A/N Apologies for the soppy and kinda tooth rotting fluff towards the end. :-* - Happy New Year y'all!

CHAPTER 2

Naturally, Jaskier didn't throw up after closing the door to their room with a bang, but he kicked his boots into a corner and crawled into bed. He was far from being tired and lay wide awake, thinking about Yennefer's words. They had hurt more than she had probably intended, though with Yenn one never knew, and what hurt most was the fact that it was true. Not the point with the afternoon nap, but him being human. She had hit the bull's-eye with her comment. He could further fool himself or he could accept the truth. Seeing Geralt's reaction when Yennefer had stepped into the taproom and the way he was with her made it easy for him. He was ready to accept the inevitable and made a decision.

The coming winter he would spend in Oxenfurt, and in springtime he would not return to Geralt. He would give the Witcher the freedom and choice to spend the rest of his life with someone who wouldn't grow old and die before his eyes. Maybe he was treating Geralt unjustly with this one-sided decision, but it would be the best for them.

The longer Jaskier tossed from side to side and pondered the encounter, the more he realised that what hurt him maybe even more than Yennefer's words of truth was the fact that Geralt had evidently disregarded Jaskier's presence completely after the sorceress had appeared on the scene. Like every single time they encountered Yennefer, Jaskier had to admit. The more Jaskier thought about it, the more his anger at Geralt grew. He couldn't turn a blind eye to this any longer. Maybe Geralt had already lost interest in Jaskier and just dragged him along because it was what they had done all the years. The point was not only Yennefer beguiling Geralt for whatever reasons, but it was also Geralt longing for her more than he probably ever had for Jaskier.

When dusk turned to night outside the window and Geralt had still not showed up in their room, Jaskier decided he would not wait until winter to part ways with Geralt for good. He would say his good-bye in the morning and leave. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. This, at least, would spare him further pain and furthermore grant the Witcher the chance to accompany the sorceress the next day, and for the future to be with someone Geralt really wanted to be, and not someone Geralt felt obliged to drag along. This needed to end here.

Jaskier crawled out of bed and started packing his belongings, stuffing them into his bag carelessly. He wanted to be ready to go as soon as the sun was up. He had suddenly the feeling that he couldn't stand Geralt's presence any longer, or rather the fact that Geralt only stayed with Jaskier out of pity. The sooner he was on his way the better. Maybe Geralt and the sorceress were even now laughing about the poor, old bard who had thought he could keep pace with two long-lived, magical beings so much more powerful than any human ever could be.

Jaskier's head started spinning and he plonked himself down on the bed after putting his lute next to his packed bag. Staring at the dark ceiling, Jaskier wondered how in the world he had ever thought he could be enough for Geralt.

Mulling over his relationship with Geralt, Jaskier slowly drifted off to sleep.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Jaskier woke from the dipping of the mattress. He kept his eyes closed, not giving the slightest hint that he was awake. A hand softly run along Jaskier's shoulder and arm, and Jaskier thought he felt a touch at his hair as soft as a gentle kiss, but maybe he just imagined it.

Geralt rolled over and was asleep a moment later.

Even though Jaskier had not the same senses as Geralt – he could neither smell emotions nor sense a heartbeat – Jaskier always knew when Geralt had fallen asleep. He could hear it in the fractional change of the Witcher's breathing, and felt how Geralt's tense muscles relaxed and everything on Geralt softened. Oh, all right, and sometimes he snored lightly in the most adorable way.

A sliver of grey on the horizon signalled that dawn was just around the corner, and Jaskier silently slipped out of the bed. There was no doubt that Geralt's return to their room in the early morning hours could only mean one thing. He had spent the night somewhere else, with somebody else. For this realisation Jaskier didn't need Geralt's sense of smell to find out whether Yennefer's scent was all over the Witcher. The mere thought of it stoked his jealousy again to a point that Jaskier's heart hurt so much he thought he might instantly suffer a heart attack. He took a deep breath. It all just made the decision far more easier for him. This would end here and now.

Jaskier grabbed his bag and strapped on his lute. He had deliberated whether he should leave a note but decided against it. Geralt would understand the whys and wherefores, that much credit he'd give to him. With a last look at the sleeping Witcher, Jaskier left the room in the twilight of the approaching morning, sneaking away like a thief in the night.

