Chapter Text
Geralt trudges wearily next to Roach, one hand gripping her reins loosely, the other clinging to her saddle horn. He’s exhausted. Not badly injured but aching once the elixirs wore off. He’s out of the false energy they give him and the crash is as bad as it always is. And the bard will not shut up. Nattering nonstop, begging for details and he wants to snap. He wants to turn around and clamp his hand over the bard’s mouth until he stops talking. His head aches, his eyes burn, and his stomach roils violently as he drags himself step after step forward. The carcass is taking up his saddle, or he’d be in it, half asleep and trusting Roach to lead him safely back to the town.
As it is, the patient mare continues to step forward and ignores the way he’s throwing her saddle to the side a little. He knows he’ll need to check for sores and make sure none of the straps across her belly rub her wrong either.
“If you would just tell me the details!” the bard insists, and then stops, actually looking at Geralt. “Your face has gone back to normal, eyes, too, although you’re hardly keeping them open. Geralt, are you alright? Here, let me see-“ he huffs when the witcher just shakes him off irritably. “I don’t see any blood on the path behind you but it’s dark enough I can’t be sure. Or if you’ve got a broken bone that’s paining you, I could help you set it and we could continue on. The creature is dead, it won’t get deader, or alive…er… if we pause to look-”
“Enough,” Geralt snaps, hoping for once Dandelion will listen. He snarls in irritation when he feels the bard slide under his other arm and drag it over his shoulders. Thankfully they’re of a similar height so he’s not forced to stoop.
He looks over at Geralt a few times, fairly sure the witcher is asleep on his feet at this point. They’re almost back to the town and hopefully the alderman will pay out the promised coin and they can afford a spot in the inn. Geralt clearly needs to sleep in a bed, and for longer than a few hours. Usually the witcher is up at dawn on the trail, sometimes in an actual bed he’ll let himself sleep in a bit. He does his best to take as much of Geralt’s weight as he can, but he can’t carry him. Mostly because the witcher wouldn’t allow it, but also because with his armor and swords he’s too heavy.
“Here we are, c’mon then, wake up,” Dandelion says after a while, they’re near the edge of the town. Geralt lifts his head and looks around in confusion. “We made it, we’re here. The alderman’s house is near the center of the town, but we’ve passed the first few houses, I thought you’d rather be alert and not caught with your head hanging.” He sighs deeply when Geralt pulls away. He didn’t have to do that just yet. The bard fidgets with his hands and almost reaches for Geralt’s, wanting to feel the warmth of his flesh through his gloves, to just touch him.
Geralt widens his pupils to allow in more light as he looks around. Yes, they’re there. He straightens his spine and gives his head a little shake, releasing Roach’s saddle to gently stroke her neck a few times. She snorts and turns her head to lip at his armor. He strokes her nose and steels himself for another unpleasant interaction with humans. It’s not horribly late, he’d killed the monster far earlier than he’d expected to. Normally he might have waited till morning to return, but the moon isn’t even fully risen in the sky. With a breath he puts his shoulders back and hands the reins to Dandelion before stepping up to the door and knocking. The town is prosperous enough to have an alderman, but not so prosperous he has a private staff.
He comes to the door himself, and Geralt hears his wife asking who it could be, and the answer of ‘no idea.’ When the man opens the door, he has a knife in his hand and clearly is not expecting the witcher at all. Geralt simply turns his body sideways and gestures to his horse.
“Where do you want it?” he asks, hoping his voice doesn’t betray his exhaustion.
“Damn,” the man says quietly. “You really killed it, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I suppose you’re here for your coin?”
“Yes.” If the man doesn’t answer his question about what to do with the corpse, he intends to leave it right there. He hates when people ignore him like that. Although to be sure, he has a feeling the alderman had never expected to have to pay. He expected the witcher to die instead. Unimpressed, it hadn’t exactly been a difficult fight. He’d faced much worse, and he’d said so before he even took the contract.
“Right, let me get it,” he says quickly.
Geralt nods, but steps into the doorway so the man can’t shut him out. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for the door simply to be shut and then to have the town guard set on him. He sees two mugs on the table inside and thinks perhaps the couple had been up for a night cap of some kind. Or simply talking and enjoying each other’s company. What must that be like? To have hearth, home, and family? There’s small indications of children, too, a marble on the table, bits of yarn and straw to make a doll…he hopes this man isn’t planning on refusing to pay. He’d like to think the alderman is a good person, who will raise good children and is kind to his wife. Men with power usually aren’t that kind of man.
