners from him.
That's quite well said, actually. Especially for Geralt's standards. Jaskier pats his arm as if saying good boy then turns back to Chireadan, trying to put up his best smile, which honestly comes off as kinda awkward. It says quite a bit about how this place puts him in a bad mood, since Jaskier usually is able to keep up decent smiles even in weird situations, like when Geralt wants to talk about defending elves in front of the elf slaying queen.
Chireadan, meanwhile, is quite pleased with this turn of events and proceeds to guide them back to his place. Which happens to be, he explains, a little healer business he's set up for himself. It isn't anywhere as big as an inn, but it does have more room than the average cottage, which means he has enough extra space for two guests and their horses.
It smells of herbs and incense inside, quite strong even for Jaskier's nose, but otherwise it's incredibly clean and well taken care of. Which makes sense, because wounds should be tended in better contexts than tubs filled will selkiemore guts (ahem). It's actually a pretty decent place to stay at, and Jaskier would've easily relaxed in it if circumstances were different.
(When he takes off his cloak, he realizes the brooch is still visible, this time on his doublet. Taking it off again would make call attention to it, so he leaves it there - at least inside there won't be other prying eyes. Under all the bad memories and anxiety this town brings out in him, he can admit it feels nice to have the little wolf out in the open.)
Chireadan indicates two chairs for them to sit at a decently size table and proceeds to take out the tankards and ale, which isn't court quality (obviously) but it isn't the piss-tasting shit from backwater taverns either, and that's already a win.
"We don't have many travelers passing by at this time of the year. Snow will start to fall soon." He explains with his back turned to them, busy cutting some bread and cheese for his guests. "We've heard about the fall of Cintra, some refugees even made it here, but didn't stay for long." When he finally comes to the table with a platter of food, his looks is quite serious. "Which is why I'm obliged to ask, if you excuse my indiscretion: are you being followed as well?"
Jaskier suddenly becomes extra aware of the scars on his body and, with his heart beating quite loudly in his ears, puts down the ale with a little more strength than intended.
"We are not." He replies after glancing at Geralt. "We come from Oxenfurt. No Nilfgaardians soldiers in that area-"
There's a puff of air at the end of its sentence - a word left unspoken. Yet?
Chireadan's home is certainly adequate; Geralt's standards are quite low, though, and he would have been fine with sleeping in a barn or hay loft. But there seems to be room in the cottage for two guests, especially since Geralt will share with Jaskier, even if there's space for him to have his own room. Both as a precaution and because his presence seems to be essential for the bard to have decent sleep, and he'll need his strength for the road ahead.
They sit at the elf's table and have decent ale served to them, which Geralt accepts with a curt nod. The whole cottage smells like various herbs and tinctures, hardly unexpected for a healer. Even so, he makes sure that he drinks from his ale before Jaskier does from his own, checking by both smell and taste for any additives. He doesn't expect anything like that from Chireadan, but better to be safe than drugged.
Jaskier's heart jumps at the mention of Cintra and Nilfgaard, his discomfort creeping into his scent.
"There is no significant Nilfgaardian presence in Oxenfurt," he confirms. "And we were not followed."
Geralt had made sure of that when they were traveling. And while it isn't impossible that Nilfgaard could have spies or sympathizers in the city, Geralt had told no one of their ultimate destination, and he couldn't imagine that Jaskier would be so foolish as to spread that information around, either. Not with how recent his kidnapping was. Kaer Morhen is a well enough kept secret; very few outside of the witchers of the Wolf School are aware that it survived its second sacking.
He will not lead Nilfgaard to the only place that he has ever called a home.
"So you said." Chireadan replies with a nod. "I'll take your presence here as a good sign then. You're here because they aren't, correct?"
Jaskier nods too as he munches on some of the food they've been offered. They've been on the road for quite a few days already, it's good to have something other than fruit and dried meat. Chireadan asks a few more questions to know the general state of things - the current Nilfgaard situation and how the other kingdoms are handling it. Luckily for him, unlike Geralt, Jaskier has been keeping up with such matters and has the vocabulary to explain them.
Which eventually takes him to mention the Battle of Sodden.
He gives no names - why would he? He doesn't know those kinds of details, only that Aretuza was there. But of course Chireadan jumps on it without hesitation. Bollocks.
"Was she there too?"
A name isn't needed, it's obvious to know whom he's talking about. His eyes are curious and hungry for the information, even after all these years... well, it's not like Jaskier can talk, now can he? He wants to feel sympathetic for the poor guy, offer comfort and an ear that understands, but just thinking about her (in here, of all places) makes his scent bitter as hell. Jaskier tries to hide his face behind the tankard, but he can't go on without replying.
There's nothing to worry about, he reminds himself. Geralt said he wouldn't take her back. He is the one with a silver wolf on his chest right now. His stomach turns anyway.
"I don't have an answer to that question. I haven't seen or heard of her in over a year." After a pause, he decides to add- "I'm sorry."
Because no matter how bitter he feels, at the end of the day Jaskier is still a romantic, the one person who can understand Chireadan the best, and his heart does feel for him. At least a bit.
Jaskier summarizes the political situation far more accurately and precisely than Geralt would have; he had been more concerned as of late with protecting his Child Surprise and locating his Bard Surprise than with the geopolitical landscape, and feels justified in his lack of response to this line of inquiry. And, of course, Jaskier has been classically trained and comes from a nobleman's background-- all things that lend themselves to understanding and appreciating affairs of state.
Additionally-- Geralt should never be asked to carry a conversation. It's a task that's doomed to failure.
But, of course, it's inevitable that the conversation shifts to Yennefer, especially after Jaskier mentions the battle at Sodden Hill. The sorceresses of Aretuza were there, so asking after her makes logical sense, even if the question sours Jaskier's scent almost immediately. The bard maintains his composure well, though, provides a level and neutral answer. Chireadan looks to Geralt after, as though he might have some other answer for him-- Geralt replies with a one-shouldered shrug and a shake of his head.
"Don't know."
He's not nearly as sympathetic as Jaskier is, though, perhaps, he should be. He has no desire to continue to talk about Yennefer, however, not after everything that has transpired between them. He doesn't want to have to explain to Chireadan why he doesn't know where the sorceress is, or whether she is all right.
That day on the mountain meant heartbreak for multiple people, not just the bard. Jaskier knows this, knows he should feel sympathetic for many of the members of that hunting party. Geralt especially - just because it frustrated him how much the witcher always ignored his advice when it came to certain sorceress, it didn't mean he was happy to see Geralt broken.
Right now though, considering his current mood and how he feels about her in general, he can't help feeling a bit smug over the fact Geralt hasn't seen her for so long and doesn't try to check if Chireadan saw her again after the djinn incident either. It's such a huge change from that I'm in that cursed them a year ago, and Jaskier is living for it.
