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The woman burst through the morning market’s crowd. She held a babe in her arms and spoke loudly as she approached Jaskier. “So, you’ve finally decided to return. I thought you had forgotten me and our night of passion.”
With the awkward sheepishness of Jaskier’s smile and the slight distress in his scent, Geralt knew that the bard had most certainly forgotten their “passion”. Another married one judging by the babe. What was the woman doing confronting Jaskier with a child in her arms? At least put the poor thing down first.
“Dear lady—” Jaskier started to say, but he was interrupted by the woman.
“Look here, Bard! Look at the son our passion has brought! At the son I bore alone while you traipsed across the continent!”
With how astonished he was by the statement, Geralt barely noted the skipping heartbeat that revealed the woman’s lie. He did hear it though, and that meant the babe was not Jaskier’s. This woman was trying to trick the bard into playing father for another man’s child.
That was, perhaps, a fitting fate for one who had cuckolded so many others. The woman was probably only doing this out of desperation too. Life was hard for an unmarried woman raising a child alone.
All of that said, Geralt wouldn’t let his companion be tricked. He wouldn’t let this woman play on Jaskier’s guilt for something she knew wasn’t his fault.
Before Geralt could tell Jaskier the truth though, the bard started laughing. Loud, belly-aching laughs that brought tears to the bard’s eyes.
The woman and the crowd that had stopped to watch them started to smell of fury. “You heartless wastrel! You absolute cad! I’ve had to work myself to the bone, swollen with your child, and you laugh!”
“No, no,” Jaskier said, bringing his laughter under control. “I don’t mean to. I’m sure things have been very hard for you. It’s just—” Anther laugh escaped him, and he shook his head in mirth “—my child. That’s not possible.”
“Look at him! Is he impossible?” The pink face of the baby scrunched up as he was held out to the bard.
“He looks very possible, my lady. He’s just not mine.”
“It’s true,” Geralt spoke up, addressing the crowd that looked ready to force Jaskier into marrying the woman. “I can hear the lie, and we weren’t here last Spring.”
“No, he—it’s his baby!” The woman tried to insist as the crowd turned disapproving looks to her.
Expression softening, Jaskier stepped towards the woman. Softly, he said, “I sympathize. I truly do, but we both know he isn’t mine.”
The woman clutched her baby to her chest and started to weep bitterly.
“Let’s sit you down, darling. You look dead on your feet.”
The woman truly did look tired. Her face was haggard and her hair was tangled. The babe looked well, so the woman had sacrificed her own well-being for her son. Jaskier guided the woman to a place to sit down, speaking to her in low, gentle tones. Geralt stood nearby. Just in case the woman tried to pull anything. She merely cried as Jaskier gave her a ring, telling her to use it to travel for work. Apparently, the bard would give her a recommendation to work at an estate that treated their workers well.
Really, the damned fool was too kind, helping someone who had just tried to use him.
Kindness was one of the things that endeared Geralt to Jaskier though. Especially his kindness towards outcasts.
Once the woman’s situation was squared away, Geralt and Jaskier set out on the road. They were meant to depart hours ago; however, Geralt didn’t scold Jaskier for the lost time. The incident wasn’t the bard’s fault.
This time.
Despite the whole thing being resolved, Geralt kept thinking about it. He kept thinking about Jaskier and his free way of loving. Jaskier being careless someday and getting a woman pregnant. Honestly, that had probably already happened, so what would that mean if someone with an actual claim to the bard’s support showed up?
Would Jaskier settle down and marry for the sake of the child?
Jaskier settling down…the concept seemed so strange, but it wasn’t impossible. All humans settled eventually. They formed families, built homes, and grew old.
And, Geralt would continue on.
Imagining Jaskier making a cozy family for himself saddened Geralt. He immediately chastised himself for it though. Jaskier leaving the Path was inevitable. It was the way of things. The bard was only human. He would leave someday—either by choice or by death’s hand. Leaving to build a home for himself was probably the best way for Jaskier to leave. Leaving for safety and happiness.
Whatever reason prompted Jaskier’s departure though, he’d still be leaving Geralt. That weighed on the witcher no matter how much he tried to dismiss his feelings. It was so weak of him: to let the potential actions of a human influence him in this way.
Jaskier wasn’t just any human though. He had followed Geralt for the past five years. He’d been a consistent, caring—if at times aggravating—companion.
Geralt didn’t like to think about losing his companion. Losing his comfort and effortless affection and undying loyalty.
Yet, Geralt thought about it. The thoughts plagued him all day. They sat in his stomach like a spoiled meal: heavy and gut-churning.
Until, uncharacteristically, Geralt found himself bringing up the topic over their fire that evening.
“Could’ve been yours,” Geralt muttered without fully realizing that he was saying it outloud.
Jaskier looked up from his songwriting and said, “What was that?”
While he hadn’t exactly planned to have this conversation, Geralt decided to continue it. “The baby. It wasn’t yours, but you have a lot of sex. Could be a baby out there.”
