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Everything was going on just fine. Geralt had finally taken his responsibilities concerning his Child Surprise. Yennefer was in Kaer Morhen to teach her how to control her chaos, and Jaskier was even on his way to form an unlikely friendship with her. The witchers were wary, not used to so many strangers in their keep, but none of them was outwardly aggressive – except for Lambert, but just as brooding was Geralt’s natural state, it seemed that being an unfriendly bastard was his. So, yeah, everything was just fine. Peachy even. At least as long as no one paid too much attention.
Time went on and Jaskier wondered what the was doing there. Geralt had gotten him out of the cell he had unfortunately ended up into after his painful encounter with the fire mage, but he was beginning to think that he should have stayed locked up. He had been bored to death without his lute, true, but the rats had been nice and he had still managed to compose a good song – with the current conflict, he wouldn’t be able to sing it in taverns any time soon, but Eskel had complimented him on it when he had heard him humming it under his breath. Here, in the mountains, in the witchers’ keep that he had dreamed of seeing, he felt so out of place that it was bordering on ridiculous.
He wasn’t helpless by far – he knew his way around daggers quite fine, thank you, and, as rusty as they were, he still had skills learned many years ago during swordsmanship lessons – but he wasn’t a fighter. He brought nothing useful – usually, he would have been the first to defend the importance of music in every day life, but it wasn’t every day life, it was a critical situation – so he helped clean, cook and mostly kept to himself. Sometimes when she wasn’t busy, training Ciri, he bothered Yennefer. At first, it had been to mildly inconvenience her – a harmless revenge – but it had soon turned into asking for stories, and Jaskier had to admit that she wasn’t half-bad either in the role of muse. It was a pity that he didn’t feel like composing something epic that would do her justice, he thought as he took notes of her adventures. Not that he didn’t want to compose, but he made a point of not singing, mindful of witchers and their sensitive ears – only a barbarian would disturb them in their only home, and he didn’t want to find out if they were all like Geralt. That, and he wanted to complain. If he let himself write, it would probably end up like ‘Burn, Butcher, Burn’ – an excellent song, by the way – and he couldn’t allow it.
First, because as much as he pretended – and succeeded brilliantly at it – to be an idiot, Jaskier wasn’t one. He wasn’t cruel either, which was why he refused to sing about his heartbreak and kept himself from being downright insulting towards Geralt in front of his entire family – who wasn’t constituted only of oblivious idiots who wouldn’t understand his metaphors, he was sure. It wouldn’t have been fair. They fought enough as it was. And that was his second reason to keep his lute neatly packed, only taking it out for cleaning and checking the strings. They could pretend all they wanted that things were back to the way they used to be, it wasn’t true. There was a distinct tension between them and if it hadn’t snapped yet, it was merely because Jaskier avoided the white-haired witcher as much as he could. When they were in the same room, a simple word could make the mood drop, and that wasn’t something he wanted to regularly subject the others to.
But Geralt had never apologized properly for what happened on the mountain during the dragon hunt. And Jaskier knew that not saying anything would only let his wounded heart fester, he knew, really. Yet, he refused to acknowledge the issue first. It had taken him months to build his self-esteem back up after that, and actually telling the witcher what he wanted from him would lead to a half-hearted apology – just like in the prison – and he couldn’t take it a second time. As the situation probably wouldn’t improve by then, he planned to leave Kaer Morhen in spring anyway. Perhaps he would go towards Toussaint; Nilfgaard hadn’t moved that way yet and he knew people there.
Meanwhile, they avoided each other. Geralt was usually busy with Ciri or repairing the keep, so it was quite easy to not end up in his space. All the more after Vesemir handed him a key.
“For you, bard.”
“Lovely, Vesemir, thank you. Would you mind telling me which room it opens? I wouldn’t want to get lost on my way to clean it.”
“That’s not a room to clean. It opens the library. You look like you’re going to jump out of your own skin. I may not be as grand as the one in Oxenfurt…”
“Oh, it must be wonderful, I’m sure! It’s an honor to be entrusted with a key. I’ll be careful to not damage anything.”
The old witcher had grumbled and Jaskier had shot him his most blinding smile. Even more than the opportunity to hide from Geralt, he was very curious to know what kind of books the witchers had hoarded through the years. And if he found a rare tome or two, well, it would be fun to brag about it in front of Valdo Marx the next time he saw him.
Since then, he spent a lot of his free time holed up in the library, losing track of the time between the bookshelves. As expected, there were many – many – bestiaries, but he also found a few old collections of poetry, novels and texts written in Elder. He hadn’t practiced reading Elder after his studies, but it came back surprisingly quickly; for what he couldn’t understand, he took notes and discussed it later with Yennefer as she was well-versed in the language. They often went over it during dinner and added fun facts which could make their conversations long and accidentally exclusive. One day, he noticed Geralt looking at them while he was speaking and he barely had the time to think ‘oh no that’s his Jaskier-talks-too-much face’ that the witcher had already made a comment about old women chatting and fillingless pies. Usually, he pretended not to hear, but there were limits to his tolerance and he had been remotely polite until now. So he took his most obnoxiously annoying voice, the one he used to talk to arrogant nobles.