In a second, you'll be wrapped around my finger, because I can do it better. There's no other, so when's it gonna sink in? She's so stupid, what the hell were you thinking?
"I understand." The elf's eyes are down, looking at his own hands on the table, probably feeling exposed and embarrassed. "It was bold of me to assume you'd still be in contact with her, my apologies. My eyes must've deceived me that day - I thought I saw a special spark in that scene through the window." He looks at Jaskier then-- "Wouldn't you agree?"
...and Jaskier chokes on his ale. He knew this would be an awful idea, he knew it! Patting his chest, Jaskier suddenly stands up, the chair falling behind him. He's a ball of nerves and he isn't hiding it. Geralt's possible reaction to this... he isn't sure he wants to find out, but the road mood is already somber enough. Can't have another thing added to the pile.
"Thank you! For supper. It was very-" Here comes the flapping hands. "Very nice of you to receive us in your home and I'd love to-- to, ah, sit and chat about the wonders of this world we live in but my-" He glances at Geralt, swallows, then turns to Chireadan again, who is staring at the bard with wide eyes and a very confused expression. "-companion and I need to rest, it's been an incredibly long trip and we should leave early in the morning not to waster another second of precious autumn time."
Still in shock, Chireadan nods and points at the door on the left, a guest room usually assigned to patients but free for their use today. Jaskier rushes into it without another word, and the elf turns to Geralt with a shrug.
A special spark in the window? And Chireadan is looking straight at Jaskier when he says it, like this is something that the bard would know about and be able to answer for him. Jaskier, for all that he had managed to keep his composure when discussing Yen, completely loses it right now, choking on his ale so badly that Geralt thinks he might have to thump him on the back to clear his lungs. The hand flapping returns with a vengeance, and the bard's usually clever tongue trips over itself to come up with an excuse to leave.
Geralt watches him, head tilted slightly and brow furrowed. Chireadan points him to the guest room and Jaskier bolts for it like he's got a cuckolded husband on his heels.
"Hm." The witcher looks back to Chireadan, who both looks and smells immensely confused. That made two of them. "...Good night, I suppose."
That's one way to end the evening early. Geralt would've probably chosen something a little less ridiculous, but it's Jaskier, so maybe he can't expect anything less than dramatic.
He stands and follows after Jaskier, closing the door to the guest room behind him. Geralt breathes deeply, ignoring the clamoring herbal scents in the air and focusing on Jaskier's; he smells mostly of... embarrassment? Panic?
Geralt is too tired to try to parse through what the hell is going on in Jaskier's head by scent alone.
Panic sounds about right. Jaskier already has his doublet off and he's in the process of taking off his boots while sitting on the small bed when Geralt enters the room. Is it too much to ask the gods for the witcher to ignore what just happened and blame it on Jaskier being naturally weird?
Apparently yes, it is too much.
"Nothing! It was nothing!" His eyes don't meet Geralt's, his voice is a little high. "You know me, dear witcher, always needing to make a grand entrance and a grand exit."
Jaskier is nervous, panicking, and a drama queen. Which means he babbles away, as if that could mask his emotions, as if it could help him cover up what he wants to hide, when in fact it actually reveals more than it should. With both boots off, Jaskier lets his back fall on the bed because oh, look at that, the ceiling looks incredibly interesting at the moment.
"Don't listen to that preposterous elf. He doesn't know what he's talking about. I know I won't be standing for that-- that..." A hand is raised to indicate what is on the other side of the door. "Delusion! Yes! That's correct, delusion! There's no way he saw any kind of 'special connection'--" He airquotes with both hands, eyerolling. "--between you and Yennefer when we found you fuc--"
Jaskier's eyes widen when he realizes he's let his mouth roll for too long, both hands coming down to cover his lips. Worry taking over his scent, he turns his head slowly on the bed to look at Geralt, as if waiting for the witcher to snarl at him.
"...we thought you were dead?" He says after lowering his fingers a little, as if that explained everything.
Panic. Nervousness. Attempts at diverting the conversation. This all points to Jaskier being full of shit, and that's one of the scents that Geralt doesn't like on him. Lying. He doesn't like it when people lie to him, and he certainly doesn't like it when Jaskier lies to him. Usually, that's because Jaskier's lies come to bite him in the ass in some stupid, angry husband-shaped way.
Jaskier's hands clap over his mouth before he can get the last word out, but fuck is basically one of Geralt's favorite words, so he knows the shape of it even from someone else's mouth. So that's what's gotten Jaskier so upset-- he saw the two of them in the aftermath of the house collapsing, when they had had some kind of... victory fuck? Glad-to-be-alive sex? Something like that. There was a lot of adrenaline involved, and she had been very beautiful sprawled among the pillows and debris, and the effects of his djinn wish would've just been kicking in.
She had still been very beautiful when Geralt had left her sleeping there, too.
Geralt's mouth twists a little at the revelation. Is he thrilled about it? No. Can he do anything about it? Also no. Jaskier saw what he saw, Geralt can't change that. He can't un-fuck Yennefer, no matter how much the bard might want him to.
"Didn't take you for a voyeur," he says, walking into the room to hang up his cloak. No sense standing at the door. "Is this going to be a problem?"
With blue eyes following Geralt around the room, Jaskier slowly sits up, and this time is his turn to be utterly confused. At least the panicking hour is over, although he's still kinda nervous, not knowing what the hell is going on. Geralt is being so... chill about it, as if Jaskier had told him he ate the last piece of cheese they were saving.
"Whaaaaat is going to be a problem?" He suddenly feels eighteen again, wondering what don't exist. Some things never change, Geralt expressing his thoughts like shit is one of them. "Geralt, I-- I thought you would be mad at me. For--" Flapping gesture of his hand. "--watching. I didn't stay the whole time, by the way, I swear. Chireadan dragged me away before--"
Oh fuck, he's screwing up again. Because what does that imply? That he would've watched it all if he had the chance?
His stomach turns when his brain provides the answer to that question - not something he wants to explore now. (Or ever.)
Is he chill about it? Not exactly, no. He's not pleased, and he doesn't know why this conversation is even happening right now. All Jaskier had to do was say literally nothing about watching Geralt fuck Yennefer, and they could've gone right on with their lives. If he had just kept his mouth shut, the witcher would've chalked it up to Jaskier being strange and just dropped the whole thing because he's fucking tired and it's too much of a bother to try to figure out what's going on in the bard's head sometimes. And yet, here they are.
"Could've lived my life without knowing that you watched," he grunts, dropping his potion bag to the floor. What had he done, stood in the window and looked in on them while Geralt was on top of her, fucking her like a beast? Listened to his groans and her breathy sighs as he'd pleasured her?
Had he liked it?
That's a thought that doesn't need to be investigated.
