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There's a light breeze falling from the cloudy sky, the sun had been hidden behind the clouds for days now, although sometimes a ray of lightning would peek through and rest on the seashore. It’s beautiful, truly beautiful.
Jaskier has left his shoes inside the house, as well as the tea he had just boiled, but he's too lazy to go in and get it. Lately everything in him hurts, his bones jam against themselves when he tries to stand or sit. The injury to his knee is the worst of all. Age eventually catches up with everyone. Even getting up from the porch is a challenge he prefers to avoid so he’ll drink the tea cold, meanwhile he’ll enjoy the coming and going of the waves, the coolness of the breeze. He reflects on how much he enjoys being here on the coast, living in a modest house that, although small, has everything he needs. Sometimes he feels lonely but he doesn't particularly care. It’s a quiet life after living a chaotic one in which problems were an everyday occurrence, the adventure, the music and the love and of course the heartache. He loved that life and he's easily going to love this one too.
The truth is that he'd been planning to move to the coast for several years, but he'd found it difficult to say goodbye to all his friends, he knew he would not see them again once he left. So he kept putting it off until he finally plucked up the courage.
He came to the coast with the sole purpose of living his last years in peace, to enjoy what was left to him while he took the opportunity to write his memoirs and send them to Oxenfurt for publication. His name would not be forgotten when he died, his name would be remembered for many years to come.
Jaskier the bard, always a dramatist of the art.
Things with Pricilla were going extremely well, Jaskier really loves her as she loved him back. In her he found what he was looking for, to be freely loved without restrictions. She fulfilled the role of the love of his life, but in the end they were not meant for each other, or perhaps Jaskier wanted it that way. She was too young for him, she could even be his daughter! When they met Jaskier was completely taken by her, he helped her refine her art and of course it didn't take her long to outgrow him. Her artistic voice has the beauty that Jaskier's could never obtain, the voice and sensitivity of a goddess, there is and will be no artist like her.
Problems began when Pricilla gave up pursuing her career as a bard to stay with him in Novigrad: "You can't stay with this old man, go out, travel, see the world as I saw it and make a name for yourself, one that will erase mine as the best bard in history." She wanted a long relationship, she wanted to have children at some point in her life and die together with Jaskier, but that was the real problem, he'd die long before she did, even before she was ready to have children, that's life. They argued for a long time, even so long that Jaskier feared their relationship would fracture forever, but in the end, heartbroken but loving each other they decided it was best to part ways. Pricilla had to live and if Jaskier prevented her from doing so it was inevitable that they'd separate. He was not worth it.
He accompanied her to Velen where they said goodbye amidst tears and words of love, Jaskier told her that he'd always be there for her, that he loved her very much but that it was time for her to leave and live her life.
He gets letters from her from time to time, she tells him about her achievements and adventures, she even confessed to him that she'd met someone, a messenger who worked for two kingdoms and who often accompanied her on her travels. She seemed happy.
Before leaving Jaskier arranged with the bank in Novigrad to have an amount sent to Priscilla each month for her travels, and although at first she refused, it's now an agreement between two people who love each other but will never be together.
For months he traveled to see his friends, Zoltan was one of them, Jaskier stayed with him for several weeks, they drank like young men although in the mornings their heads were killing them from the hangover. On the last day Jaskier informed him that he was leaving for the coast of Skellige, that he'd probably not return. Zoltan's eyes watered and although he asked him about his reasons he did not try to stop him.
Jaskier, always the emotional one, cried like a child. Zoltan was his best friend for many years, after the disaster that was Geralt, Zoltan was there for him, picking up the pieces he scattered everywhere in the early years and providing the security of a shoulder to cry on, even if it made him uncomfortable. Jaskier never understood why emotional constipated people were the candidates to become his friends.
Saying goodbye to his friend was the hardest.
He’d have liked to invite him to the coast with him, he wanted to go to the coast with someone not alone but… but Zoltan had his own plans, his own family.