Outside the tavern, Jaskier breathed in the cool night air to clear his head and turned left, following the road out of town they had travelled on their way into town the day before. He decided to walk into the opposite direction from where they had intended to go next, relying on the fact that Geralt wouldn't be overly sad that Jaskier was gone and that the Witcher would follow through with their travel plans and leave the town southbound in the morning. Maybe Geralt would even join forces with Yennefer, now that the bard had been taken off his hands, Jaskier thought bitterly. He decided to follow the road for a while and then switch to sparsely used paths to avoid other travellers, and especially Yennefer and Geralt, should they happen to ride into the same direction.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Jaskier walked all day, slowly but steadily. The longer he walked, the more he wondered if his decision had been right or if his behaviour had been rash and immature. He loudly debated with himself whether or not he should turn around and head back to Geralt so he could at least voice his motives and hear Geralt's opinion, and more than once he was tempted to do exactly that. But then he remembered how the Witcher and the sorceress had looked at each other, and Yennefer's words about his ageing human body came to his mind, and he kept on walking, sulking and wallowing in self-pity.

"It's the best, for me and for Geralt. It will spare us both heartbreak and disappointment," Jaskier muttered, trudging on. "It's inevitable. It's really the best, there's no denying. You've won, Yennefer. You can have him all to yourself! Competing with you had been an unfair fight right from the start anyway." Jaskier angrily kicked at some pinecones in his way, sending them flying into the underbrush. "How should someone like me even stand a chance against someone whose beauty doesn't age and whose lifetime runs parallel to Geralt's? How is this just?"

By the time the sun started setting, Jaskier reached the conclusion that he was a coward and an idiot. He should at least have given Geralt the opportunity to say something, or if nothing else, said good-bye to Geralt instead of leaving without a word. In fact, he could have shouted at Geralt the way the Witcher had done at him many, many years ago. They would have been even then.

It dawned on Jaskier that Geralt, the emotionally constipated mutant, void of human feelings if one believed what was said of witchers, might not even have the slightest clue why Jaskier had left. On the contrary, the bard's strange behaviour might just have delivered another reason for Geralt to permanently part with the bard and partner with the sorceress.

Jaskier groaned, berating himself for the umpteenth time. He decided to make camp and found a suitable spot in the forest he was currently wandering through. A tiny part of him wished he had not taken so many back roads and not walked cross-country in his attempt to cover his tracks and make it hard for Geralt to find his trace should the Witcher really think about following him.

He had to admit he already missed Geralt.

Starting a fire was not exactly going as well as Jaskier had hoped, usually that was Geralt's job, but eventually he was content with the outcome and grabbed his lute. In the end, she was the only thing he could rely on implicitly. He struck a few cords, and of course his fingers involuntarily picked this song when he needed it least. The courtly ladies loved it, though they didn't get the real meaning behind the words. Or maybe they did and loved it all the more for it...

In a low voice he started singing to the tune.

🎵🎶
The fairer sex, they often call it
But her love's as unfair as a crook
It steals all my reason
Commits every treason
Of logic, with naught but a look
A storm raging on the horizon
Of longing and heartache and lust
She's always bad news
It's always lose, lose
So tell me love, tell me love
How is that just?
🎶🎵🎶

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Looking ahead, Geralt groaned again, really hoping Jaskier would never be forced to earn his living as a spy. He wouldn't last one day on the job and end rotting in a Nilfgaardian prison cell even Geralt wouldn't be able to get him out of. He had followed the bard all day without problems. The traces Jaskier left behind could've been picked up by a deaf and blind dog who had lost his sense of smell.

Geralt still had no clue what was going on in Jaskier's head, what had made him slip away in the night and leave without a note, but slowly it dawned on Geralt that whatever issue the bard had carried around over the course of the last few months was more serious than Geralt had thought. Their room at the inn had reeked of misery and it seemed that something he or Yennefer had said or done back in the inn might have tipped the scales.

Geralt picked up a much stronger scent and halted Roach to listen. Indeed, in addition to a burnt smell he could hear soft music. In his apparent attempt to get away from Geralt the bard not only left a trace as big as the swathe of destruction in the wake of a fire drake but he also freely disclosed his location by stoking a fire and singing! Geralt heaved another deep sigh and dismounted. He didn't intend to scare Jaskier off by riding right into his encampment and possibly give the bard opportunity to flee, even though it seemed Jaskier was doing his utmost to achieve exactly that – being found. No, he would sneak up on the bard instead...