Geralt sighs and props his swords up against the wall. He should have finished his ale, or brought it with him. It had been decent, and the ale's only going to get shittier the further north they go. Having it now might actually give him the godsdamned strength to get through this horror of a conversation.
"Is it going to be a problem," he clarifies, "every time you remember that I've fucked Yen?"
Though this particular memory was jogged because of the voyeurism thing. Geralt's head turns sharply from his swords to focus on the bard again.
"Tell me that's the only time you've watched me fuck her, Jaskier."
Because if the answer to that is anything but an absolutely truthful yes, than Geralt would be properly mad at him. On account of what the fuck, Jaskier.
Jaskier drags his hands down his face. This is a conversation they're actually having, huh. They haven't even gotten to fuck themselves yet, but Yennefer keeps climbing back into their love lives. He tries to tell himself that maybe this is for the best, to get out twenty years of shenanigans out of their minds before jumping into things with a clean slate, but it's hard to appreciate the moment of ~communication~ when Geralt is asking those kinds of questions.
"No, Geralt, it won't be a problem as long as you don't bring her up while we're having a moment. And I would like to believe not even you can be that tone deaf."
Geralt is socially awkward but he isn't dumb, right? Right. The next comment has Jaskier groaning and falling back on the bed again. Do I come off as that kind of person, he wants to ask, and stops himself just in time because he already knows the answer. What is he, some kind of pervert now? Just because that one lovely married couple asked him to sit in the corner and watch while they did it and what a lovely experience that had been...
Bad, bad brain.
"Fuck, Geralt, yes! That's the only time!" It comes out a little snappy, quite frustrated. "Because every time she showed up after that I'd try to be as far away as possible from the room you two were in, trying to find a stable boy or blacksmith that would help me forget the fact you weren't fucking me."
...ah. His mouth is running again, bollocks. He can't help it, it's what happens when his emotions explode like this - if he doesn't let them out, he'd explode himself.
"I thought you were dead." He repeats, his heart shrinking at the memory. If he's fucking things up with a very chatty mouth, may as well go all the way. "And suddenly the bloody elf tells me you aren't, and I had to see it with my own fucking eyes and what I found there..." With a sigh, his voice lowers to a hush. "I never thought I'd see you like that. I thought it was something you only did in brothels." He didn't think Geralt fucked people other than whores, he means. Because that's one of the excuses he used to tell himself on why he couldn't conquer the witcher's heart. "Heartbreak kicked in later. At that very moment, you looked exquisite, better than I could ever imagine, and her..." He louts a frustrated grunt he picked from Geralt. "...a very sexy but insane witch indeed."
There's frustration in Jaskier's voice-- only to be expected-- but it rings true when he answers. Thank whatever god might be listening, Geralt really didn't want to have to have to explore the possibility that Jaskier had watched him at other times. Hidden out of sight, perhaps, those blue eyes tracking every push and press of their entwined bodies, taking his own pleasure from the sight--
Which is something that Geralt is not thinking about. Because Jaskier did no such thing.
Right.
And Geralt does remember the way that Jaskier would smell after he parted ways with Yen, and if he had more often reeked of male spend than female, well, he hadn't noticed at the time. Maybe he hadn't wanted to notice-- not because he had any particular qualm with Jaskier's dalliances with men, but for what the timing would imply. What it meant for Jaskier to seek comfort in the arms of strong men whenever Geralt left to bed his sorceress.
There really had been signs of what Jaskier wanted, Geralt was beginning to see, over the past twenty years. The witcher was a master tracker, could pick up a three day old trail in the dark during a rainstorm, but the tracks that Jaskier had left for him weren't ones that he had been trained to spot. He had missed them in the same way that Jaskier would miss a deer trail in the woods.
And the actual voyeurism situation is far more understandable when Jaskier takes the time to actually describe it; merely a mix of relief that Geralt had not been killed in the collapse, needing to see for himself that he was whole and uninjured, and some exceptionally poor timing. Geralt hums at the part about only doing things like that in brothels, since it isn't an inaccurate statement and he usually was only doing those sorts of things after having paid for them. But by the way he says that last thing, calls Geralt exquisite and Yen-- well, he'd called her sexy but insane in the past, and it's hardly inaccurate-- it almost sounds like an admission. An admission, perhaps, that Jaskier had not solely been interested in only one half of that equation.
"I-- hm."
Geralt doesn't truly intend to think about it, but the image comes to him anyway, unbidden-- the three of them in a bed together, Jaskier on his back and Geralt between his spread legs, his hands pressed bruisingly tight to his hips, the bard's face buried between Yen's lovely thighs--
It would never happen. Geralt is an insufficient mediator between Jaskier and Yennefer, and nothing on this earth would convince them to be in a room together and not at each others' throats. Hell, Yen would kill him on the spot for just the suggestion. Another thing for him to not think about.
"Then it doesn't matter," he says, "because it won't be happening again. Not with her."
And Jaskier won't have to run into the arms of any more blacksmiths or stable boys.
"I know. I do trust your word, Geralt. I was worried that you'd be mad at me for what I did, not that you'd do it again."
It seems they've come to some sort of understanding, and Jaskier is relieved to say the least. But the subject doesn't go away, not entirely - something is still bothering him. With his body now resting on his elbows, Jaskier raises his head and squints his eyes at Geralt. After two decades, the bard has come to understand the little nuances behind each of Geralt's grunts, and that one had been... how to explain this...
Considering.
"...bollocks. You were thinking about it, weren't you? About the three of us." Jaskier reaches for the pillow and throws is arm back to toss it... but in the end he covers his face and screams into it, just like he had done back in Oxenfurt. Maybe this can be his way to release sexual frustration. "I want to throw this at you so badly right now. But-- fuck." Hands are thrown in the air and he huffs as they land on his lap. "I don't know what I would've done if Chireadan hadn't dragged me away. And later on, to the thought of it, I--"
Jaskier doesn't blush often - as experienced as he is, there's little that can cause shame in him, at least of the romantic and/or sexual kind. But his cheeks do turn pink and his eyes look at the wall as his hands make a motion near his groin to indicate the stroking of an imaginary phallic form.
Welp. That's out in the open now. Maybe this helps with the whole 'clean state' deal he was thinking about a moment ago. It's awkward and weird and he doesn't want to talk about Yennefer anymore, he doesn't want her to be part of their relationship, but damn it feels good to sweep all this out of the house.
"She CAN'T know about this, Geralt!" He shakes a finger at him, finally looking at the witcher again, cheeks still red. "I'm open to the idea of threesomes in the future, if that's something that appeals to you as well." Because it definitely does appeal to him, speaking from experience here. "But not with her. I would probably not even be able to perform around her, and I'm not talking about my singing."
A neutral sort of hum, neither a confirmation nor denial.