Apparently his years of debauchery and adventures left him with little chance of forming bonds with whom to share his old age. Yet he has no regrets about what his life was, except maybe...he should never have opened his big mouth on that infernal mountain, maybe things would've been different, maybe today Jaskier wouldn't be alone in a house by the sea.
After leaving Zoltan's hut, Jaskier made many other stops, it was a journey to say goodbye to everything he ever traveled, drank, fucked, sang and smiled as in his youth.
He then he returned to Novigrad to prepare everything with Oxenfurt, manage his funds and negotiate with the ship's captain to take him to Skellige. Jaskier watched the docks of Novigrad until they disappeared over the horizon, his heart squeezed with sadness but also pounding with excitement to reach the coast after so many years of procrastination.
Although to be honest he receives letters as well as sends them every month, even if he doesn't see his friends it doesn't mean that he cut off communication altogether. He’s happy here. He loves it here.
He recalls how many years ago he wanted to escape the political conflict on the continent and live for a while on the coast, he remembers how heartbreak completely discarded that idea. Even today he wonders why he didn't go to the coast on his own, why he didn't dare venture out on his own. He doesn't remember much of what became of him after the disaster, he only remembers how lost and sad he felt. Until he stopped being so and wrote the best songs of his career that earned him the title of the best bard of the continent.
He'd also made a good friendship with the people of the nearest town, they organized the best parties at the inn every end of the month, Jaskier attends without fail, he drinks and plays Gwent, lately he doesn't need to cheat to win, he finally understands how to play. And for some reason the children loves him, they ask him to sing songs and recite poems to them even if they don't understand the meaning, words are beautiful he told them. Jaskier never liked children but now he can see the charm in them.
His reverie is interrupted when he hears the clattering of a horse's gait, and sure enough a horse approaches from the sidewalk, the rider is covered by a black cloak. His heart begins to pound anxiously, these roads are not traveled by anyone but him, plus the rider, he thinks fearfully, is all too familiar. Time seems to stand still around him, the breeze suspended in the air, the waves petrified against the sand, the waving grasses stiff in the air. The brown horse stops a few feet from the porch, as the rider descends, Jaskier can see the two swords securely strapped to the back. Oh, no . The rider turns to look at him, or so he thinks as the hood covers him up to his chin and Jaskier stands dumbfounded as he watches the intruder approach until he's but a step away from the porch steps. Then the man removes his hood and Jaskier is confronted with a face he never thought he'd ever see again.
“Geralt” he whispers in amazement, as if an apparition were paying him a visit to tell him that the world is about to end, Jaskier feels like he's in a children's story.
“Jaskier” the witcher replies as said bard devours him with his gaze, catching the vastly changed Geralt from his memories.
And although time does not pass the same for witchers, geralt looks older, with crow's feet in his eyes, a vertical scar across his left eye and a full beard accentuating his features, as attractive as ever.
“What are you doing here?” Of course Jaskier has to ask, maybe a contract brought the witcher to Skellige, maybe he saw Jaskier in the distance and decided to come down to say hello.
“I was looking for you” and that's precisely the answer he wasn't expecting. They both look at each other without really knowing what to do because standing in front of each other after so many years apart is simply surreal. A wound that is open but no longer tender.
Therefore Jaskier does what he always does, he makes a joke: “You're old”
Geralt snorts, “You should look in the mirror” Jaskier laughs and Geralt surprisingly follows, but when they stop everything seems to fall into place, the waves continue their crash, the breeze wets the witcher's white hair...
After a few moments of awkward silence Geralt says “May I?” pointing to the steps where Jaskier is sitting, he awkwardly nods and makes room. Geralt sits down letting out a grunt, at this distance Jaskier is hit by the smell of horse and smoke, a smell that brings back too many memories.
It seems that neither of them knows what to say, although for years their paths have happened together, now, after more than two decades apart, it’s as if two strangers are meeting for the first time. It really is, the amalgam that was once composed of the two has long since fallen apart, and now two pieces of a puzzle that don't have the right sides try to dance a nonsensical piece.
