middaeg | ( OPEN ) february catch-all

[ Every time Jaskier's heart stutters, Geralt feels his own sink. It's funny. He would've never described Jaskier as brave before, but it's not as if he'd considered him cowardly, either. Foolhardy, more like. Lacking any real fear not because he understood the danger but because he was too carefree.

It's unusual, is what he's trying to say, to see his friend so easily startled. A hare frightened of its own shadow.

He finds equal solace in the garden, at least. It's sheltered. The snow falling around them but never quite touching. ]

Quiet, mostly. [ He's not good at this. He's fucking trying, but he simply isn't. It's not what he was built for. He understands exactly what Jaskier is going through and he can't truthfully tell him it'll be fine. Geralt has lived over twice Jaskier's lifetime. The nightmares still linger. Time does not so much make it better as it simply allows one to get used to it. Like an ache in a joint that won't go away. Sooner or later, it's just a part of you.

And this is not something he's ever wanted to be a part of Jaskier. ]

You've been out here all night? [ It's a careful question, one that skirts outright asking if Jaskier got any sleep. ]

As it always is with you.

[He picks at one of the crackers, breaking it in two. As he had broken that woman's cookies -- the kind one. Was she really that way? He suspects now, after truly hearing about what those people had done, that perhaps she had been an unfortunate victim, too.

He hopes, at least.]

I know what you're asking me. I slept. [Not long. Never long, not in the Coven and not here, either. Which shocks him. Jaskier would have sworn being near his Bonded -- nay, his friends -- would make it easier. That he would not see the lingering things. That he would not wake to nightmares.

And to hear it had only been a few days... how pathetic, was it not? That a man could break so easily? They had both endured so much worse.] I know I probably feel like a wounded fawn to you, but you don't need to do this for me.

[Geralt knows what he means. Talking to him carefully. He never has before. Why start now?] Are you all right? [Jaskier looks at him, now that he feels like he can, because the black has finally left his eye. It was the first thing he checked when allowed a mirror.] You don't drink like this often.

Edited 2021-02-16 05:58 (UTC)

[ He sighs. He does know what Jaskier means. But he feels like if he lets himself say what he wants to, he'll say too much. Everything that's been on his mind since the night Jaskier was taken, stewing in his head for days and days while Yennefer tried to keep him from running out the door.

Jaskier doesn't need to hear it. His guilt. His friend has enough to deal with. ]

It's not only for you. [ There. That's the bluntness Jaskier is looking for. It's all he's willing to say about it. He does not want the conversation turned on how he's doing. He's doing how he always does: one day at a time. Until his days run out.

(It should've been him. All that shit Jaskier went through—it would've been more of the same for the Witcher.) ]

There was occasion. [ He already wants another drink. He won't, because he needs his head on straight. ] I'm fine.

[It is blunt. He blinks, and then a soft smile comes to his face. Being near his Bonded doesn't make everything as easy as it had once been, certainly, but it made it much, much better, too.

He sighs, and looks up at the snow as it falls on the magic dome above them.]

I don't want you to feel guilty. And please, just once, don't bother claiming you feel otherwise. [He hasn't brought it up to this moment, but Geralt is not coming home, having drunk an amount that would've left a human on the floor, because he's doing it for fun. And he knows his friend. He knows the dark, overwhelming guilt that lingered on him when the Zerrikanians and the dragon fell, seemingly, to their death. Jaskier had been the one to sit where Geralt was now, after all. Trying to help someone and having no bloody idea what to offer them.

He goes quiet for a moment longer, then adds:] It was nice being the hero for once.

[ The reality is, Geralt doesn't want to feel guilty, either. He's had a lot of regrets in his life. In time, he knows he'll put it aside and carry on, and it will just be one more weight upon him. One more weight amongst many. But right now, it's crushing.

He gives a quiet huff. Yeah. He'd wager as much. ] It was a good spell.

[ A rare compliment from him. Sincere, though. Jaskier has been getting better with his magic. It's only that it hadn't been enough. Not really the bard's fault. He doesn't want Jaskier to feel as if he'd been too weak to defend himself. That's not what happened.

He places a piece of cheese on some bread. Look, he gets it. Meals are as appetizing as piss filled gruel right now. It doesn't matter; the Coven was clear on Jaskier needing his strength to recover in full. ] Here. Eat the damn food.