Jaskier screams into the pillow again, and this appears to be a new habit of his-- yelling his lungs out into something that muffles the sound to release sexual frustration. To be honest, it's a far better solution than going out to fuck the stable boy, so Geralt can live with the increased possibility of getting a pillow thrown at his head. He's had worse things thrown in his direction.
Geralt raises one eyebrow as the bard turns pink and mentions the thought of it, and the other joins it when Jaskier's hand makes a very obvious pumping motion at cock-height. He perhaps oughtn't be surprised that Jaskier took care of his own tensions in such a way after the fact, but it's a bit different to be told as such directly to his face.
(He does not, and by gods never will tell Jaskier about the times when their inn rooms had been adjacent and he either had not had the coin for or there simply wasn't a brothel available, and he had been able to hear everything that the bard had done with his conquests through the thin walls. He had relieved tensions of his own, telling himself that it was nothing more than a simple biological response.)
"If you've thought about it in her presence," he says, trying not to think too much about how appealing the flush on Jaskier's face is, "she likely already knows. She can read minds, Jaskier."
So... there's probably nothing to bother hiding? It may not be much of a comfort to the bard, though, knowing that his terrible secret is likely not a secret at all. And, really, Yen had given him a number of cutting, knowing looks when he'd been staring a little too intently at the bard, so a number of Geralt's secrets are likely not secrets to her, either.
"And she would kill the both of us for suggesting it to her, so you'd hardly need to worry about your performance."
Geralt crosses the room and takes the pillow away from Jaskier, tossing it to the other side of the bed. Then, with that half-exasperated, half-amused tone that the bard is so familiar with,
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Geralt's not exactly thrilled, either. But following the Pontar is the best way that they can go, and if no one does anything abysmally stupid while they're there, hopefully they'll only have to be in town for one night.
When the witcher returns from the stables, both horses and their belongings in order, Jaskier is already back and had brought lunch with him. He's interested in the smell of stew when he walks in, but quickly finds himself distracted by an armful of amorous bard. Not the worst thing to come back to, all things considered; he thinks that he might get used to this, but then quashes the thought. Geralt tries to get a word in about the fishing thing, some reasonable explanation for a gesture that has few explanations other than the romantic, but Jaskier cuts him off before he has the chance. He's not surprised, really, he could never get a word in edgewise even before Jaskier had the option of kissing him.
The bard says some silly things about about loving him and then pushes a pouch into Geralt's hand. When he opens it and turns the bag upside down, a silver wolf brooch falls into his palm. He approves of the material-- silver is useful, and he'd been meaning to make sure that Jaskier had something on him that could be useful against monsters in a pinch, perhaps a silver dagger. There might be some still left at Kaer Morhen that would be serviceable, once repaired and sharpened; he may not have the funds for it now.
But.
The meaning of the jewelry is obvious, and it will be obvious to anyone who sees it. A claim, as Jaskier says, and while there's a part of Geralt that would be pleased to have his mark on his bard, the rest of him recognizes that as dangerous. A bard with a silver wolf brooch while Nilfgaard is on the hunt for the White Wolf's bard. It isn't smart, but it's something that Jaskier badly wants.
And, gods, when he brings Jaskier to Kaer Morhen with that on him, his brothers are going to have a field day. He'll have to kick both of their asses just to get a moment's peace.
Geralt turns the brooch over and unclasps the pin.
"Bring your cloak."
Once Jaskier complies, he'll pin it near the throat, a bright contrast against the dark fabric.
"Hm." He leaves his hands on Jaskier's sternum longer than necessary, his thumb ghosting over the silver wolf's head. "You may need to cover it. I've seen little of Nilfgaard since we left Vizima, and I don't trust it."
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Jaskier has never put on clothes so fast in his life, not even when a cuckold husband caught him in the act. He looks down at the brooch with the biggest smile on his face, a smile that almost reaches his ears when Geralt's hand stays for longer than it should. There is the gesture in Geraltese he's been looking for! Gift choosing mission has been a success!
"Yeah, yeah, we're being sneaky, I know. Let me enjoy it while I can." His scent overwhelming sweet now, Jaskier grabs the witcher hand on his chest and brings it to his lips to kiss the knuckles, then pulls to bring Geralt with him towards the desk. "Have you chosen a route according to these suspicions of yours, then?"
Once Geralt takes the chair, Jaskier doesn't hesitate to sit on the witcher's lap, cloak and all. He picks the bowl of stew and takes a bite, only to try and feed Geralt next. Sharing is caring, and after learning about the whole fishing deal, he's feeling rather more romantic than usual. He knows there won't be much of this on the road, so he'll try to indulge in the little Oxenfurt time he has left.
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"I can feed myself, Jaskier."
He's not an invalid, nor is he one of those couriers that swoons on a chaise lounge before their doting lover. He'll eat his damn stew like the big grumpy brute that he is, because he's godsdamned hungry.
"We'll follow the Pontar east," he says, pulling the other bowl of stew within eating range. "To Rinde. Then we'll cut north through the southern pass of the Kestrel Mountains, to Ard Carraigh. There will be no more stops from there until Kaer Morhen."
It won't be an easy journey, but it's a necessary one, and the fastest route that he can plan. If they're lucky, the weather won't be too bitter by the time they reach the trail leading up to the keep, but Geralt doesn't like to bet on his own luck.
"We'll have to keep a good pace. It's been getting colder here than I'd like, and it'll be colder in the mountains. I've only been caught once in a blizzard on my way to the keep, and it's not something I want to experience again. Nearly killed me."
And if it was nearly the death of a witcher, it would certainly be the death of a bard. If they dawdle too long, or the snows come too early, they wouldn't be able to risk the trip up.
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The real pouting comes when Geralt mentions Rinde - Jaskier's whole body tenses as soon as he hears the word, his scent becoming sour at the memory. Bollocks, he doesn't want to go back to Rinde, even in passing. It's not even about Yennefer (although the fact that's the place where she came into their lives definitely doesn't help), it's about his body still remembering the tumor on his throat as it happened yesterday - his worst nightmare coming to life.
The stew bowl is put down for a moment just so Jaskier can down some wine instead. And by 'some' we mean 'more than half the tankard'.
"I wouldn't want to be caught in a blizzard either. And I understand the need for no stops." It'll be annoying as hell, but he'll endure. It's the price of adventure. Usually he would jump on Geralt's anecdote, it sounds like something ballad worth it, but his mind continues to go through a mental map, considering their options to avoid bloody Rinde. "But why going south to take north again? Why not the northern pass?"
His mind gives him the answer as soon as he finishes asking the question: Blaviken. Fuck. Oh, bloody fucking hell. Catching on his mistake, Jaskier puts his hands up and shakes them, babbling through an attempt to cover his mistake.
