Chapter Text
When Jaskier became more aware of his senses he could hear voices talking, someone jostled his wrist and he groaned at the pain. He tried to yank his tender wrist away from the jabbing fingers only for a firm hand to hold his arm in place.
“Hold still.”
The world was muffled but Jaskier would recognize that gravelly voice anywhere, so he obeyed and instead hissed as the prodding resumed. He opened his eyes and silently thanked the gods that the sun was setting and he didn’t have to peer into bright light, his gaze locked onto Geralt and he gave the Witcher a weak smile.
The moment he did Geralt’s face pulled harshly into a scowl, which confused Jaskier for a second until the rush of events came back to him. He looked at his rescuers and couldn’t keep the shock from entering his voice, “Toruviel? Chireadan? What are you doing here?”
Jaskier could safely say that they were the last people he was expecting to be his rescuers, much less the pair of them together.
“Your horse bit me.”
Though Toruviel was answering Jaskier’s question, she said it accusingly to Geralt who was now standing and looking away from the bard. Chireadan looked at the Witcher and finished explaining, “we were passing through and your horse got our attention. After it was clear that she wasn’t in danger, I recognized her from our previous encounter and we followed her.”
Jaskier looked at the mare in question, who seemed to be watching the whole interaction with a steady gaze and smiled at her.
“Good Roach.”
His admiration was cut short when Chireadan started moving his wrist and he let out a startled yelp.
“It isn’t broken, but it is sprained as well as bruised. I can put a salve on it and bandage it but try not to jostle it.”
Toruviel scoffed at that and spoke to the man in Elder, as far as Jaskier could make out she was scolding him for wasting precious supplies on a worthless bard. Granted Jaskier’s Elder was still rough around the edges but Geralt seemed to understand what she was saying well enough to level her with an impressive glare.
He stalked over to Roach and retrieved a coin pouch, tossing it to her he growled something under his breath that the human couldn’t make out. Jaskier could see the woman’s face morph into anger and decided to intervene before it got messy, allowing the healer to help him stand.
“Well thank you both for coming to the quite miraculous rescue, I fear what would have happened had you not come.”
This appeased the woman, but Geralt spun towards him with rage boiling under the surface.
“You weren’t afraid of falling before.”
Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through his veins but Jaskier wasn’t about to bare his throat over his actions and back down.
“I didn’t know we were about to be saved!”
Geralt gave a throaty, humorless laugh at that.
“The one thing you’re better at then getting into stupid, dangerous situations. Is getting saved from them at the last moment, it’s how you’ve survived this long.”
Jaskier sputtered at him, even with thoughts running wild he managed not to say shout that the only one who had ever bothered to save him before was the man who was dangling with him. Instead he stood straight and tried to look confident, “I’m sorry that you’re upset, but I will not apologize for trying to do what I thought was best in the circumstance.”
Unsurprisingly this did not appease the White Wolf who was now much closer than a moment before.
“You wanted to die.”
It was an accusation coated in a growl, the man’s teeth were bared and at the moment he looked truly inhuman. Yet his eyes told a different story, there was anger yes, but also frustration and a hint of panic.
Jaskier’s heart panged at those eyes and he adjusted his voice to be as gentle as it could, “I didn’t- I don’t want to die, Geralt. But in the moment, it looked like no matter what happened I was bound to fall anyways; might as well have at least one survive instead of two die.”
He could tell that he had won, if there was even a winning side of the argument, and Geralt’s posture fell an almost imperceivable amount.
“If I had done what you wanted, let go when you wanted and then been saved not an hour later-“
Jaskier couldn’t help but wince at that scenario, his death would shake the man but if he died only for help to arrive shortly after it would take longer for Geralt to bounce back.
“I’m sorry and I promise to try to have faith that a miraculous rescue will appear if something like that ever happens again.”
The glare he received made him sure that the bard would now be corralled away from any ledges or heights for the immediate future, that is if Geralt didn’t leave him in the town.
A shot of fear ran through Jaskier that this could be what finally convinces Geralt to leave him behind for good. To not allow the man to trail behind him under the flimsy excuse of a new ballad, despite his angry grumblings Geralt had never forced him away.
True Jaskier was a debatable travel companion, he complained and had to fill the silence else it bare down on him. Yet he had slowly gotten better at being more useful to the Witcher through little things and had become quite proficient at treating and bandaging wounds for the man.
Geralt’s nostrils flared at some new scent and gold eyes bore down at him with a new, as of yet unseen emotion. Without so much as a grunt he stepped away from the bard and went to Roach, fishing out a treat for her service.
Jaskier looked to where the two elves were standing, much farther away than he remembered either of them being before and felt for them having to watch that exchange. He had been witness to a great number of spats and still managed to feel awkward each time, he could only imagine what they were thinking or feeling.
Chireadan glanced at Geralt before moving to the bard, clutching the salve and bandages tightly. The moment it was applied Jaskier’s aching wrist dulled to a throb and he smiled at the elf as he bound the appendage, “truly, thank you.”
A solid thump had the pair looking to where Geralt was placing the trophy bag on Roach’s saddle, at some point he must have collected the head.
A brief talk revealed the elves were heading in the opposite direction, though they remained tight lipped on where they were going, and Jaskier prepared himself for a painfully silent trip back to town.
With the sun setting they would have to make camp and Geralt hadn’t looked at him since he walked away, as the group separated he shouldered his mercifully unharmed lute and mentally prepared himself.