“What are you really doing here, Geralt?” And Geralt doesn't answer, he takes his time, Jaskier can tell, in the way he looks at his hands and then straight ahead, a nervous mannerism the bard detected in their early years. And the ease with which his subconscious aligns with the knowledge that was once his whole life is amazing, he'd have expected Geralt's little mannerisms to have faded from his memories just as his face did.
“I wanted to see you, I wanted to find you.” Jaskier sighs deeply and looks up at the sky, thinking just as carefully, afraid that this is just a joke of Destiny.
“It's been so long, Geralt.” Jaskier looks him straight in the eye, trying that in his eyes the witcher doesn't find a challenge but gentleness “I no longer remembered the sound of your voice.” And it's the truth, years ago Jaskier realized that he'd not longer remember the voice of the witcher, nor his features, they were hidden under the blurred veil of his memories. Geralt had become a person who was extremely important in the first half of his life and got forgotten as the years went by. There were nights when, sitting in front of the fire, contemplating his immaculate solitude, he tried to return to his happiest memories, that is, the travels with Geralt, realizing that the voice that once made his knees jelly, had no record in his mind. He was frightened at first, he wanted to go out and look for the witcher to remedy the ephemerality of his memory, but he never did.
“It's been so long,” Geralt affirms with a defeated air and after turning his eyes to the sky he says “I tried to find you, for many years, I never stopped looking for you” Jaskier almost chokes on his own spit, a shiver runs through his body reminding him that there's a complicated history between the two of them that never got closure, for him that is.
“What do you mean, I wasn't missing, Geralt…”
“For me you were, I looked for you after the fall of Cintra, I looked for you when I had Ciri by my side, I looked for you when Ciri went missing, I looked for you after Vesemir died, but every time I got to a place where I was told you'd be, you were already gone.” The amount of information makes him dizzy, Jaskier reaches out to grab Geralt by the wrist and squeeze hard for lack of words to tell him to stop, that it's too much for his old heart. The contact feels strange as well as familiar.
“Geralt…” there’s a lump in his throat now “what are you saying…”
"I tried to find you, Jaskier, to make amends for what happened, I never stopped, but you were a step ahead…"
Jaskier laughs ungracefully to the sky, quite confused and overstimulated by the load of emotions he feels “I wasn't running away, Geralt, I was never hiding from you. Maybe I did the first year, but after that I never stopped waiting for you to come looking for me.” He barely remembers the Jaskier of the past who'd turn to the door every time someone entered, expecting to see a figure wrapped in armor, or every time he heard the clatter of a horse behind him, he'd walk slowly and deliberately, until the rider caught up but it was never the one he was waiting for. He remembers himself drowning in the eternal waiting of a battered heart, until he got tired, until his life was much more important than the waiting.
“I'm not trying to blame you, I just want to say I'm glad to see you” Geralt raises his arm and lets it hover for a few moments before deciding to place his hand on the bard's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. The weight of his hand is like an anchor that binds Jaskier to the past though he wonders if he ever stopped being bound. The strangest thing is the smile that embellishes his face, the beard fits too well on his lips, his chin, and at that moment Jaskier remembers why he was infatuated with the man for so many years. But it's all so unreal, Jaskier cannot understand how Geralt has confessed can be true because then the only answer is that it was not up to them.
Then Jaskier drops backwards, Geralt's hand follows the movement until he moves completely out of the way. Looking up at the ceiling boards of the porch, Jaskier considers his words and does a quick recount of the last few decades to speak accurately.