"Through Ghelibol, I mean! Good old Ghelibol, home of the largest private library in the Northern Kingdoms! A wonderful and rich history that goes all the way back to the First Landing... not that we're interested in it, that goes without saying, we aren't traveling for sightseeing, I swear I do know that, Geralt."
Ground, please swallow him now.
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Jaskier suggests the northern pass to avoid Rinde, but doesn't realize his mistake until the words are already out of his mouth and Geralt's expression has turned dark. He tries to cover it up by suggesting that they go straight through Ghelibol, babbling some shit about libraries and history. They aren't out on a pleasure tour, they wouldn't have time to stop at any libraries even if Ghelibol weren't a stone's throw away from the town that named him a butcher.
"The Lutonski road will be poor traveling at this time of year," he says, starting off with the least traumatic part of this conversation. "The southern pass will still be clear."
He chases some of the stew with ale. Perhaps if he was a better man, he would risk getting stoned in Ghelibol for Jaskier's sake; he has not attempted to travel through that city since he became the Butcher, but he wouldn't doubt that they had heard about what happened in Blaviken. He would likely not be welcome.
"And I'm not going anywhere near fucking Blaviken." His mouth twists into something sour at the name. Talking about the place is going to put him off his fucking food if he keeps it up. "We're going east and taking the southern pass."
His tone brooks no arguments; either the bard travels the route that Geralt has planned, or he can go back to the dean and beg for his winter lecturing position and the reservation on his room.
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"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." He never does, does he? His mouth just runs without breaks. "Rinde, southern pass, Ard Carraigh. It's a good plan. I'm in, I promise."
Rinde won't be easy, he knows. But Blaviken would be one hundred times worse. He would never do that to Geralt, especially not after he's fought so hard to convince the man that he deserves kindness and two days at Oxenfurt to know what that kindness can be like. This little vacation, if it can be called that, can't end on a sour note. He refuses.
After a very short moment of hesitation, he kisses Geralt's forehead, and lets his hand run through white hair, hoping to be soothing. Lunch forgotten for now, for once Jaskier knows not to push the subject and only hums a little melody as lowly as possible - it's not 'blessed silence', because the idiot is incapable of that, but hey, close enough, right?
It's up to Geralt if he wants to chew him out now - Jaskier isn't going to risk another punch to his stomach.
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"Hm."
A simple grunt as a response is likely a poor comfort for Jaskier, but Geralt's mood has been soured and he wants to finish his damned lunch and get out onto the road as soon as possible. He'll feel better once they're past Rinde and on the other side of the fucking Kestrels, well on the way toward the only place he's ever been able to call home. He likely won't be fine until they're actually inside the fortress and the snows are at least chest-deep on the trail, rendering it completely impassible.
He finishes eating in silence, except for Jaskier's soft humming. When done, he taps Jaskier's thigh and tells him "Up," so that he'll vacate the witcher's lap. If the bard's business in Oxenfurt is concluded, there's no reason for them to linger.
"The horses are ready. Get your things, we're wasting daylight."
The last things that Geralt has to grab are his swords and his potion bag, retrieved from the trunk where he had stored it. Then-- to the horses, and eastward to Rinde.
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Well, except for the part where Jaskier is sitting on Geralt's lap and running his fingers through his hair. That's definitely new. A good sign, he realizes, that what comes off as an old scene has a little change in it to match the shift in their relationship.
The mood follows them when they leave. Jaskier says good bye and chitchats with the people around them on their way out of the city, and once they've crossed the bridge, he's feeling a bit lighter. This is familiar too, traveling with a brooding Geralt, so Jaskier does what he used to: fills the silence with babbling, which includes talking to their horses, who thankfully are getting along.
Camping and water breaks are the same as they used to be, too, and Jaskier decides that trying anything would be an awful idea (he would like their first time to be on a bed anyway, but what can he say, he's having desperate thoughts here). He sneaks a peck on the lips or cheek when he can, though, to both remind Geralt he's here and he's his, and simply because he can and needs it himself. It's what couples do, he wants to keep in his mind that what happened in Oxenfurt is still real, and he's always a touch starved bard anyway.
At least they still cuddle to sleep at night.
The babbling abruptly stops when Rinde comes into view - Jaskier doesn't brood, not in the way Geralt does (nobody can brood like Geralt, to be fair) but damn if he isn't close to it. It's a big deal for this bard to fall silent after all, and it shows in his body language. His scent becomes sour, his back is tense, and his hand unconsciously reaches for this throat when the memory of that awful day comes back to his mind, completely unwelcome and unwilling to leave.
Distracting himself becomes even harder when, on their way to the nearest inn, a familiar voice greets them.
"I never thought I would see you again."
Chireadan. Unbelievable, just their luck. Jaskier offers a very awkward smile and is about to at least greet him politely when he feels the elves' eyes on his chest... "Bollocks", his lips say instead, and he hurries to take off the brooch and put it on his doublet instead, protected under the cloak.
Which makes Chireadan look incredibly amused. "What brings you back to Rinde?"
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Geralt frowns at her. Even his fucking horse.
Their stops are similarly familiar; when they make camp at night, Geralt hunts for whatever autumn game he can supplement their supplies with, and Jaskier starts the fire and sets up the cooking pot. They fall back into their routine with almost disturbing ease, like the bard hadn't had a year's absence from his side.
He still lets Jaskier put their bedrolls together at night, and the bard still falls asleep in his arms. He needs it, and Geralt tells himself that this is a far better arrangement than Jaskier waking up in the middle of the night with a screaming fit. And if Geralt presses his nose to the nape of Jaskier's neck and breathes and only then feels settled enough to meditate, well. No one has to know.
The mood gets somehow worse when they get closer to Rinde, which is a notable feat. Jaskier is quiet and tense, Geralt is still darkly brooding, and the day is... actually quite decent, for the time of year. The air is chill but not biting, with a woodsmoke edge to it that's almost pleasant. It's a shame that neither of them are in the mood to appreciate it.
And Geralt is certainly not in the mood to appreciate running into someone that they already know. He wants to make it through Kaedwen without being noticed, not to run into every damned acquaintance they've made in the past twenty-some odd years.
"Hm." His grunts have been taking a curt, short edge as of late. It's even shorter, now-- Chireadan is staring. There's no need for him to stare, and Jaskier apparently doesn't want him staring, either, considering that he cursed about it. "Passing through."
There's that patented Geralt-brand sociability.
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"I see." Chireadan replies with a tone that implies he thinks something is going on. "Are you staying the night then? I can offer bed and supper, if it pleases you, in exchange of updated tidings."
Now that's an offer he doesn't see coming. Jaskier worries his lower lip as he considers it - it'd be free, and fewer people would see them that way. It's not like he'll be performing today -both because of safety and because of his mood- so an inn doesn't even have that in its favor. In theory, it sounds perfect. And yet... it's Chireadan. A good man, as far as Jaskier knows, but he's so linked to the djinn mess, he isn't sure his company would exactly improve the mood.