After a few steps into the direction of Jaskier's voice Geralt finally understood clearly what the bard was singing.

🎵🎶
But the story is this
She'll destroy with her sweet kiss
Her current is pulling you closer
And charging the hot, humid night
The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool
Better stay out of sight
I'm weak my love, and I am wanting
If this is the path I must trudgeeeeek-

The last syllable ended in a shriek when Geralt entered the encampment. Jaskier sprang to his feet, staring wildly at Geralt.

Geralt realised Jaskier didn't recognise him for a moment, his eyes apparently needed a second to adjust from the fire's bright light he had been staring into while singing.

"Easy, Jaskier, it's me."

"Geralt!" Jaskier gasped. "What in Melitele's name are you doing here? You nearly scared the shit out of me!"

Ignoring Jaskier's reproachful tone, Geralt stepped up to him and the fire. "Well, if you don't want to be scared maybe you shouldn't set up camp alone in a forest usually haunted by spriggans and then try to attract them by your singing. You're lucky it's just me and nothing else."

"Spriggans?" Jaskier asked with a start, looking around the dark wood. "But it doesn't explain what you're doing here. Weren't you bound to be travelling in the opposite direction?"

"We were, and we could already be on our way had I not been confronted in the morning with the unfavourable situation of losing my favourite bard sometime between midnight and dawn. The traces you left behind made it easy to follow you without effort, though I'm not sure if that was your intention. Being followed and found."

"No, certainly not! Least of all by you!"

"Hm."

"Don't hmm me!" Jaskier ranted.

"What is wrong, Jaskier?" Geralt asked in a serious voice, looking around for a log he could sit on.

"What?"

"I'm neither emotionally blind nor am I unconcerned about the welfare of others, especially yours. I've said nothing over the course of the last months, but I've certainly noticed something is bothering you, and more gravely than I obviously realised. And now I want to know what it is. Is it something I said or did? Have I wronged you in a way that you can't forgive me?"

Jaskier blinked. "What? No!"

"What is it then?" Geralt gave up on finding a tree trunk or similar place he could sit on. His eyes returned to Jaskier. This probably called for a standing-up-conversation anyway.

They stared at each other and on Jaskier's face, Geralt could see the warring emotions.

"Fine!" Jaskier finally snapped. "Look at me! I'm old!"

"You're not old," Geralt replied matter-of-factly, having no clue at all what age had to do with Jaskier's behaviour.

"No, you're right, I'm not old. Compared to your age I might even be considered young, but look at us. While you have hardly aged in the last thirty years, I'll soon be an old man. I'm getting more and more crow's feet around my eyes and wrinkles on my brow as Yennefer never tires of reminding me. While your reflexes are as fast as ever, I feel my bones ache in the morning after a cold night. I'm mortal, Geralt, and I will die while you are still fit and agile. You might not see it now, but soon when my skin is wrinkled and my eyes are lustreless and my hair is grey, you will see that I'm just a useless, aged burden you won't want to drag around. You will realise that you've backed the wrong horse, that you've wasted time by dangling around someone who will die long before you. We should part, the sooner the better, so you can be with someone who doesn't age like I do."

Geralt was stunned, completely taken unawares by the issue. He didn't know what to reply.

Apparently Jaskier took this as a sign that Geralt hadn't any arguments against his considerations, because in Jaskier's eyes there were none, and so he played his trump card. "I'm not like one of your horses you all name Roach because that way you can pretend it's still the same horse you ride, even after many years. Besides, I really doubt you'll find another bard with my talent and qualities you could call Jaskier," he added in an obvious attempt to brighten the mood, chuckling nervously.

It didn't work because Geralt's mood darkened further and he was sure it showed on his face. "Are you done with your rubbish?"

"It's not rubbish, it's a fact. Look at me, even you will see that time leaves its mark on me," Jaskier said heatedly.

"And you think this bothers me?"

This time it was Jaskier who failed to answer.

"What about you? Aren't you bothered about my ever-increasing number of scars, disfiguring my body more and more?"

"Why, no! I don't give a damn about your scars and they don't disfigure you in the slightest. They belong to your witchery body like your white hair and amber eyes."

"Did it never bother you that folks are looking down at you when you're travelling with me? Did you never worry what they would think of you?"

"No, definitely not! I don't give a damn about people's prejudices!"