Shocked when footsteps return and the soft clink of metal accompanies it, he takes the purse and hefts it. It feels right. All the same he opens it and makes sure there’s no false coin or rocks hidden in to disguise the weight. “Thank you,” he grunts. “Good night,” he adds. Then pauses, for the sake of the child with the straw doll. “Where did you say you wanted the corpse?”
“Oh, oh, yes, I’m so sorry, you did ask, didn’t you? Ah. There’s a midden, not too far from the inn. If you wouldn’t mind depositing it there, I would appreciate it.”
He nods once, pockets the purse and stops blocking the door. Taking the reins back from Dandelion he still can’t believe he got paid. Without any haggling, or arguing. Dreaming of a morning bath and warm breakfast he leads Roach to the midden. He could smell it the whole time, but he wasn’t sure the man would want this thing deposited there. Where anyone would see it. Although perhaps that would be the point. He dumps it off and Roach huffs in relief, shaking her head and making all of her tack jingle. He pats her neck again and mentally promises to buy her some carrots and apples. “Inn’s over there,” he gestures and the bard sets off to go see if there’s a room available.
Roach snuffs his chest and hair and he shakes his head to clear it. Rubbing at his forehead, he pats her neck and leans into her. He feels almost too tired to walk what can’t be more than a few yards to the inn. Far enough away the smell won’t bother human noses, but close enough the cooks won’t have to go far to dispose of leavings. After a short debate of if it’s worth it or not to heave himself into the saddle, he’s fairly sure that falling back out of it would be worse than just falling on his face walking and decides to stay on the ground. Roach turns herself towards the direction the bard went in and starts walking slowly and Geralt finds himself stepping forward to keep up with her. He puts an arm over her neck, which isn’t comfortable for either of them, but at least she keeps him moving forward and on his feet at the same time.
“Oh, there you are, good, there’s a room and there’s a pot still over the fire we can get a little dinner before we go to bed. They’ve said they can manage a bath tomorrow and I assume you’ll need it. You look dead tired. I’m sure you’ll ache all over in the morning. There’s a few people still up, so we won’t be making any enemies who will spit in our breakfasts. Dandelion slips his arm back around Geralt’s ribs and takes the reins out of his slack fingers. A stable boy pops up and Dandelion hurriedly yanks back on the reins before the mare can bite. She gives him a reproachful glance and he sighs deeply. “Geralt tell her not to bite the nice boy.”
“Roach, don’t bite,” Geralt fights out against a yawn. She tosses her head but allows the boy to lead her away without taking a chunk out of him. “Our packs,” he protests and then looks at the bard who is staring at him in confusion.
“I already have them. You really are dead on your feet. I can get you up to the room first, if you want? Rather than dinner. I’m sure there’s something I can get ahold of that’s fresh but won’t be disgusting should you wake up in a few hours and want to eat. Won’t be the same as fresh meat or stew, but some rolls or fruit…?”
“I’ll eat,” Geralt tells him and pulls away again. They make it in and the innkeeper stares at him a bit too long and Geralt feels even worse. Here’s the scorn. Will they throw him out? He has coin. They both have coin. There’s no reason to be unpleasant. Hopefully things will be just fine. He glances around the room looking at the few stragglers eating a late dinner. Dandelion leaves him to go get them some food and he finds himself constantly looking back at the corner by the fire, at the dark-haired man sitting there. Finally, as if feeling eyes on him, he looks up and Geralt feels their eyes lock. About to look away in shame for having been caught staring, recognition lights up his face instead.
“Geralt?” Eskel calls incredulously. Geralt can only nod dumbly and stand there as his childhood friend and fellow witcher gets up and strides across the room. Eskel’s arms are out and Geralt awkwardly raises his, too, unsure of the reception he’s going to get. Things had been odd for them once Geralt had gone through all the Changes. They’d told him he would feel nothing and so he had tried to act as if that was true, pushing away everyone. He didn’t want them to subject him to more, thinking that they had failed.