Wasn't it?

[He doesn't revel in their deaths, even now, but he can admit there's a bit less guilt about it. Knowing, exactly, what they planned on doing with Geralt if they had taken him successfully.

Funny, thinking about it now. He was collateral.]

You're very rude, you know. [If only he could jest how the harpy who'd fed him was much less rude. He paused, the thought overwhelming. He could recall the smell of her feathers. Distinct. It could have been from the infection too.

He takes Geralt's offering, swallowing dryly. Right. Eating. This was. Safe. It was Geralt, of all people. He'd never even gotten a stomachache from any of his bloody offerings.

He tells himself that several times before he manages to bring it to his mouth. It tastes like nothing. Salt, maybe.] I don't suppose you brought anything back to drink, did you?

Fuck you, too.

[ Geralt eats his own bit of bread and cheese, if only so he has something in his stomach other than a three bottles of liquor and at least two pitchers of beer. And because he's noticed, on occasion, that Jaskier waits for either him or Yennefer to eat first.

He's never asked. He doesn't need to.

Funny Jaskier should bring that up because there'd been some point during the night where he'd had the vague thought of bringing back some gin or something home. Then sunrise hit, as did the bottom of the bottle.

So. ]

I drank it all. [ He tips his head towards the house, indicating that there's plenty more in the house, thanks to Yen, and that he'll fetch a bottle if Jaskier wants. ]

[This time, the bluntness startles him into a laugh. It's much quieter than his usual, but it's genuine. His shoulders shake, his eyes wrinkling. It's beautiful to hear, almost; to be treated like normal.]

Can you believe I missed hearing that?

[But he did. He had only just settled into the manor he now shared with his Bonded. He had only just started to appreciate the sounds of others moving about a place he called home. That he had one to freely return to, now that Oxenfurt was so far beyond his reach.

He manages a second cracker once his humor dies off, though he pauses, again, before putting it in his mouth. Watching Geralt eat does help. A bit.

The tip of Geralt's head says enough. It's been tempting to get drunk out of his mind since he returned. Jaskier suspects it won't make things any easier. And he misses going to taverns. The Tearoom. He's received a letter from them, even, requesting his return.] Perhaps later. [Much later. When something like a cracker doesn't make him want to curl up in a corner somewhere.] I hope you didn't drink alone. That would be terribly depressing, Geralt.

[ It startles him, too, hearing Jaskier laugh for once. He looks over, and something in his expression softens despite himself. He can see the patch of black in Jaskier's normally brown hair: neither the Coven nor Jaskier can confirm if it's permanent or not, but he supposes it's not the worst scar to bear out of that ordeal. It's just...

It reminds him a bit too much of his own. The first time he looked in a mirror and found a streak of white in his hair. A lot, in fact, has reminded him of things he's long tried to bury.

Jaskier's not wrong: he does feel guilty. But it's not the only reason his nights have been troubled. ]

I had Roach with me. [ His lips quirk. He knows what Jaskier would say to that. Normally, he'd not be inclined to say much more than that. He senses Jaskier doesn't want to talk about himself, though. A desire he understands. He'll detail a dull walk in the woods if that's what Jaskier would prefer to hear. ] And a vampire. [ Well. Mm. ] Former.

Drinking with your horse is terribly depressing.

[It lightens the mood, though. Without noticing, really, he manages another bite. Because He does like Roach, in all her incarnations; he's personally met three (?) that he can recall. It's a nice place to be, the memories where he stumbled in on Geralt talking to Roach, or the way he would even mumble something to her as if he'd forgotten there was real human company nearby.

Or, specifically, to complain aloud about Jaskier where he could hear it.

Jaskier blinks at him.] Oh? [He pauses. There was a vampire in that room with him, once. One of the first monsters they put him with. It doesn't mean anything. He tells himself that. Thinks it again.] You make friends with the strangest people, don't you? [He pulls at a piece of cheese, tugging it into small, round little balls.] I should like to meet them. [Because anyone who could stand Geralt, who could make friends with him, was just as interesting.] So they became... un-vampired?

We're not friends.

[ It's a reply as automatic as anything. He does, in fact, consider Alucard a friend—or as close to one as he tends to have. Out of the Mirrorbound, he's probably spent the most time with him, even if their conversations are brief.

