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To talk to him in person, you'll need to be in Cadens or go to his domain, a snowy mountain fortress. Yard is open; doors are locked. If he isn't around, leave a delivery with the white wolf.
To talk to him in person, you'll need to be in Cadens or go to his domain, a snowy mountain fortress. Yard is open; doors are locked. If he isn't around, leave a delivery with the white wolf.
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[Yes, Jaskier could give him some privacy, but for the record, they've known each other so long that any semblance of privacy provided solely for nudity is nonexistent. Even before they slid into bed together, Jaskier knew the story of nearly every scar across the Witcher's body.]
I know you think this is nothing important, but there's no reason you should sit in a bloody cell when I can get you out of it. [Jaskier, without pause, kicks over a stool next to the tub and takes his seat. No, he's not leaving yet. And Melitele herself is aware Geralt is shite at cleaning that spot right in the center of his back. His bulging biceps get in the way.] Do you really think I work nearly every second of my life for this sort of notoriety for nothing?
[It's less angry now, and more resigned. He sighs, rubbing his face, elbows propped up on his knees. At least the soap is beginning to overtake the smell of. Well. Geralt.] You are utterly aggravating.
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Jaskier. [ He makes a vague noise—a hint of impatience laced through. He understands Jaskier was. Concerned. But at the same time, it shouldn't matter so damn much. ] It was a handful of days. I wasn't set to be hanged.
[ Rest assured, he'd have actually called in the bard for that. Though perhaps it says something Geralt considers nothing short of an execution dire enough circumstances to ask for help.
He still maintains a few days is a drop in the bucket. Last time he was behind bars was in Thorne, bleeding out; this was almost pleasant. ]
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A terrible travel companion.
He is not the same bard he was as a young man. Gods, he has been through so fucking much. He has done so much. And yet these tiny things eat away at him like ants, munching at anything they can get their jaws wrapped around.] It's not about that. Geralt, have you ever considered I don't wish for you to suffer? Even an idle annoyance -- as you would think of a prison sentence?
[Jaskier drags his fingertips across the water, swirling it, watching him.] I am thankful you protected Nadine. And I'm sure she is, as well. But I wish you would consider yourself worth saving sometimes, too. Even if your full sentence is smelling like someone else's body odor after a day of meditation.
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I'm not a martyr, Jaskier. [ Needless suffering is the last thing he seeks. That isn't what went through his mind. The truth is, nothing went through his mind. Maybe that's what he can't explain: that this, the entire incident, registered as barely a whisper.
Jaskier sees it differently. He gets that. He isn't arguing. It had simply never occurred to him there was anything to save him from. Beyond a brief annoyance. But he does understand enough to realize Jaskier does not want to hear that Geralt finds sitting in a cell for a bit the equivalent of sleeping outside in a storm because the village inn is full. Or kicked him out. It happens. Seems a stretch to deem it suffering.
He sighs. Returns to washing his back, fingers finding the long scar carved up his spine. ] If I were truly in a bad way, I'd have come to you. I promise.
[ He does mean that. This, it isn't about Jaskier. He knows his friend will be there if he needs him. (Possibly, he continues to miss what Jaskier is driving at, but he's. Trying. He can't begrudge Jaskier for worrying over him, even if he believes it unwarranted here.) ]
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[He decides that listing all the times where Geralt has willingly thrown himself between claws and teeth and someone else is not worth it. That he embraced being a Witcher when he did not have to. It is all the things they have never fully understood between each other, brought to a head because of... a fucking prison sentence that doesn't matter. But it does. Because they live here now. Things are more different than they ever have before. Things like this matter because it is beyond merely getting on a horse after it's over and moving on somewhere else.] I'm not being overly dramatic. This simply matters to me.
[It may be a stalemate. Jaskier was also trapped in a cell, awaiting his sentence, and it had been fucking awful. Sitting there, unable to do the things only he could do, wondering if Yennefer had popped herself into another plane of existence and left him behind (a lingering bit of irony he does not miss now.)
He does miss Gordon, though.
Jaskier smacks his hand, snatching the soap out of it, moving his stool so he can scrub the fool's back. He always misses that spot.] You had better mean that. But perhaps think of my aid when you're also in a middling way, you fool.
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As for the monsters that can't be slain, lurking in the hearts of men and their ambitions, well. Mm. That's not a Witcher's profession. Nothing to do with him. (Until it is.)
He relinquishes the soap to Jaskier's demand. He will never know why Jaskier is so insistent over this shit. All of it. The little things that Geralt is...that he doesn't think is worth considering. Not for him. It's not about what he deserves. More just. He hasn't a need for it. He's been raised to understand that he hasn't a need for it, these small wants and comforts.
Supposes even he can't reject a warm bath and a hot meal, though. Better than the slop on that prison. ]
All right. [ He loosens the cord in his hair. Yeah. All right. It matters to Jaskier. He can accept that.
There's no heat behind it when he adds, ] You're fucking demanding.
shall we finish up here or next tag?
Demanding.
How funny -- and pathetic, he truthfully thinks -- to find a friend demanding for wanting better for him.
It's so very Geralt. So rather sad. At the very least, Jaskier reassures himself, though the memories are not gone, at least that horrid cellar has been destroyed. Remade. He hopes it does not exist again. There are steps forward. Perhaps not total improvements, but they aresteps.] Now, for my next demand I say you quit your bitching, and I'll go heat up some stew for you. With ale. Perhaps the ale will make you less argumentative.