Eskel pulls Geralt into a tight hug, one that near lifts him off his feet. He hesitates for a second, and then feels Geralt’s arms slip around his ribs. He holds on tightly for a few minutes, glad to know the other man is still alive. “You look horrible,” Eskel grins.
“So do you,” Geralt says softly, tugging off his gloves and tucking them into his belt before running his fingertips down the new scars that ravage half the side of Eskel’s face. He hadn’t had those the last time they’d seen each other. “What happened?”
“Does it matter? I’m still here,” he says, hand still on Geralt’s shoulder. “Come, sit over with me.” He looks behind Geralt to see the bard waiting with two bowls. “And bring your companion. He’s welcome, too.”
Geralt turns to look and he nods to Dandelion, beckoning him over. He allows Eskel to hold onto him and lead him over to the table, leaning heavily into the touch. He hardly notices how stiff the bard is when he sets down their food and drink.
“Don’t drown in your stew,” Eskel gives Geralt a little shake. “So, I see the lute. I see calloused hands, I take it this is Dandelion, famed poet and troubadour?”
“You would be correct, and you are?”
“Eskel,” he says simply. “I suppose we have you to thank for so many stirring tales of witchers killing monsters? Especially the white-haired kind? Half the time now people won’t believe I’m a proper witcher because my coloring is all wrong.” He shakes his head a little with a soft chuckle. He clasps hands briefly with the other man and watches as Geralt quietly spoons up his food as quickly as he can. “What did you do to him that he’s going to fall asleep at the table?”
“He fought a… a … oh fucking hell, he told me earlier and now I know he won’t tell me again, Geralt, damnit, what was it? It walloped him, well it walloped you a few times, but it died fairly quickly. No match for the White Wolf.”
“Was it you who gave him that moniker?” he asks curiously, lightly gripping Geralt’s forearm on the table and giving it a little shake to keep him awake. Geralt twitches in response and picks up his cup and takes a few long drinks.
“I don’t know, exactly, but I would think that I had some hand in it. Did someone else use it first and I wasn’t aware?”
“No, I think that’s yours. But he has shown you his medallion?”
“Oh, he hasn’t shown me, no, but I’ve seen it. Geralt, are you allowed to show people? Any time I’ve tried to get a better look you’ve gone and tucked it under your shirt. Usually you wear it openly until I try and get a good look at it. But I thought it had a wolf on it, was I wrong?”
“No, not at all,” Eskel grins and looks at Geralt oddly. “Here, I’m stopping you eating, which means I’m stopping you seeking your bed. I heard of a contract here, but I take it you’ve already closed it out?” he asks Geralt who nods sleepily. He’s finished his meal and finishes the last of his drink, too. Unthinkingly, he leans into Eskel who shifts on the bench to accommodate him better. With one leg on either side of the bench it’s easy enough for Geralt to lean into his chest.
Dandelion can’t help but feel jealous. Geralt rarely allows him to touch him, constantly refusing contact and closeness as often as possible. They’d started to get past a few things, and had even kissed once. Then Geralt had gone back to his usual prickly self. And then, here he is letting this other man touch him all over, hold him, and with no attempt to stop it or prevent it. No fuss, he’d just decided to lean over and be held. Dandelion would give him that. Any time, any minute he wanted it. Stung, he starts eating. At least the stew hadn’t cooled and he thinks it might actually have lamb in it. It’s surprisingly good.
Eskel watches the bard bristle and mentally argue with himself as Geralt rests against his chest. They haven’t seen each other in what must have been two decades? More? He really isn’t sure, he wasn’t counting. What does time mean for someone who might live to see a thousand years pass? A few times he’d heard rumors of Geralt’s death. Fighting a striga for King Foltest in Temeria. But later he’d made a trip through Ellander and heard Geralt had passed through a few months back, staying at the temple to recuperate from a difficult hunt. Of course, he’d visited Nenneke, they’d done some schooling there as young boys. She’d known them both since before they passed her waist and she never let them forget it.
When they had parted ways, leaving the keep, Geralt had been someone else. Or at least, he’d been trying to be. Cold, distant, aloof. Shut off, determined to be emotionless and lethal. Eskel and the few other survivors had been similar, but not to the same level. It hadn’t taken long before Eskel had realized not much had been done on a genetic level to change the fact he felt things and while he did control his emotions he didn’t bother to repress them as much as he had in training. He’s somewhat surprised Geralt is so comfortable resuming a more physical relationship since they’ve only just reunited a matter of minutes ago. He can’t help but notice that the bard’s scent is all over Geralt, and Geralt’s all over the bard. And yet, here Geralt is, leaning into him instead.