Really, he's just glad Alucard doesn't seem to have been caught up in the chaos with the Circle. Enough have been affected as it is. ]

Human mother. Or so he says. He walks in daylight, so if he remains a vampire, he isn't one of this world.

[ The vampires as they're known here are not capable of that. And they have a look to them—one he doesn't see in Alucard. He suspects like him, Alucard has been unmade in some ways by the land's magic.

He thinks Jaskier might like the man. Perhaps he'll introduce them some time. ]

[He smiles at the corners of his lips. How many times he's heard those words himself. Then they must be good friends. As Geralt and himself are, of course.

It reminds him that he has yet to thank him. Or Yennefer. Properly. For... everything. The thought they would come, and that he could feel them through the bond, he thinks, kept him more sane than being alone would have.]

You would know better than I. [About what sort of vampire he must be. Ex-vampire? Not one of Aefenglom's changed ones. A... half-human?

It makes his head spin. But it's an easy topic to float on, because it has nothing to do with what happened to him.]

It makes me wonder what I would have been. If I hadn't been blessed with magic in the way I was. [He folds one of the balls of cheese in between two crackers, squishing it flat.] Perhaps one of those cute little fauns.

[ Geralt hums his acknowledgement, though he doesn't clarify further. He hasn't asked too deeply about Alucard's nature, nor much about his life in general. It seems less important in this world where they've all started anew in one way or another.

He watches Jaskier eat, relieved that he's doing so. Not that he's ever imagined himself becoming a damn mother hen, but... ]

Not an annoying little fox?

[ He wonders if Jaskier will still run with him during the full moons. Doubtful. Jaskier likely won't venture far out of the Haven any time soon—and Geralt isn't sure he'd leave either of them the upcoming lunar cycle. At least the garden is big enough even for a wolf of his size. ]

[Jaskier's shoulders shake, as close as he'll come to laughing again for now.] A Turnskin fox. I should only be so lucky. [He remembers his day with the one pointed black ear atop his head. Yet he cannot grasp his mindset. That it had nearly ruined several days for him. He'd been so humiliated, to finally feel a grasp on his magic to have it turn back against him.

Having a little fox ear for a day had felt so important.

How stupid. He must seem like a child to them.

Perhaps they wouldn't have caught me if I were a fox. He bit his lip and did not say it. Even in a low moment, he didn't want to press the idea that any part of it was Geralt's fault. It wasn't. And like that feral full moon, he did not want to convince him otherwise.]

I haven't used magic since. [He rubs his fingers together, waiting for the small sparks to appear.] A shame the change doesn't change my mind for a time. It would be quite simple being a fox, I think. Only caring about being obnoxious and stealing eggs.

[ It's common for Geralt to let Jaskier say what he will in silence, and now is no different. He keeps his thoughts to himself, knowing Jaskier is fortunate to have come here with magic instead of being forcibly changed.

And yet. Here they are, his friend carrying marks he should never have to. ]

You will again. [ He senses Jaskier will pick himself up sooner or later. Or maybe that's just what he has to believe. That he should bring him home to only lose him again -- it's not a thought he wants to entertain. And it's not one Jaskier needs him to entertain, either.

A long pause passes. He glances over to the far end of the yard, where the stable is near the woods. He doesn't often offer. He's never offered, in fact. If they ride together, it is always Jaskier on his own horse, borrowed or bought for long stretches of traveling. But right now...right now, he just wants to see Jaskier agree to get out of this fucking house. ]

Come ride. Won't be far.

Yes. Yes, I suppose that's the nature of healing, isn't it?

[He was healing. In some ways. The infection, the Coven witches assured him, was driven from his body -- aided by a resistance he'd built up with his frequent trips to the Cwylds and playing for the infected outside the cities. Jaskier, in all of this mess, has never really stopped and considered how he was almost one of them. Stripped of his home. Surviving on what was handed to him.

He goes quiet again, picking at the food without really thinking about it. No magic, very little eating, and he hasn't left the house. He feels he must be a ghost at this point, for how they treat him. For how he must be this terrible, soul-sucking thing to be around.