(And will he ask about Yennefer? Jaskier doesn't want to talk about Yennefer.)
"A very kind invitation, good sir, it's appreciated." Someone has to keep the manners up around here. "If you excuse us for a second..."
Pegasus is brought closer to Roach, and Jasker whispers as lowly as he can - he knows Geralt can hear it.
"Positives: no coin to spend, no extra people to interact with. Negatives: it's fucking him, Geralt!" Alright, so the last part comes off more like hissing than whispering, but he's getting really nervous here. Give him a break. "What do your--" Awkward hand flapping goes here. "--witchery senses say?"
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But.
He's also going to want tidings of Yennefer, which is both a sore subject for him and Jaskier and also one that Geralt likely won't be able to satisfy the elf on. He hasn't seen her for a year, and the last he had heard of her had been some rumors about the Battle of Sodden. She's doing gods only know what now-- or, for all he knows, she could be dead. But that's another thought that makes his chest do strange things, and he dismisses it. Yennefer of Vengerberg is not dead, because Death is neither strong enough nor stubborn enough to keep her.
He glances at Jaskier's nervously flapping hands, a deeply unsubtle gesture. He hums, then answers back in an undertone-- "Mostly harmless."
The prospect of free room and board for them and their horses is too much to pass up. Hopefully, they could use their travel as an excuse to turn in early and avoid as much interaction as possible, then leave as early as possible. Maximum benefit, minimum awkwardness.
"We would appreciate your... hospitality," he says, only gritting his teeth a little at that last word. But that's fine, no one expects good manners from him.
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Chireadan, meanwhile, is quite pleased with this turn of events and proceeds to guide them back to his place. Which happens to be, he explains, a little healer business he's set up for himself. It isn't anywhere as big as an inn, but it does have more room than the average cottage, which means he has enough extra space for two guests and their horses.
It smells of herbs and incense inside, quite strong even for Jaskier's nose, but otherwise it's incredibly clean and well taken care of. Which makes sense, because wounds should be tended in better contexts than tubs filled will selkiemore guts (ahem). It's actually a pretty decent place to stay at, and Jaskier would've easily relaxed in it if circumstances were different.
(When he takes off his cloak, he realizes the brooch is still visible, this time on his doublet. Taking it off again would make call attention to it, so he leaves it there - at least inside there won't be other prying eyes. Under all the bad memories and anxiety this town brings out in him, he can admit it feels nice to have the little wolf out in the open.)
Chireadan indicates two chairs for them to sit at a decently size table and proceeds to take out the tankards and ale, which isn't court quality (obviously) but it isn't the piss-tasting shit from backwater taverns either, and that's already a win.
"We don't have many travelers passing by at this time of the year. Snow will start to fall soon." He explains with his back turned to them, busy cutting some bread and cheese for his guests. "We've heard about the fall of Cintra, some refugees even made it here, but didn't stay for long." When he finally comes to the table with a platter of food, his looks is quite serious. "Which is why I'm obliged to ask, if you excuse my indiscretion: are you being followed as well?"
Jaskier suddenly becomes extra aware of the scars on his body and, with his heart beating quite loudly in his ears, puts down the ale with a little more strength than intended.
"We are not." He replies after glancing at Geralt. "We come from Oxenfurt. No Nilfgaardians soldiers in that area-"
There's a puff of air at the end of its sentence - a word left unspoken. Yet?
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They sit at the elf's table and have decent ale served to them, which Geralt accepts with a curt nod. The whole cottage smells like various herbs and tinctures, hardly unexpected for a healer. Even so, he makes sure that he drinks from his ale before Jaskier does from his own, checking by both smell and taste for any additives. He doesn't expect anything like that from Chireadan, but better to be safe than drugged.
Jaskier's heart jumps at the mention of Cintra and Nilfgaard, his discomfort creeping into his scent.
"There is no significant Nilfgaardian presence in Oxenfurt," he confirms. "And we were not followed."
Geralt had made sure of that when they were traveling. And while it isn't impossible that Nilfgaard could have spies or sympathizers in the city, Geralt had told no one of their ultimate destination, and he couldn't imagine that Jaskier would be so foolish as to spread that information around, either. Not with how recent his kidnapping was. Kaer Morhen is a well enough kept secret; very few outside of the witchers of the Wolf School are aware that it survived its second sacking.
He will not lead Nilfgaard to the only place that he has ever called a home.
"Regardless, we will not linger."
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Jaskier nods too as he munches on some of the food they've been offered. They've been on the road for quite a few days already, it's good to have something other than fruit and dried meat. Chireadan asks a few more questions to know the general state of things - the current Nilfgaard situation and how the other kingdoms are handling it. Luckily for him, unlike Geralt, Jaskier has been keeping up with such matters and has the vocabulary to explain them.
Which eventually takes him to mention the Battle of Sodden.
He gives no names - why would he? He doesn't know those kinds of details, only that Aretuza was there. But of course Chireadan jumps on it without hesitation. Bollocks.
"Was she there too?"
A name isn't needed, it's obvious to know whom he's talking about. His eyes are curious and hungry for the information, even after all these years... well, it's not like Jaskier can talk, now can he? He wants to feel sympathetic for the poor guy, offer comfort and an ear that understands, but just thinking about her (in here, of all places) makes his scent bitter as hell. Jaskier tries to hide his face behind the tankard, but he can't go on without replying.
There's nothing to worry about, he reminds himself. Geralt said he wouldn't take her back. He is the one with a silver wolf on his chest right now. His stomach turns anyway.
"I don't have an answer to that question. I haven't seen or heard of her in over a year." After a pause, he decides to add- "I'm sorry."
Because no matter how bitter he feels, at the end of the day Jaskier is still a romantic, the one person who can understand Chireadan the best, and his heart does feel for him. At least a bit.
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Additionally-- Geralt should never be asked to carry a conversation. It's a task that's doomed to failure.
But, of course, it's inevitable that the conversation shifts to Yennefer, especially after Jaskier mentions the battle at Sodden Hill. The sorceresses of Aretuza were there, so asking after her makes logical sense, even if the question sours Jaskier's scent almost immediately. The bard maintains his composure well, though, provides a level and neutral answer. Chireadan looks to Geralt after, as though he might have some other answer for him-- Geralt replies with a one-shouldered shrug and a shake of his head.
"Don't know."
He's not nearly as sympathetic as Jaskier is, though, perhaps, he should be. He has no desire to continue to talk about Yennefer, however, not after everything that has transpired between them. He doesn't want to have to explain to Chireadan why he doesn't know where the sorceress is, or whether she is all right.
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Right now though, considering his current mood and how he feels about her in general, he can't help feeling a bit smug over the fact Geralt hasn't seen her for so long and doesn't try to check if Chireadan saw her again after the djinn incident either. It's such a huge change from that I'm in that cursed them a year ago, and Jaskier is living for it.