Brows furrowed, the bard simply said, “What?”
“Don’t you ever think about it?” Geralt said although he didn’t really want Jaskier to think about it. Didn’t want Jaskier to have a reason to leave. “You could have a child out there”
“What?!?”
“It’s not so strange a thought.”
But, Jaskier still stared at Geralt as if the witcher had claimed to be the true king of Cintra.
Had the bard really never considered the consequences of sticking his dick in every hole he came across?
“Oh,” Jaskier finally said, tone promising understanding, but then he said, “You’ve never seen me naked.”
Geralt blinked. Had he been human, he would’ve flushed from embarrassment. He didn’t know what that had to do with anything.
It’s not like Geralt was a prude or anything. He was—it was respectful. You weren’t supposed to look at people without an invitation. Jaskier may flirt every other breath, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be stared at while changing. Or bathing.
Unaware of Geralt’s flustered state, Jaskier put his book aside and stood. And, started undoing the laces of his fine trousers.
Jerking his face away to stare into the dim woods, Geralt growled, “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Trust me, this conversation will be much simpler this way.”
“Pantsless?”
“Yes,” the rustling of cloth told Geralt that Jaskier’s pants had been opened and pulled down his legs. The witcher kept a blank face, but his mind was screaming. “Geralt, look at me.”
“Hmmm.”
“Don’t be like that. Just, look at my crotch for a moment.”
Mind floundering about, Geralt simply obeyed. He didn’t want to think about why he was so flustered by this. Better to simply act and get it over with. Geralt stole a quick glance at Jaskier, looking away immediately after. Then, he processed what he saw. Froze. Looked back. Stared.
Sitting between Jaskier’s legs was a set of pretty, pink lips surrounded by brown curls.
Huh.
“Now, this doesn’t mean I’m a woman. I know women sometimes travel under the guise of a man; regardless, I—”
“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted, now looking up at the bard’s face. “I’m a century old. I’ve met people like you.”
Pulling up his pants and giving Geralt a haughty expression, Jaskier said, “Well, excuse me for assuming the man who had never tried chocolate might be lacking in life experiences.” Although he tried to act nonchalant and put-upon, there was a nervousness about Jaskier. In his scent and in his demeanor. “But, you see why it is impossible for me to have a child I am unaware of.”
Geralt gave an affirmative grunt. It would be very difficult to go through an entire pregnancy and birth without noticing it.
“Honestly, I assumed you’d pick up on this.” Jaskier said, gesturing to his now clothed crotch. “Witcher senses and all. Did you really not notice the lack of a bulge?”
“Thought it was small,” Geralt said with a shrug.
“I never—I would have an impressive manhood! One to rival your own!”
“Could always carve one.” That would be a surefire way to have a manhood of whatever size the bard desired.
That comment made Jaskier laugh a little. “Oh, believe me, I have a few manhoods back in my rooms at Oxenfurt. I find fingers and mouths work just fine on the road though,” he said with a wink.
Another thought occurred to Geralt, and he said, “I never smell blood on you. Not without injury.”
“Oh, there are these medicines I was introduced to in Oxenfurt. They bring out more masculine features, lower the voice and put hair on the chest. I was always rather hairy, but that’s neither here nor there. Point is they stopped my monthlies too, which was a rather fortunate bonus if you ask me. Cost an arm and a leg every winter, but they’re worth it.”
A considering hum left Geralt, and he asked, “Do you have any extra?”
The question earned him a strange look from the bard. “Geralt, I don’t know who has made you doubt yourself, but your manliness by no means needs encouragement. Besides, perhaps verbal, you incredible specimen you.”
Rolling his eyes, Geralt said, “I’m not going to use it. I—” and he hesitated a second, suddenly a bit embarrassed by his own idea “—my brother’s an alchemist. He could probably figure out what’s in your medicine. Could replicate it. Save your money.”
Putting a hand on his chest and looking at the witcher as if he had just saved a cartful of orphans, Jaskier said, “Why, that is the absolute sweetest thing anyone has ever offered to do for me!”
“Might not even work,” Geralt mumbled, uncomfortable under the pure adoration Jaskier directed at him.
“It’s worth a try though. I might be able to spare a pill or two before we part for the winter.”
Geralt nodded. There wasn’t more for him to really say. Jaskier also didn’t seem to have much to add: he chatted aimlessly about nothing in particular while preparing his bedroll. A sour scent of nerves still wafted off the young man.
It wasn’t often that Jaskier was so nervous in their camp. The bard was absurdly comfortable around him, but his reaction was understandable given the circumstances. Jaskier had revealed something that made him different from others. Anyone who was different knew that people could react cruelly to those differences. Jaskier probably met more people who disdained him than accepted him. Geralt didn’t hold the reaction against the bard.
Especially since the nervous smell was mixed with happiness and accompanied by adoring glances shot in Geralt’s direction.