No. Geralt has never offered. Not in all the years he's known him. So when he does, it startles him. How bad must it be, for Geralt to change his ways after all this time?

He looks back at the rising shadow of their manor, the pool just beyond the barrier that protects them from snow now. Though he doesn't leave it now, it feels overwhelming to be in sometimes.

He thinks... Yennefer could use a break from him. From his presence. And though a pang of fear runs through him, he has never felt unprotected in Geralt's presence.] All right. [He sets the food aside, making as if to pick something up -- of course. He'd come out here with nothing. No lute, no notebook. He looks up to Geralt, a bland smile across his lips.] You're getting softer in your old age.

[ For a moment, he thinks Jaskier will turn him down. He's hoping the bond will help Jaskier feel better about venturing out, and a small weight lifts off his shoulders when the bard agrees.

He grunts. At least some things never change between them. ] Shut up.

[ Fuck, maybe he is. Look at him, taking a bard on a ride, bringing him a platter of food. He's not even taken a job since Jaskier has returned. Nothing beyond small errands that won't take him away for more than a day at a time.

Geralt makes his way to the stable, kept warm with magic. Roach has been happier since they've moved her into a larger stable; she greets them with a snort. He supposes it's nice to see someone's having a grand time as always. No worries that plague when you're a spoiled mare.

He takes a few minutes to saddle her, adjusting the straps before he steps back to let Jaskier on. ]

[Just his usual sort of response, then. There's some comfort in that. Though Jaskier has more often than not been coddled in his life, he quickly floats from craving that small bit of comfort, to being treated as if nothing had changed. The latter feels more like a lie, though, when he knows he has changed. He isn't certain for how long, though.

Getting through each day felt like enough.]

Don't worry. I'm sure plenty are still afraid of you. [Even if he always suspected that was not what Geralt wanted. He says hello to Roach, having spent the last few days around her when his bonded are otherwise occupied, or when he felt even being around them was too much. He will never admit it to Geralt, but he can see the appeal, sometimes, of having only a horse for company. She certainly did nothing that triggered panic in his chest. Even the one time she whipped him with her tail for getting too close to her leg.

He pets down her neck, then, gripping the saddle, pulls his way onto her.] I can't believe you made me wait twenty years for this.

[ Undoubtedly. A large wolf stalking about the city hasn't earned him any favors, especially when he's so easily recognized in either form. He's considered removing his medallion when h shifts -- but the truth is, he doesn't give a shit about being recognized or skirted around warily. It's what he's used to. People are already oddly amiable here as it is. He doesn't need more of that.

It's possible he's been avoiding a few people. Not everyone he'd been able to get out that night. A handful he'd had to leave behind. It's not...guilt, exactly. He knows saving everyone isn't realistic. But he doesn't feel good about it, either. ]

Don't make me regret it.

[ Geralt lingers, helping Jaskier steady himself. He leads her by the reins past the edge of their grounds before he hops on, sending them off on a gentle trot. The air is sweeter out here, crisp in the winter chill. And though silence is usually preferred, he feels it this time, heavy in the air. Jaskier is almost never silent. Now it seems to be more common than not.

He doesn't fill it. What's there to say? At least Jaskier seems calm for the moment. Geralt makes sure to stay where he knows the paths are sunlit, leading them towards a clearing with a lake glittering in the center. He stops there, tethering Roach to a nearby tree. ]

Don't you already?

[It slips out as easily as Jaskier's prodding always does, but after it leaves his lips, it feels different. It makes him go quiet. Not that he thinks that. No, nothing like that. It's --

It's hard not to feel like a useless bit of dough when one is a bit of useless dough. Such morbid thoughts are quite new to him. And yet he has woken every night with nightmares, more than aware that he has jolted those fears down through the Bond. It's the first time he regrets any part of it. That others would feel what he feels so intimately.

On top of suspecting they had felt what he'd felt in the Evergreen Circle's care.

They go in silence, and it's. Fine. Jaskier's hands flit from the already worn leather of the saddle to the fur of the horse's back, to Geralt's hip when he thinks he may lose balance.

Even a simple forest is nearly overwhelming. Sometimes he only looks down so he doesn't have to see the dark between the trees. The flash of eyes that could be there. He knows very well nothing is there. And if it were, Geralt would hear it. And he also has magic. To protect himself.