“Intelligent input dear, why don’t you just have another ale then?”
Geralt let out a curse that Jaskier had heard at least a thousand times before, and he barely raised an eyebrow before turning back to the sorceress to resume their talk. There was a glint in her eyes and a distinctly tense air in the room but he ignored it and went on chattering happily. He wasn’t going to let a killjoy stop him from speaking! His own parents hadn’t managed such a feat and he wasn’t about to let the grouchy witcher make him feel ashamed of talking to a friend during a meal.
The more their relationship worsened, the more he sought refuge in the library. Sometimes Vesemir would join him and he would seize the opportunity to ask the old witcher about his years on the Path, but most of the time, he was alone. Being surrounded by so much knowledge and experiences made it difficult not to scratch that itch to compose a new song. He tried to resist, really, but in the end, it was almost like an instinct and he found himself humming a few notes to test out tunes. After several times, he just gave up and resolved to compose, even if it meant that one song at the very least would be mildly disrespectful to Geralt.
One of the rare times he wasn’t surrounded by books – his body had loudly complained about the lack of exercise – he unexpectedly found himself joking around with Eskel and Lambert. It somehow ended up with waltzing in the middle of the great hall because he had somehow convinced them that it was what – among other things – had made his hips flexible.
“No, no, you’re doing it all wrong, Eskel! Here, let me show you. Luckily, I learned the woman’s part in the good old days,” he said while putting his hand on the other’s arms. “Oh, sweet Melitele, aren’t you strong dear witcher?”
The scarred witcher turned red and, for good measure, Jaskier made his best doe eyes, batting his eyelashes as Lambert let out a roaring laugh next to them. He was about to make a comment on the red-haired witcher – why make only one blush? – but a rumbling sound interrupted them. It took him a moment to understand that it was actually a growl and, whipping his head around, he saw that it was unsurprisingly coming from Geralt. He turned to face him, both a bit thrilled to get such a strong reaction out of sir I-don’t-have-feelings and a bit scared that their relationship had soured to this extent. However, he was unwilling to back down, so he crossed his arms and stared defiantly into golden irises. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed that all the witchers were tense and their noses scrunched up. He wondered briefly what they could possibly smell. Then Geralt left, stomping angrily to who-knows-where Jaskier flashed an uneasy smile to Eskel and Lambert and excused himself before fleeing to the library.
He opted to stay hidden there as much as he could. Spring was near, so it wouldn’t last long anyway. And in the quiet provided by the off-center position of the room in the keep, it was the perfect place to compose.
“What are you doing?”
Ciri’s voice rang between the bookshelves. She must have been looking for Vesemir. Escaping his notice, the old witcher often slipped into the library in complete silence. Age may supposedly slow them down, but it certainly didn’t affect their stealthiness.
“Jaskier?”
He was so startled that he nearly dropped his notebook.
“Yes, dear?”
“Did you not hear me?”
“Oh, I certainly did. I just didn’t think you were talking to me.”
He saw the meaning of his words dawn on her and he almost took them back at the sad face she made. But there was no use in lying to he. She didn’t talk to him much, probably out of loyalty to Geralt. She quickly pulled herself together.
“So, what are you doing? Are you working on a new song?”
“Yes, it’s not quite done yet but it’s coming along nicely if you ask me.”
“Can I listen?”
“Ah, you surely have much more interesting things to do rather than listen to an unfinished silly song,” he smiled, trying to avoid it.
“No, I really want to hear it. You weren’t allowed in Cintra, and you haven’t be singing at all ever since you came here, so I’ve never listened to you. What is it about?”
And what else could he do but give up. She had asked so earnestly after all.
“Let’s say it’s a song about heartbreak. Do you still want to hear it?”
“I do.”
“Only the chorus then,” he sighed, “the rest is not ready at all.”
He plucked a few strings, took a deep breath and began.
“My fingertips are holding onto
The cracks in our foundations,
I know that I should let go
But I can’t.
And every time we fight, I know it’s not right,
Every time that you’re upset and I smile,
I know I should forget
But I can’t.”
When he looked back at Ciri, she watched him with a mix of wonder and sadness, but she also seemed very excited, so Jaskier promised her to sing some of his other song later. And she did come back. She was a good audience, and it was really an excellent boost for his confidence.
But the weather grew hotter and, once the snow melted, he knew that it was time for him to leave. If he was careful, he would be able to go down the mountain without much trouble. He dropped hints of his plans to Vesemir, not entirely sure that the old witcher picked up on them. On the day he chose to leave, he left a letter for him in the library, along with the key. He also had a letter for Yennefer, but – and it shouldn’t have surprised him at all, really – she had understood what he intended to do, and when he went to put it in her lab, she was there. He thought that she would try to stop him, but she shook her head gently.