In a second, you'll be wrapped around my finger, because I can do it better. There's no other, so when's it gonna sink in? She's so stupid, what the hell were you thinking?
"I understand." The elf's eyes are down, looking at his own hands on the table, probably feeling exposed and embarrassed. "It was bold of me to assume you'd still be in contact with her, my apologies. My eyes must've deceived me that day - I thought I saw a special spark in that scene through the window." He looks at Jaskier then-- "Wouldn't you agree?"
...and Jaskier chokes on his ale. He knew this would be an awful idea, he knew it! Patting his chest, Jaskier suddenly stands up, the chair falling behind him. He's a ball of nerves and he isn't hiding it. Geralt's possible reaction to this... he isn't sure he wants to find out, but the road mood is already somber enough. Can't have another thing added to the pile.
"Thank you! For supper. It was very-" Here comes the flapping hands. "Very nice of you to receive us in your home and I'd love to-- to, ah, sit and chat about the wonders of this world we live in but my-" He glances at Geralt, swallows, then turns to Chireadan again, who is staring at the bard with wide eyes and a very confused expression. "-companion and I need to rest, it's been an incredibly long trip and we should leave early in the morning not to waster another second of precious autumn time."
Still in shock, Chireadan nods and points at the door on the left, a guest room usually assigned to patients but free for their use today. Jaskier rushes into it without another word, and the elf turns to Geralt with a shrug.
"Good night?"
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Geralt watches him, head tilted slightly and brow furrowed. Chireadan points him to the guest room and Jaskier bolts for it like he's got a cuckolded husband on his heels.
"Hm." The witcher looks back to Chireadan, who both looks and smells immensely confused. That made two of them. "...Good night, I suppose."
That's one way to end the evening early. Geralt would've probably chosen something a little less ridiculous, but it's Jaskier, so maybe he can't expect anything less than dramatic.
He stands and follows after Jaskier, closing the door to the guest room behind him. Geralt breathes deeply, ignoring the clamoring herbal scents in the air and focusing on Jaskier's; he smells mostly of... embarrassment? Panic?
Geralt is too tired to try to parse through what the hell is going on in Jaskier's head by scent alone.
"What the fuck was that, Jaskier."
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Apparently yes, it is too much.
"Nothing! It was nothing!" His eyes don't meet Geralt's, his voice is a little high. "You know me, dear witcher, always needing to make a grand entrance and a grand exit."
Jaskier is nervous, panicking, and a drama queen. Which means he babbles away, as if that could mask his emotions, as if it could help him cover up what he wants to hide, when in fact it actually reveals more than it should. With both boots off, Jaskier lets his back fall on the bed because oh, look at that, the ceiling looks incredibly interesting at the moment.
"Don't listen to that preposterous elf. He doesn't know what he's talking about. I know I won't be standing for that-- that..." A hand is raised to indicate what is on the other side of the door. "Delusion! Yes! That's correct, delusion! There's no way he saw any kind of 'special connection'--" He airquotes with both hands, eyerolling. "--between you and Yennefer when we found you fuc--"
Jaskier's eyes widen when he realizes he's let his mouth roll for too long, both hands coming down to cover his lips. Worry taking over his scent, he turns his head slowly on the bed to look at Geralt, as if waiting for the witcher to snarl at him.
"...we thought you were dead?" He says after lowering his fingers a little, as if that explained everything.
(No, Jaskier, it doesn't explain shit.)
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Jaskier's hands clap over his mouth before he can get the last word out, but fuck is basically one of Geralt's favorite words, so he knows the shape of it even from someone else's mouth. So that's what's gotten Jaskier so upset-- he saw the two of them in the aftermath of the house collapsing, when they had had some kind of... victory fuck? Glad-to-be-alive sex? Something like that. There was a lot of adrenaline involved, and she had been very beautiful sprawled among the pillows and debris, and the effects of his djinn wish would've just been kicking in.
She had still been very beautiful when Geralt had left her sleeping there, too.
Geralt's mouth twists a little at the revelation. Is he thrilled about it? No. Can he do anything about it? Also no. Jaskier saw what he saw, Geralt can't change that. He can't un-fuck Yennefer, no matter how much the bard might want him to.
"Didn't take you for a voyeur," he says, walking into the room to hang up his cloak. No sense standing at the door. "Is this going to be a problem?"
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With blue eyes following Geralt around the room, Jaskier slowly sits up, and this time is his turn to be utterly confused. At least the panicking hour is over, although he's still kinda nervous, not knowing what the hell is going on. Geralt is being so... chill about it, as if Jaskier had told him he ate the last piece of cheese they were saving.
"Whaaaaat is going to be a problem?" He suddenly feels eighteen again, wondering what don't exist. Some things never change, Geralt expressing his thoughts like shit is one of them. "Geralt, I-- I thought you would be mad at me. For--" Flapping gesture of his hand. "--watching. I didn't stay the whole time, by the way, I swear. Chireadan dragged me away before--"
Oh fuck, he's screwing up again. Because what does that imply? That he would've watched it all if he had the chance?
His stomach turns when his brain provides the answer to that question - not something he wants to explore now. (Or ever.)
"...so, ah, yeah. Sorry?"
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"Could've lived my life without knowing that you watched," he grunts, dropping his potion bag to the floor. What had he done, stood in the window and looked in on them while Geralt was on top of her, fucking her like a beast? Listened to his groans and her breathy sighs as he'd pleasured her?
Had he liked it?
That's a thought that doesn't need to be investigated.
Geralt sighs and props his swords up against the wall. He should have finished his ale, or brought it with him. It had been decent, and the ale's only going to get shittier the further north they go. Having it now might actually give him the godsdamned strength to get through this horror of a conversation.
"Is it going to be a problem," he clarifies, "every time you remember that I've fucked Yen?"
Though this particular memory was jogged because of the voyeurism thing. Geralt's head turns sharply from his swords to focus on the bard again.
"Tell me that's the only time you've watched me fuck her, Jaskier."
Because if the answer to that is anything but an absolutely truthful yes, than Geralt would be properly mad at him. On account of what the fuck, Jaskier.
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Jaskier drags his hands down his face. This is a conversation they're actually having, huh. They haven't even gotten to fuck themselves yet, but Yennefer keeps climbing back into their love lives. He tries to tell himself that maybe this is for the best, to get out twenty years of shenanigans out of their minds before jumping into things with a clean slate, but it's hard to appreciate the moment of ~communication~ when Geralt is asking those kinds of questions.
"No, Geralt, it won't be a problem as long as you don't bring her up while we're having a moment. And I would like to believe not even you can be that tone deaf."