But --

By the time he looks up, the lake is simply there. As instant as one of Yennefer's portals.] Ah. Your usual haunt. [He slid off Roach carefully. A lake, at least, was about as far as anything could be to that manor.] And we're blessed with a lovely day on top of it.

[ It does feel different. Different enough that Geralt doesn't give his usual remark back: telling him he regretted it yesterday, in fact. Jaskier is not a burden. He knows Jaskier feels that way, but he isn't. It's only that he wishes he were better at...helping, when it comes to shit like this.

All he can do is take Jaskier to a lake. Maybe the fresh air will do some good.

He stretches out on the shore. Thick trees line the edges, covered in a light dusting of snow. They haven't ventured too far into the Wilde—just at the border—but temperatures are already a hint warmer, some of the frost melted and the lake's surface unfrozen. ]

Mm-hmm. [ He picks up a smooth stone, turning it idly in his hands. He's skipped them from time to time when he's here alone. A private thing. One of many private things he does when there are no eyes on him except his horse's. ] Almost as nice as the mountain lakes.

[ There's a wistful edge to his words. He hasn't ever admitted he misses Kaer Morhen. It's not as if he even spends much of his time there. Just...he had been on his way, as he always is for the frost. Now winter has come and nearly gone. ]

[It's the opposite of everything it had been there: it was cold here, but in a natural way, with a thin sheet of snow on everything. He knew the further they went, the warmer it would be, but -- Geralt didn't even need to ask to know that Jaskier would never agree to go any deeper right now. The sun was shining, everything bright. It'd taken a few days until light had stopped hurting his eyes, and he wasn't even sure if that was from being trapped in a basement or from the infection itself.

He watches the rock bounce several times until it sinks.] It's been a while since you've been there, hasn't it?

[Even before they were brought here. Funny. Jaskier has never really had a problem with Aefenglom, as strange and chaotic as it could be sometimes. He realizes how terribly lucky he's been.] Were you going to go? I mean, after the dragon hunt?

[ For awhile, he doesn't yet answer. He rarely talks deeply of Kaer Morhen. It's home for him, but it also isn't home the same way most people interpret it. He's only there a few months out of the year, if that. It holds as many warm memories as it does ones that leave his blood cold. And their numbers have dwindled. Every year he returns, there are fewer and fewer of them to meet him. ]

When the frost came. As usual. [ A handful of winters, they've spent together. Otherwise, they've often parted -- Jaskier for warmer climates, Geralt to the Blue Mountains. ] I'd been on my way before...

[ Well. Here. He doesn't mention that he'd had thoughts of taking Cirilla there to keep her safe. It's too late for that now.

The dragon hunt feels ages ago. So damn much has changed. ]

[Ah. Blissful silence. It's more common than not with Geralt -- he only notices it more though, with the chirping of birds in the background. Realistically, he was not there that long. But he had already had moments where he was sure he would not hear birds again. Nor the ocean. Or a lake, as it were.

He looks out to it, simply watching the water move with the wind, bundling deeper into his cloak.]

Before this mess. [Of course. Geralt's details about his winter retreat were always rare, but Jaskier knew there were some others waiting for him. It must be hard when a witcher didn't show up. Did they assume he was dead now?]

I bet they miss you skulking about. [He throws his own rock. It immediately sinks without skipping once. Of course.] I didn't thank you. I knew... I knew you'd come, the both of you, but I --

[It was different this time. He's never expected anything less of Geralt because Geralt has always been the sort to throw himself into danger to help hapless idiots, even if he would never admit to it. He clears his throat. It doesn't matter.] I always meant to follow you, you know. To come see your secret witcher home.

You don't need to.

[ Jaskier doesn't owe them a damn thing, including gratitude. If anything, he should've done more. Come sooner or...not let him be taken in the first place.

It doesn't matter. Too late to sit on what ifs or to wish it didn't happen. It had and he knows things will never be the same again. But he also knows in time, they'll gather themselves and move on in their own way.

A quiet huff escapes him, imagining Jaskier trying to sneak up behind him through the path to Kaer Morhen. It's not a path just anyone can find nor pass. ]

You'd freeze your dainty ass off. [ A hint of a smile lifts his lips. ] Though you might've won them over with your bawdy drinking songs.

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