Start Note: Mind those tags folks, it's gonna get a little dark for a minute!
Geralt's heart was, for a witcher, racing, which meant it beat maybe twice to each of Jaskier's three. He could feel it, as he had pressed them together. His arms encircling the bard protectively, without his even thinking about it. There was nothing here he could shield the bard from, though. The damage had already been done.
"I missed you, too, Geralt," said Jaskier, clearly mistaking Geralt's witcher instincts for more human sentiment. "You must have been ill-done-by indeed if seeing me is such a relief. I won't even tease you about the fruit-box. Much. Yet." The other man seemed content for a moment to lean into the witcher, his arms wrapped around under Geralt's.
Geralt tried to think of what Eskel might do in a situation like this, and then tried frantically (and unsuccessfully) to unhook the resulting chain of thought. Eskel could be said to be the kindest and most merciful of the surviving wolf witchers, but that included the cruel mercies Geralt had always found most difficult. He would have told Geralt to put a silver dagger through the bard's back to pierce his heart before Jaskier ever had time to be afraid. If Geralt had been unable to do it, Eskel would have taken the knife himself, with a sad smile, and done the needful his brother couldn't. Without pain, without fear, without warning of any kind.
His brother would not have hesitated. Neither of them, probably, although if Lambert respected Jaskier enough he might let him see it coming. Not enough for any action, of course. Just an acknowledgment that he deserved to know what killed him. Who, rather. The thought made Geralt feel physically ill.
Vesemir would have said to use Axii, and no witcher he had ever known would have thought what Geralt himself was thinking now. He was weighing whether he should do nothing. Choosing not to choose had damned him once, and now he considered it again. Why? For a personal bard that followed him everywhere, singing his praises? Was Geralt truly so vain? Or was it because the one part of Jaskier's story that rang truest was that whatever he had done, it was for witchers. For his witcher. He was The Witcher's bard, after all, whether Geralt liked it or not.
There was only himself in range, really. He might not be able to fight a werewolf to a standstill all night, but he could slow it down enough that it couldn't reach other victims. The only humans at risk would likely be the mercenaries, and as for them...Well, it wasn't that their lives were worth less than Jaskier's, exactly. It was just that they had made the conscious decision to deprive sentient beings of their liberty as a way to earn coin, and Jaskier hadn't.
That thought brought him up short. Jaskier generally did what he wanted and damn the consequences; Jaskier wouldn't knowingly cause that sort of harm because he would never want to. He wouldn't want to hurt innocent people, if he could help it. Geralt remembered the way Jaskier had spoken, earlier. The bard was well known for hiding sincere sentiment behind flowery language. Geralt could believe he'd want to be stopped, with blood on his hands, from staining them further.
If Geralt didn't stop him tonight, that was another month for Jaskier to find a cure. The bard would be all alone in the wilderness, though, and even with Roach to help there was no guarantee he could find a witcher or magic user able to remove the curse in time. Attempting to restrain him would be difficult, but if it worked, Geralt could brew him the wolfsbane potion in the morning. The safest option, with the least loss of life, would be...mercy. Of the cruelest kind. Not cruel for Jaskier, who he would make damned sure could rest in peace. For Geralt, who would have to live with it. How can I make that choice? thought the witcher, his slow heart twisting in his chest.