“So how long have you two been on the road?” he asks, aware Geralt is awake, but unwilling to make conversation. He’d never been social outside of certain circumstances. Always determined to be perfect and exact in his training. Being overly chatty hadn’t been encouraged.
“We’ve been…” Dandelion mutters, mentally tallying up the days. “Oh, let’s see… less than a month, more than two weeks… I’d say around twenty days? Geralt does that sound right?” He huffs when he sees the witcher just shrug a shoulder in response. But at least he responded. Perhaps being around his lover is making him more personable. “I’ve never heard of you before, I knew of course, that there were other witchers, or, shall I say. I have heard names, I have not heard Geralt speak much about his past.”
“He wouldn’t,” Eskel shrugs, jostling Geralt a bit. “None of us would. We’re not supposed to. We don’t talk about our training, or any of it. We take our contracts where we find them and we fulfill them ‘till we slow down and die. Not much to talk about.”
“Well, you seem to know each other quite well. You couldn’t talk about that?” Dandelion pushes. How long do witchers go without seeing their partners? Is that normal for them? How could Geralt have never said anything? Is that why he was so odd about the kiss? Geralt had kissed him, not the other way around. He’d felt, no maybe he hadn’t, maybe it had just been a coin purse…no, he had felt Geralt hard against him that night. He’d been wanted back.
“Oh, I suppose we just don’t because all we are is tied to what was done to us,” he shrugs. He hadn’t thought much about it. He’d never been in a situation like this. “We were trained together,” Eskel adds. “That’s probably the most I think he would have said, if anything at all. Geralt, are you awake?”
Geralt nods and pulls away reluctantly. “Are you done eating?” he asks Dandelion.
“Yes, I’ve finished.”
“Which room? Unless you’re joining me?” he asks rubbing at his temples again. His body aches.
“I’m ready to sleep, yes,” Dandelion says. “We’ll go up together. Unless you’d rather…?”
“No,” Geralt shakes his head. He hasn’t slept near Eskel in decades. He needs what he’s used to right now, to sleep as deeply as possible. The bard’s soft breathing and steady heart is what he wants to hear. “I’ll see you in the morning?” he asks Eskel, unable to hide the hope in his voice.
“Of course, I suspect we have a lot to catch up on. I was intending to head east for a ways, see if I picked anything up before I ran out of coin. You?”
“You wanted to go east, didn’t you, Dandelion?” Geralt asks. “We can head that way for a bit. If a contract is available while we’re together, it’s yours.” So that there’s no reason for them to have any conflict.
“Well if the famed poet is amenable, I am,” Eskel grins and the scars twist his cheek.
“I wouldn’t say no, perhaps you would be more willing to tell me about some of these monsters you face.”
“I don’t see why not. I’ll see you both at breakfast. I was intending to head out after I had a meal. If you were planning on sticking around a bit I could wait a few hours.”
“No, I had wanted to leave after we ate. There’s no real market here, no reason to stay.” He looks at Dandelion and raises an eyebrow.
“I don’t need anything here, I’m ready to move on, too. Just not at first light.”
“They won’t be serving breakfast that early anyway,” Geralt points out. That’s about when they might start cooking it, depending on how many people are in the rooms above them.
Eskel stands first, and grips Geralt under the arm and helps him up without even thinking about it. Old habits die hard. They’d taken care of each other for so long. Since that first night. It wasn’t that they eventually hadn’t had rooms of their own. It was just that as scared boys missing their families, it had been easier to find someone else to cling to. He had barely been sleeping and until Geralt had been the newest addition to the group of boys Chosen. While he had been friendly enough he hadn’t been ostracized or cut off from making friends, they had been there a bit longer and were no where near as scared or miserable. Geralt’s first night, they had fallen asleep on their cots, hands outstretched to close the gap and lock their fingers together. Proof they hadn’t been alone. It was the first time Eskel had slept the night since being dumped outside the keep.
