"Come in." Jaskier immediately rolled his eyes when someone knocked on his door somewhat timidly minutes after he had left the main hall. He had no doubt he already knew the source of the knocking… Sure enough, it was Geralt who entered his room only seconds later.

A moment of slightly awkward silence before Jaskier took pity on him.

"Geralt. Did you need something from me?"

"Just to talk."

Jaskier's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Yeah? What about?" He sounded genuinely curious.

Geralt took a step forward and critically regarded the hole in the wall and the bare shelf towards the back of the room as well as the fireplace that had obviously not been lit in quite some time.

Then he hesitantly met his friend's questioning gaze.

"Why didn't you tell me about your hand?"

A look of surprise once again danced across the bard's features, before he seemed to force a minute smile.

"Honestly? I didn't exactly think it a priority, given the situation… You had enough on your plate and didn't need me of all people to make it worse."

Geralt looked up sharply at that. "You of all people…? What's that supposed to mean."

A small shrug. "You know what it means. Me who is a constant source of trouble for you anyway." His voice was light, but he did not meet Geralt's piercing gaze anymore. Another forced smile, before he finally looked up again. "Shit-shoveler, remember?"

For just a split second, Geralt looked as if he had been slapped in the face.

"Those were angry words, Jaskier! I thought that you knew that. I should never have said them, but they were still untrue; you had to have known that." He looked at the bard imploringly.

"You left me, Geralt." There was no 'on a mountain' this time. A simple statement. Jaskier was still trying to smile, but his eyes shone much too brightly and it nearly broke Geralt's heart.

"I was looking for you. After."

"Well, you actually came to find me only when you needed something from me."

This time, it was Geralt who averted his gaze. "Because I was ashamed."

"Of what?" Jaskier scoffed. "You had every right to send me off at any time."

"Hmmm…"

The sound, that was so typical of the witcher, almost brought the first real smile to the bard's face.

"You don't agree?"

The witcher hesitated for a moment, but then reluctantly met the other man's gaze. "I had no right to talk to you like that. The things I said… I didn't believe them even then."

Jaskier nodded slightly, but looked away now, trying to hold back any unwanted tears.

Then he finally forced another weak smile. "I forgive you?" A small shrug. "But I don't know where to go from here." It sounded incredibly sad.

"Just… stay? For a while?" The witcher searched his friend's gaze again and held it. "Get healthy?" To Jaskier's questioning look, he quickly clarified: "You smell… exhausted. A little bit sick. And you're thin. Too thin. – I don't like it."

"Oh, you don't like it! Well then, by all means, I will do my best to fatten myself up a bit again." The words were softened by Jaskier's mild tone and the almost fond look on his face.

"And please change rooms? Mine is warm and… safe. There's enough space. We've shared before…"

"That we have," Jaskier agreed easily, the first traces of a real smile finally on his face now.

He pushed himself to his feet and grabbed a small bag that was strangely already packed, right hand held protectively in front of his stomach.

Geralt wordlessly took the pack from him.

"I'm not an invalid, you know? I can still carry my own things…"

"You're hurt," was all Geralt gave back.

"On a rather small part of one of my hands."

"You're moving carefully."

Jaskier didn't reply anything to that.

Then: "I know that Vesemir made you do this."

A small frown. "This? You mean… talk?"

Again no response.

"That doesn't mean I didn't want to do it."

"No," Jaskier agreed lightly, "it doesn't."

They continued walking in silence for a while before Geralt finally spoke again.

"Why was your bag already packed?"

A small shrug. "Just… no reason to unpack it in the first place, I guess."

"Jaskier." The witcher suddenly stopped walking. "You unpack for every single night at every gods-forsaken inn." He didn't know why he felt so irritated all of a sudden. Or maybe he did… Just how badly had he messed this whole thing up?!

Jaskier nodded slightly. "Yeah, I do… It's just that–" He regarded his friend for a moment before he carefully continued: "I guess I'm just not sure what I'm doing here, exactly. I mean, I did what you asked me to – I accompanied Ciri up here, made sure she was safe; which I was more than happy to do, by the way. But now the fight is over, Ciri is being trained, you've found a whole new family… I'm–"

"Exactly where you should be."

A slightly pained smile. "Am I though?"

"Yes. – Jask… You've never doubted your place at my side before. I understand that I did this, but… You've been family to me for a long time now."

Jaskier visibly swallowed, then managed a slightly teasing smile.

"Geralt…? Are you sure you're quite alright?"

The witcher simply rolled his eyes, but it didn't stop Jaskier.

"Is this you actually talking about feelings?! The world must be coming to an end! Or I'm having fever dreams. Yes, that must be it. – And Geralt, speaking of dreams…?"

Another small eye-roll. "Yes, yes. Come on, it's this way."

When they had almost reached Geralt's room, the witcher threw his friend a critical glance.

"You're not feeling worse than you're letting on, are you." The bard's apparently strong desire to rest wasn't at all like him.

A soft smile. "No, love. I'm simply tired… as I'm sure we all are. – My hand hurts, but I'm not dying if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm not worried."

This time it was Jaskier who rolled his eyes.

"Of course, yes, I can tell. Asking purely out of hospitality, I'm sure…"

As soon as they had entered Geralt's room, the witcher threw another fur onto the bed, that was easily big enough to accommodate them both.

"Is fire alright…?" Geralt nodded towards the fireplace, patiently waiting for Jaskier's response.

The human smiled softly. "Yes, Geralt, lighting a fire in the fireplace is more than alright. – I'm not broken, you know?"

Stacking some logs, then using a gentle pulse of Igni to spark them off, Geralt didn't turn around when he spoke again.

"You know that I am going to kill him, right?"

"Kill whom?" Jaskier asked before understanding dawned just as quickly. "Oh." The fire-mage who had tortured him. "So, Yennefer told you about Oxenfurt?" Not really a question.

"Yes." Geralt now turned towards him. "And I'm sorry, Jaskier, this should never have happened to you." He nodded towards the heavily bandaged hand.

"No," Jaskier immediately agreed. "It shouldn't have. – But it wasn't you who did it."

"It happened because of me, Jask, and in more ways than one."

A small smile. "And I'd always gladly pay this price; you know that…"

"Hmmm…" Geralt didn't sound happy with his answer, but then again: when did he ever.

"Come to bed?"

"Hmmm."

The last thing Jaskier felt before succumbing to sleep was a large hand on his forehead, obviously checking his temperature. – He suppressed the urge to smile.

No, sure, Geralt… Not worried at all.

tbc :) (it'll be back to the whole group of witchers in the final chapter!)