“I looked for you too, although less intentionally, I might add, I always left traces of my music so you could follow if you wanted to see me. Whenever I saw mutual acquaintances I'd ask for you and leave messages to let you know I was alive”
“Hmmm”
Jaskier laughs and looks up to Geralt “So you still communicate with those”
“Hmmm” Geralt replies
“Even when I found out Ciri was missing, I contacted many people to try to locate her but no one knew anything about her.” Although they had not seen each other for years, on occasion Jaskier knew of the witcher and his life, after all, he, Yennefer and Ciri were at the center of the continent's political conflicts, it was inevitable. At times he felt jealous that he had been relegated to a mere spectator in the back tiers, one who could barely see the play. Then that jealousy turned to bitter resentment at being tossed aside, like an apple core after the last bite. But the years wiped out those feelings and nostalgia was born in its place. It's a lie that time heals everything, in reality the sorrows never go away, they are there, but you get used to them, but above all you forget them, in a way. It's part of change of getting old. Life makes sense through time.
“All these years I've lived with guilt" Geralt's voice startles him, it seems he was so deep in thought that he had forgotten the outside world. Jaskier looks at the witcher's broad back and the tautness of his shoulders, it's as if he's never ceased to see the familiar and beautiful shape of that back.
“My conscience hasn't left me alone: forcing you to leave my side was the worst mistake...” Geralt lets out a derisive laugh ”and I usually make a lot of them.” Jaskier slowly sits up, propping himself up on his elbows to sit against the railing. From there, Jaskier takes in Geralt's face, his profile just as perfect, his eyebrows arched in shame, his lips pursed in disdain. Despite feeling his gaze Geralt does not turn to look at him, instead he gazes at the horizon. There's nothing he can do but listen. “I needed you so often. I wanted to have you by my side, your absence was so obvious that sometimes I could hardly think of anything else” At that moment, Geralt turns to look at him. Jaskier reads a deep pain in his face, which is reflected in the tears in his golden eyes. And Jaskier is dumbfounded, witchers can't cry, or in essence the trials made that very human characteristic in Geralt impossible. These tears are as precious as drops in an empty well, they emerge from the depths of the humanity that the witcher harbors, one that whipping and burning taught him to hide.
The same pain has travelled with Jaskier all these years, it has become part of who he essentially is. Jaskier wants to reach out and hug him, even kiss him as his younger version would've wanted, but holds back precisely in solidarity with all that once hurt.
‘I'm sorry, Jaskier, truly, if I could turn back time I’d never have left your side.” Here Geralt plays the better person and without hesitation takes Jaskier's hand in his own and squeezes tightly while holding his gaze. A single drop slides down the pronounced crow's feet framing Geralt's eyes, and Jaskier thinks that if he had taken up the noble craft of painting, that image would be his masterpiece.
Jaskier doesn't know what to do with so much information, doesn't know where to put so many years in which betrayal decorated every wall and permeated the floors of his story. What's the use of knowing all this now... He looks up at the group of seagulls flying over the roof of the house until they disappear, and with all the courage he can muster he clasps Geralt's hand in return. “It doesn't matter any more, Geralt. We both suffered the consequences of that day, and to tell the truth whatever happened to separate us, I no longer remember. So many years have passed, for me the mark of your absence was just as heavy. I forgave you long ago, in my own way, to give me peace, to stop missing you so much.” The sea has calmed, the breeze has increased to a light rain, the horse snorts in the distance as it walks on the sand contentedly. "For what it's worth, I have some guilt of my own. I remember saying something that made you angry, though I don't know if I can tell the difference between my imagination and my memories”
“It wasn’t your fault, Jaskier I lashed out…”
“Does it matter, Geralt?” Jaskier stops him by lifting a hand “Does it?” Geralt looks down at his hands in embarrassment but nods understanding what Jaskier means, in the end no, it doesn't matter what happened and who did what to ruin what they had.
“I think maybe we were never meant to travel together. I know how you feel about Destiny, but maybe she did want us apart. It’s the only explanation” Geralt gazes out to sea in rapt attention, contemplating the possibility, Jaskier continues in a quiet voice. “That's why we could never meet again despite our best efforts. There was no place for me in your destiny.” Geralt grimaces but does not deny what he hears. That's the hard truth that Jaskier contemplated at times: the possibility that he was no longer useful to Geralt's narrative. Instead, Geralt could fit into his life, but there was no way to make room for everything else. The logical decision of Destiny was, then, to separate them.