Geralt is socially awkward but he isn't dumb, right? Right. The next comment has Jaskier groaning and falling back on the bed again. Do I come off as that kind of person, he wants to ask, and stops himself just in time because he already knows the answer. What is he, some kind of pervert now? Just because that one lovely married couple asked him to sit in the corner and watch while they did it and what a lovely experience that had been...
Bad, bad brain.
"Fuck, Geralt, yes! That's the only time!" It comes out a little snappy, quite frustrated. "Because every time she showed up after that I'd try to be as far away as possible from the room you two were in, trying to find a stable boy or blacksmith that would help me forget the fact you weren't fucking me."
...ah. His mouth is running again, bollocks. He can't help it, it's what happens when his emotions explode like this - if he doesn't let them out, he'd explode himself.
"I thought you were dead." He repeats, his heart shrinking at the memory. If he's fucking things up with a very chatty mouth, may as well go all the way. "And suddenly the bloody elf tells me you aren't, and I had to see it with my own fucking eyes and what I found there..." With a sigh, his voice lowers to a hush. "I never thought I'd see you like that. I thought it was something you only did in brothels." He didn't think Geralt fucked people other than whores, he means. Because that's one of the excuses he used to tell himself on why he couldn't conquer the witcher's heart. "Heartbreak kicked in later. At that very moment, you looked exquisite, better than I could ever imagine, and her..." He louts a frustrated grunt he picked from Geralt. "...a very sexy but insane witch indeed."
So yes. He liked it.
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Which is something that Geralt is not thinking about. Because Jaskier did no such thing.
Right.
And Geralt does remember the way that Jaskier would smell after he parted ways with Yen, and if he had more often reeked of male spend than female, well, he hadn't noticed at the time. Maybe he hadn't wanted to notice-- not because he had any particular qualm with Jaskier's dalliances with men, but for what the timing would imply. What it meant for Jaskier to seek comfort in the arms of strong men whenever Geralt left to bed his sorceress.
There really had been signs of what Jaskier wanted, Geralt was beginning to see, over the past twenty years. The witcher was a master tracker, could pick up a three day old trail in the dark during a rainstorm, but the tracks that Jaskier had left for him weren't ones that he had been trained to spot. He had missed them in the same way that Jaskier would miss a deer trail in the woods.
And the actual voyeurism situation is far more understandable when Jaskier takes the time to actually describe it; merely a mix of relief that Geralt had not been killed in the collapse, needing to see for himself that he was whole and uninjured, and some exceptionally poor timing. Geralt hums at the part about only doing things like that in brothels, since it isn't an inaccurate statement and he usually was only doing those sorts of things after having paid for them. But by the way he says that last thing, calls Geralt exquisite and Yen-- well, he'd called her sexy but insane in the past, and it's hardly inaccurate-- it almost sounds like an admission. An admission, perhaps, that Jaskier had not solely been interested in only one half of that equation.
"I-- hm."
Geralt doesn't truly intend to think about it, but the image comes to him anyway, unbidden-- the three of them in a bed together, Jaskier on his back and Geralt between his spread legs, his hands pressed bruisingly tight to his hips, the bard's face buried between Yen's lovely thighs--
It would never happen. Geralt is an insufficient mediator between Jaskier and Yennefer, and nothing on this earth would convince them to be in a room together and not at each others' throats. Hell, Yen would kill him on the spot for just the suggestion. Another thing for him to not think about.
"Then it doesn't matter," he says, "because it won't be happening again. Not with her."
And Jaskier won't have to run into the arms of any more blacksmiths or stable boys.
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It seems they've come to some sort of understanding, and Jaskier is relieved to say the least. But the subject doesn't go away, not entirely - something is still bothering him. With his body now resting on his elbows, Jaskier raises his head and squints his eyes at Geralt. After two decades, the bard has come to understand the little nuances behind each of Geralt's grunts, and that one had been... how to explain this...
Considering.
"...bollocks. You were thinking about it, weren't you? About the three of us." Jaskier reaches for the pillow and throws is arm back to toss it... but in the end he covers his face and screams into it, just like he had done back in Oxenfurt. Maybe this can be his way to release sexual frustration. "I want to throw this at you so badly right now. But-- fuck." Hands are thrown in the air and he huffs as they land on his lap. "I don't know what I would've done if Chireadan hadn't dragged me away. And later on, to the thought of it, I--"
Jaskier doesn't blush often - as experienced as he is, there's little that can cause shame in him, at least of the romantic and/or sexual kind. But his cheeks do turn pink and his eyes look at the wall as his hands make a motion near his groin to indicate the stroking of an imaginary phallic form.
Welp. That's out in the open now. Maybe this helps with the whole 'clean state' deal he was thinking about a moment ago. It's awkward and weird and he doesn't want to talk about Yennefer anymore, he doesn't want her to be part of their relationship, but damn it feels good to sweep all this out of the house.
"She CAN'T know about this, Geralt!" He shakes a finger at him, finally looking at the witcher again, cheeks still red. "I'm open to the idea of threesomes in the future, if that's something that appeals to you as well." Because it definitely does appeal to him, speaking from experience here. "But not with her. I would probably not even be able to perform around her, and I'm not talking about my singing."
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A neutral sort of hum, neither a confirmation nor denial.
Jaskier screams into the pillow again, and this appears to be a new habit of his-- yelling his lungs out into something that muffles the sound to release sexual frustration. To be honest, it's a far better solution than going out to fuck the stable boy, so Geralt can live with the increased possibility of getting a pillow thrown at his head. He's had worse things thrown in his direction.
Geralt raises one eyebrow as the bard turns pink and mentions the thought of it, and the other joins it when Jaskier's hand makes a very obvious pumping motion at cock-height. He perhaps oughtn't be surprised that Jaskier took care of his own tensions in such a way after the fact, but it's a bit different to be told as such directly to his face.
(He does not, and by gods never will tell Jaskier about the times when their inn rooms had been adjacent and he either had not had the coin for or there simply wasn't a brothel available, and he had been able to hear everything that the bard had done with his conquests through the thin walls. He had relieved tensions of his own, telling himself that it was nothing more than a simple biological response.)
"If you've thought about it in her presence," he says, trying not to think too much about how appealing the flush on Jaskier's face is, "she likely already knows. She can read minds, Jaskier."
So... there's probably nothing to bother hiding? It may not be much of a comfort to the bard, though, knowing that his terrible secret is likely not a secret at all. And, really, Yen had given him a number of cutting, knowing looks when he'd been staring a little too intently at the bard, so a number of Geralt's secrets are likely not secrets to her, either.
"And she would kill the both of us for suggesting it to her, so you'd hardly need to worry about your performance."
Geralt crosses the room and takes the pillow away from Jaskier, tossing it to the other side of the bed. Then, with that half-exasperated, half-amused tone that the bard is so familiar with,
"Any other revelations for me today?"
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