"And do you never worry that one day I might not be quick enough or clever enough to kill the monster I'm tasked with fighting? Did you never once worry I might not come back from a fight?"

Jaskier looked upset. "Of course I worry! What do you think of me? I mean, even though I know you'll come back alive, because you're Geralt and you never fail, it doesn't stop me from worrying every single time you're away to- "Jaskier broke off.

Geralt watched Jaskier closely, an amused smile playing around the corners of his mouth. It was rare that he managed to beat Jaskier with words. Even more so with the bard's own words

"Hm. And still, despite my scars, my reputation, the contempt people treat me with, the dangers and likelihood that one day I might not come back from a fight, despite all this you still bear with me? Stay with me? How come?" Geralt asked softly.

Jaskier swallowed. "That's not the same," he said lamely.

"Is it not? I might get killed in a fight the day after tomorrow. Yet you've never left. Would you really rather leave me today to spare you the loss and the pain tomorrow, instead of spending as long as possible together with me?"

"Uh," Jaskier stuttered.

"Why do you not grant me the same courtesy? How can you even think it would bother me if your hair turns grey and you skin gets wrinkles? In the eyes of the world, you would still be considered more handsome than me, the despicable witcher, the abominable creature. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, isn't that what's said?" Gerald smirked.

"Yeah, but Yennefer has-"

"Don't bring Yennefer into this discussion," Geralt growled, sharper than intended. "Yennefer is another matter altogether. She has nothing to do with this."

"Now you're lying. I know what I've seen," Jaskier said quietly.

Geralt took a deep breath. "What you've seen is the sexual craving aroused by a spell a sorceress is able to create, or maybe the mutual attraction of two creatures different from the rest, disliked and despised by humans. But there's no love involved, believe me."

Jaskier looked sceptical.

"I know you'll grow old, you're not the first human I've seen fade away and die. I'm aware of the fact that I will likely outlive you, have been from the first day we met. But that's not my fault, I was not given a choice either. It's another curse I have to bear. What I can choose, though, is whom I want to spend my time with, and I would rather spend one short lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world with someone else. Least of all with Yennefer. We would kill each other before long anyway."

Geralt tilted his head. "Besides, unlike what is probably said of witchers I'm not immortal. I can certainly die. There's no guarantee it won't be you who will stand at my graveside one day."

"I'm not sure I would be able to bear it," Jaskier whispered.

"Neither would I, but that's the course of things. For this, though, for what we have, I will bear it if I have to, and be thankful for the time we had with each other. And I promise, if that's what you're worrying about, if you think you're too old for travelling one day, we can retire and stay at Kaer Morhen. Or Oxenfurt, wherever you like," Geralt added.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

After Geralt's words and what was probably the longest conversation they had had in years without Jaskier doing the main part of the talking, they stared at each other without speaking for quite some time, the silence broken only by the crackling of the fire.

With great clarity, Jaskier realised that the fond look of deep love on Geralt's face was an expression he had never seen on the Witcher's face when Geralt was looking at Yennefer. Desire and lust, yes, but never this. He understood that every single one of Geralt's words was true.

When Geralt stepped up to Jaskier to hug him Jaskier nearly fell into the Witcher's arms, craving Geralt's firm, warm, protective embrace. He pressed his body against Geralt's, deeply inhaling the scent he knew so well. He didn't mind that Geralt was nearly squeezing the air out of him. He would happily die in Geralt's arms if this was his fate.

Jaskier knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from being jealous of Yennefer whenever they met her, but now he knew he would never again have to worry about these encounters.

Suddenly, Jaskier visualised he and Geralt sitting side by side at a crackling fire in Kaer Morhen, warming Geralt's tired bones and his old ones on a cold winter's night, recollecting and laughing about decade-old stories, including the one where a pissed off bard had thought he'd be able to escape the good nose of a witcher.

It was a nice prospect for the future, and Jaskier had probably never before been more content and felt more at home than right here and now in the arms of Geralt, snuggled up at the Witcher's broad, warm chest.

Well, at least until Geralt stiffened and released the bard.

"We have a visitor," Geralt grunted and unsheathed his sword, pushing Jaskier behind him with his free hand. "It seems at least one spriggan heard your singing and answered your call. Stay back and take care. If things go awry, take Roach and run." Geralt raised his sword and slowly approached the monster.

Bother! Jaskier thought. Actually he'd hoped for a less deadly and more pleasurable sporting activity for them beside the campfire.