“If that's true, then why now, why let us meet now?” There is a particular seriousness in Geralt's gaze that makes Jaskier think that he’s finally seen Destiny with good eyes, that he finally understands that there are paths that not even apparently autonomous decisions can change.
“I don’t know” Jaskier replies sincerely, just as lost. It bothers him a lot to come to be again a token in the games of Destiny who suddenly remembered of his existence in the big picture of things and has deliberately placed him exposed at the feet of Geralt's path. But he can't do anything about it either, he has nowhere to run, he’s put down roots here and refuses to do anything but watch them grow.
But to have Geralt here, sitting next to him, after so many years of thinking they'd never see each other again, is a blessing in itself.
When Jaskier decided to leave everything behind and live his life on his own terms, albeit in solitude, is when Destiny brings Geralt to his door. He doesn't know what message is implicit in the visit, and he certainly doesn't want to find out if it's only to mull over his scarred heart that the separation with Geralt left behind.
All in all, it feels good, right even, if a bit forced.
“I’m sorry about Vesemir” Jaskier never met him but Geralt mentioned him several times as his mentor and the closest thing to a father figure. At the time he thought that Geralt would invite him to Kaer Morhen and there he’d meet all the witchers, but unlike Yennefer, once Jaskier cut ties with Geralt, he never met any witchers again.
Geralt looks at him with an arched eyebrow and a coy smile “Thanks for looking for Ciri” to which Jaskier scoffs “Even though I didn't manage to find her?”
“Even so” Geralt nods and instantly turns to look back at the waves. There’s a softness in him that the bard can’t quite place, it wasn’t there before, it’s a new version built on hard times, battles won and lost. He wonders what it's like to see himself through Geralt's eyes after so long, if he’ll find in him the same changes that the years leave in their wake, if his crow's feet indicate years of struggling with looking from afar, if the furrow in his eyebrows speak of all the nights worrying about everything and everyone?
“It’s getting cold” The light rain is lowering the temperature and although Jaskier doesn't mind, lately his bones can't stand the cold. “Help me?” Jaskier asks as he holds out his hand, Geralt is clearly taken by surprise because he looks at Jaskier and his hand in several successions before realizing what the bard is asking him “Yes” he sputters awkwardly and Jaskier could laugh but decides to be a sensible person. Finally Geralt pulls him up carefully while Jaskier grunts uncomfortably, his knee is the worst of it, it takes him a few seconds to regain his balance while the witcher's arms are suspended in case he needs help.
“You want tea? See to that horse and then come in” Jaskier offers as he enters the house limping slightly. There on the table is the mug of tea he forgot before he went out on the porch, already cold, of course, so he sets about the task of lighting the hearth and filling the pot with water to put on to heat. Then he notices Geralt hovering in the doorway looking at the small place as if it were dangerous, a rampaging beast lurking under the table. He tries not to be offended. “Geralt, come in” Geralt is startled before entering the small room, the swords and the armor don't help him to look natural in the room "Close the door, the heat is escaping, and take off the armor, you'll get the whole floor wet”
“Uh..where…” Jaskier points to the door leading to his room and Geralt rushes in, closing the door behind him. Jaskier smiles in total satisfaction remembering how much he enjoyed bossing the witcher around. By the time he leaves the room, Jaskier is waiting for him sitting at the table with a cup of boiling tea, as he liked to drink it in the old days. Now the one who is taken by surprise is him: Geralt without his armor, a simple black shirt, as always, and pants that emphasize the muscles in his legs. Although Geralt's face speaks in years, his body looks just as young as it did years ago. Jaskier is impressed and yes, somewhat jealous. Although he’s no match for the Witcher, Jaskier still retains the best features of his youthful physique; he’s as handsome and capable as ever.
Acting equally uncomfortable Geralt sits down at the table instantly, then takes the mug in his hands to feel the warmth in his damp palms. When Geralt realizes that Jaskier is watching him with a smile that could only be described as affectionate he shrinks in embarrassment but smiles anyway.