“It’s not good for youto be around him when he is behaving that badly. You don’t deserve to be hurt like this,” she smiled and picked up a box from a table. “It’s a xenovox. Call for help, and I’ll come.”
He carefully put the unassuming object in his bag. Then she opened her arms, and after a second, he threw himself at her and held her tightly to his chest. As he made his way down the mountain, he was still thinking about the hug and how their friendship had grown. It was better than reflecting on failed relationships.
It was already past midday when he heard the sound of hooves coming from behind. He really tried to ignore it but of course, Geralt wouldn’t let him.
“Jaskier!”
He sighed and turned towards the voice.
“What do you want?”
“Where are you going?”
“Toussaint, probably. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“You… You won’t stay?” and wasn’t it a sight, the great White Wolf stammering in front of a humble bard.
“I know when I’m not welcome, so no.”
“What? Of course you are, who told you that? I’ll talk to them…”
Jaskier shook his head.
“No one told me to leave. But you seemed particularly displeased by me, and I’ve learned how you end up treating me when you’re like this.”
The witcher’s eyes widened and a muscle twitched in his jaw.
“I’m not… I brought you here.”
“You’ve been known to change you mind, dear witcher.”
“I want you here.”
“You do realize that belittling people and growling at them isn’t a good way to show you care? I’m not a thing for you to toy with, and to toss away when it’s broken or you’re bored of it.”
“It’s not… It wasn’t…”
He had never seen Geralt so out of his depth. More than that, he had never seen the subtle blush that graced his pale cheekbones.
“It wasn’t you! It was them! I went to get you and I brought you here, but even though I said that I was sorry, you were friendly to everyone but me.”
“Oh so you thought that a measly ‘sorry’ was enough after you told me that I ruined your life and abandoned me on top of a mountain?” he nearly shouted. “Well it’s not! And your behavior didn’t make things better.”
“I asked Yennefer to heal you! And I told the others to let you recover before putting you to work! I even told Vesemir that he could give you a key to the library when he was looking from a gift to thank you. But you still wouldn’t talk to me. Or sing.”
“You… You did that?”
“Hmm.”
“You, you know I’m not Yennefer, right? I can’t read your mind. You need to say these things, or else I will never know.”
“Hm.”
“I really hope that it was a ‘yes Jaskier, you know best’, or else I’ll be very angry.”
“Hmmm.”
He got quiet for a while, his mind slowly working through all this new information. It turned out that Geralt was just – very – bad at communicating his feelings. Which was not that surprising now that he thought about it. But he had really really been needlessly rude and mean. And Jaskier wasn’t about to let this kind of hurt go easily a second time. But first…
“Wait, why are you insisting so much on the fact that I wasn’t talking to you? You usually like it better when I shut up.”
“You talked to the others.”
The white-haired witcher turned around shyly, and his blush wasn’t so subtle anymore. That was something he could understand without words.
“Dear Melitele, you were jealous. Couldn’t you just say so, instead of treating me like shit?”
“Sorry.”
“Well, at least a little bit of good comes out of this,” he smiled at the witcher’s questioning look. “You like me! And my singing!”
And Geralt became even more red.
“So will you… will you stay?”
“No.”
Seeing the other’s face crumple was somehow satisfying – a fitting vengeance, to end things like that, whispered a dark part of his mind – and Jaskier knew that he would have to work on that during his time away.
“You need to understand that you acted like an imbecile, Geralt, and I’ve really been hurt. Even now that we have cleared things up, I’m still hurt, it won’t magically go away. And I deserve a proper apology for the mountain. No, you wanted me to speak so don’t interrupt me,” he quickly added when the other opened his mouth. “I’m also at fault for some things, so we both need to do some self-reflecting. I’m going to Toussaint as I had planned. Play for the crowd, learn fresh news, earn some coin. But I’ll come back, let’s say, in three or four months, after buying livestock to take up in Kaer Morhen, I was thinking chickens and maybe a goat for Eskel… Anyway. You, dear, you’ll stay here and do what you have to. Ciri needs you. I expect a warm welcome and a long and flowery speech of apology for my return.” With a more serious tone, he added, “If you hurt me like that again, I’ll leave, and this time, I won’t come back.”
Geralt grumbled a little but ultimately relented. He would have had to resort to brute strength to stop him from leaving anyway, and that wouldn’t have been in the interest of their freshly mended relationship. The witcher finally dismounted – the poor Roach had just stood there the entire time, he would have to bring back apples from Toussaint to thank her for her patience – and hugged him tightly before they parted.
Once he was at the foot of the mountain, Jaskier began humming. His prospects weren’t so grim anymore. Everything would be just fine.