“The scar?” Jaskier asks, pointing at his own eye.
“Ciri”
“Good girl” Geralt rolls his eyes before taking a sip of a tea that’s entirely too hot for Jaskier to handle “what she is like?” Geralt looks at him and then at his hands thinking “She is magnificent. There is no force that can stop her.”
“Not even you?”
“Least of all me” Geralt smiles as if remembering something to turn to look at him with a solemn expression “You’d have gotten along well, you and her.” Jaskier can then recognize a man he never got to know, the father, that behind his tough side is a place reserved only for his daughter. He’s a proud father “I came to think that Ciri was missing someone like you by her side, that she was missing you as much as I was. She’d have had someone to give sound advice without the weight of parenthood twisting judgment.” And although he's flattered, he also feels as if he’s been punched in the stomach. Of course he thought about what it’d be like to be a part of Geralt's life and thus of Ciri's, he’d have been best friends with the princess without a second thought, maybe Ciri would be his daughter too, if Yennefer allowed it of course. As seldom in his life, Jaskier has nothing to say, there’s no point, instead he grimaces at Geralt trying to smile and remains silent.
He blows on the tea and takes a couple of sips, enjoying the warmth of the room as well as the crackling of the fire in the hearth.
“Your knee…” then Jaskier notices how their legs touch each other completely, thigh to thigh, both with their legs wide open in a subconscious attempt to feel close.
“Ah, yes, well…” Jaskier contemplates not telling the whole story, but immediately decides that there's no point in hiding what happened after so many years of healing the wound. “Nilfgaard was chasing me, they wanted to interrogate me” Geralt tenses at his side ”They'd been after me for days, the only thing I could do was running towards Brokilon forest, there I managed I'd lose them, the dryads chased them away but…one arrow hit my knee.”
“Why was Nilfgaard after you?” Jaskier raises an eyebrow hoping that is enough of an answer.
“Fuck,” Geralt sighs leaning back in the chair, the movement causes their legs to spread apart “I didn’t know, I’m sorry”
“Don't be, it was a long time ago and besides it wasn't that bad, old age has intensified the pain, I hardly noticed it until a few years ago. Plus it got me quite a few conquests.” One of them was Priscilla. She fell into his trap of pretending to fall into a planter in Oxenfurt, Priscilla always the good hearted, ran to his rescue to be confronted by the most flirtatious and handsome man in her life. From that day on they became inseparable, until they left each other that is.
The rest of the evening passes like this, both sitting at the table talking, when his stomach growls over the roaring fire. Jaskier pulls out several strips of dried meat, a loaf of the morning bread and half a bottle of wine that he saved for special occasions, he guesses this is one of them.
And the talk goes into retelling their lives without touching on the sensitive subject of their mutual absences: the achievements, the pains, the losses and the many problems that permeated both narratives. They both joke with each other, and Jaskier finds himself fascinated with the ease with which they return to their old dynamic, as if they had never been apart. Jaskier stopped frequenting many people he once considered close or even friends, by the time they met again the new people they were became the same obstacle to continuing the relationship. But not with Geralt.
When the moon is at its highest peak, Jaskier announces that he will go to sleep not before asking uncertainty, “Will you be here when I wake up?”
“Yes.” replies Geralt and it is more than enough for Jaskier to sleep without worry.
The next morning Jaskier finds three unopened bottles of wine on the table, two loaves of bread, several cut vegetables and although he does not see it, the smell of fish is unmistakable. The bard shrugs and proceeds to go to the back to unhook the clothes that had been drying since the day before, to find that someone, Geralt of course, had already done so.
Upon re-entering he finds Geralt spooning a pot on the stove after throwing the vegetables into it “Have I acquired a housewife?” he jokes.
“Don't get used to it.”
“Where did you get all this?” Jaskier asks him as he sits in a chair. Jaskier usually goes to the nearest village, about half an hour or so away on horseback, to buy what he needs to survive, but he has what he needs, though not much, growing on a small plot of land a few yards from the house. Celery and tomatoes were not on that list, much less wine.
“I went to the village”
“When? Did you even sleep, Geralt?”
“I meditated.” he replies while offering a loaf of bread to Jaskier as if it were the most normal thing in the world, of course it's for him. Normally he makes his own bread but that morning he'd woken up late thanks to the little party the night before.
Half an hour later the stew is ready to which Geralt serves him and himself a bowl, Jaskier could groan at how delicious it is, but ultimately decides to keep his dignity and better thank him for the food, apparently it’s Ciri's favorite.
After finishing his meal in relative silence, Jaskier gets down to the task of cleaning up while Geralt takes care of the new Roach grazing nearby. So goes the day, both keeping busy with daily tasks that are anything but innocent, there is something hanging between them, the elephant in the room that they refuse to point out because they don't know what it means, or at least Jaskier has no idea. They've talked about everything of importance, haven't they? the differences have been ironed out, haven't they?
In the afternoon Geralt helps him pull up all the weeds in the garden while Jaskier sharpens some knives to cut meat. From the window Jaskier watches the other wipe his sweat with his sleeve as he thinks longingly of the echo of what he once wanted, a quiet life with the witcher, if only for a few weeks.
By evening, the feeling that something is wrong, that something is stuck in the metaphorical throat of their relationship, has not gone away, and Jaskier is afraid, afraid, but silent.
Eventually, the tiredness of the day brings them back to the table with the remains of the stew and the bottles of wine.
Geralt tells him about how hard it was to keep Ciri safe, how hard he tried to be a duo with Yennefer, they’re for several years until the flame went out, they just realized they weren't right for each other. Their last desperate attempt to stay together was after Ciri embarked on her journey as a witcher. Their attempt to live together ended up separating them.
Jaskier thinks of his mother and what she told him several times: that love is unmasked as mere infatuation when you live under the same roof with the person you believe is your soulmate.
And of course Jaskier tells him about Priscilla and the big hole her departure left in his heart, he also tells him about his adventures, his dozens of awards around the world as a bard, a poet, an artist. He couldn't be more surprised when Geralt confessed that he was aware of most of them.
Jaskier'd like to say that that's where it ends, that Geralt went on his way and Jaskier live happily ever after in his little shack he shamelessly calls home, that old wounds never resurfaced to attack them, but that's not life. Life with the witcher was never like that.
Because suddenly that ugly thing they haven't dared to name begins to take shape and wrap its claws around their throats. By the time Jaskier feels the tension making his hair stand on end it‘s Geralt who speaks first.
“I need to tell you something,” he says after finishing his fourth glass of wine. Jaskier closes his eyes feeling defeated and much older than he is.
“I'm sure it can wait until tomorrow.”
Please let it go, please. There’s no point.
But Geralt can't read his thoughts, and apparently he can't read the displeased expression on his face either because he hurries to insist…
“No, I need to say it now” when other people's wants collide with what you want is never a good sign.
“Geralt...” Jaskier shakes his head trying to keep his patience. “I think we already said too much, we're fine, it was a long time ago...”
"Maybe. But I kept thinking that if I told you the truth..."
"There’s no point!" Jaskier paws at the air, causing the table to shake, a bottle nearly toppling over.
“The Djinn did much more than tie me to Yennefer.” Geralt continues as if Jaskier had not been exalted.
“Geralt, come on” It's been a long time since he thought back to those years, he had almost forgotten that the witcher had bonded with the sorceress through a Djinn’s favor.
“It replaced what I felt with what I subsequently felt for Yennefer.” Jaskier glares at him and the worst thing is that Geralt looks back at him with the same intensity as if begging him to understand. But there is nothing sympathetic about the bard, instead the rage he seems to be harboring rises to the surface, his hands beginning to shake and sweat, his brow quivering in a struggle to either warp or remain neutral.
“That day on the mountain I wanted to tell you yes, that I wanted to go with you...”
“I already told you that I don't remember what happened” Jaskier replies through gritted teeth.
“But I do, I do remember what I said to you, what I yelled at you. It's been replayed in my mind over and over again because I lost you that day...”
“...Yeah, so what. I don't know what you want me to do.”
“The Djinn changed how I felt about you...”
“No, no...”
“And I didn't realize it until it was too late...”
“Oh, fuck off!” Jaskier shouts after getting up and now he does spill the bottle of wine but is quickly saved by Geralt.
“This is what you came for? To tell meaningless lies?”
“I’m not lying…” The bard feels the onset of tears, but they are not fueled by sadness, but by frustration. Jaskier stands in front of the window but does not look out, his hands over his eyes, as if he were trying to restrain himself or gouge his eyes out, whichever comes first.
“Here I go again, the blame, the guilt, the pain, the hurt, the shame…” Jaskier recites in a cracked voice, recalling one of the poems he wrote after the breakup on the mountain. “Why are you doing this?” At least the other has the decency to look embarrassed. After staring at the ceiling trying to remember something the witcher recites back:
“Oh love, we'll be old. And think of all the stories that we could have told”
“Don’t you dare…” Jaskier points a trembling finger at him. How dare he counterattack with one of his verses, and from the poem he dedicated to him many years ago, that means Geralt read it and knew what he was talking about, the pain he poured into the verses, and felt identified.
Then Jaskier approaches the table, dejected, to refill his glass and drink it all at once. His head will kill him in the morning. "I loved you once, Geralt. Even though I knew you'd never love me back.”
“But I did” Jaskier mocks without malice, he simply laughs at the ghost of his past and the ridiculousness of his present.
“I wanted to make things right, but I couldn't find you.” Jaskier approaches the window again, and although he can’t see anything, he imagines the outline of the hills, the treetops, and the small stable where the horses are kept.
The twists and turns of life are as unpredictable as death itself, and Jaskier meditates on putting together the pieces scattered across the fabric of his life, a giant puzzle that has left Jaskier confused and wounded for years, but that’s slowly taking shape.
After several minutes in silence, it might as well be half an hour, Jaskier usually gets lost in his head these days, he dares to state “So that's the reason Destiny has brought you to my door” Jaskier lets out a derisive chuckle.
Now that Jaskier is consumed by loneliness, that Geralt has fulfilled his mission to lead Ciri to become the wheel that shapes the universe, that either armies or multiverse beings aren't hunting them, and that their former partners, despite their best efforts, were not meant to be by their side until the end.
“Yes” Geralt states without hesitation or regret, Jaskier looks at him through the reflection of the window before facing him. There is a hopeful look in his golden eyes, so intense and so beautiful. A promise unfulfilled but eager to become and Jaskier trembles with fear, but at the same time he wants to let go.
“I like your hair” Geralt admits in seriousness and Jaskier scoffs: “Fuck you”
“It's long,” Geralt continues awkwardly. After so many years he still doesn't know how to flirt delicately “You look beautiful.” Jaskier shakes his head in disbelief but flattered all the same. He should feel annoyed, manipulated, and he does feel that way, but he also doesn't see the point in holding on to negative feelings when he has Geralt in front of him. Willing and available.
Jaskier thinks about the longings of his younger version, how much he suffered for not seeing them fulfilled but he also thinks about how happy he was to be at the witcher's side.
“Surely your beard won't scratch much?” Geralt chuckles, visibly charmed, and like a wolf approaching its prey, he rises from the chair and walks slowly to Jaskier to give him a chance to refuse. As historical ballads will tell, the great white wolf and his bard retired to the middle of nowhere. What became of the white wolf? Apparently he retired along with the bard who once sang for him. They'll write the love stories they wish were their own.
A love story free from the loneliness and resentment that marked two decades.
Geralt tucks a lock of hair behind his ear like a gentleman before kissing him on the lips. Jaskier looks at the stars behind his eyes, destiny finally sewing them together, after two decades of waiting. They are meant for each other.