Geralt had had a bit of a rough go of it, at first. Deeply confused about where his mother was, because he had lost her somehow. He’d been concerned and wanted help finding her. No amount of explanation had convinced him she wasn’t looking for him. But as small children do, he’d given up. A solid spanking had also ended his attempt to get out of the keep to go find his ma. Eskel had crawled into his cot that night, hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs so that he wouldn’t catch another strapping. Most of the other boys had already learned that lesson, and ignored them rather than risk catching trouble.
Dandelion doesn’t try to touch Geralt as they go up the stairs. He wants to, he watches the witcher lean heavily on the rail and drag himself up step by step towards the landing. It makes his heart ache because it’s so unnecessary that he do it alone. Of course he’s strong enough to do it all by himself, but he doesn’t have to. And clearly some part of him knows that. He was willing to immediately allow himself to drop his guard the minute he saw Eskel. It hurts. He’s spent years trying to help Geralt feel that comfortable with him. Perhaps it’s loyalty to the other witcher, rather than a deficiency in the bard. He has no idea. He leads the way to their room, and is somewhat dismayed to see just one bed.
“I can sleep on the floor.”
“Why?” Geralt grunts, already starting to unbuckle his armor and slipping off his swords. “We always share the bed if there’s just one.”
“I just thought perhaps…” he licks his lips and fidgets for a few minutes. He watches Geralt struggle with the buckles for a few seconds before going over and reaching out tentatively. “Let me?” He can’t help but feel his heart flutter when Geralt drops his hands and allows the bard to unbuckle the rest of it. He eases it off his friend carefully, and wrinkles his nose a little at the rising sweat smell, now that the armor is no longer locking it in. “Your clothes will need a rinse, too,” he says with a little smile.
“All of me needs a rinse,” Geralt says wearily.
“Are you alright? Truly?” Dandelion asks, pulling up Geralt’s shirt and only seeing bruising. He lightly touches a few of the nastier bruises over Geralt’s ribs to make sure nothing is broken. When all the witcher does is wince he knows it’s fine. They’ll probably be mostly healed by morning. “Go sit, I’ll help you with your boots so you don’t have to bend.”
Geralt grunts in acknowledgement and settles on the mattress. He’s grateful it doesn’t smell like much of anything other than straw and the lye used to clean the sheets. When he bends to try and get his boot off the bard is suddenly there and helps him work it loose without complaint. He sighs in relief, and allows Dandelion to help with the other.
“Go to sleep,” Dandelion tells him softly, wishing he could kiss Geralt again. Caress his face, or stroke his hair. He looks so careworn in the dim light. “I’ll try not to wake you when I join you in a few minutes.” He waits until Geralt nods and slips under the blankets. He tugs off his doublet and boots before splashing water on his face and hands. He feels dirty and smelly but if Geralt hasn’t complained already he’s not going to. He typically hates the smells of body oils more than sweat as it is. Certain scents supposedly burn his nose and make it hard for him to scent what he needs to. Dandelion is somewhat sure it’s a lie, and a polite way of saying he deeply hates some of the perfumes the bard uses. All the same he’d found other scents and Geralt hadn’t said anything, so maybe he had been telling the truth.
He blows out the candle a maid must have lit when they booked the room, and carefully crawls into bed. Geralt is facing the middle and he’s unsure of what to do. They don’t always sleep back to back. In fact, they’d gotten to a point where if they had to share they also shared body heat willingly. Things might have changed and he dithers for a few moments before easing under the sheets and facing away from Geralt.
When he wakes up hours later, Geralt’s arms are around him and their bodies are slotted together. He tenses, and then forces himself to relax. He has no idea how long they’ve been like this, but he can feel the witcher hard against him and it excites his body in turn. It’s not fair. He wants to turn to Geralt and press their lips together, wants to feel the other man against him. Half the time, when he feels like this he finds another bed to share. While he wants Geralt, sometimes he’d do anything to relieve the ache, the need to be touched. He’d assumed for years Geralt simply wasn’t interested in men. Until those nights ago, by the fire. They’d been so close to doing more. Just thinking about it makes his pulse race and his cock twitch.
Geralt shifts in his sleep, pressing closer to the bard and tightening his arms a little. It’s not uncomfortable or painful. Dandelion tries to relax back into him, to allow him to sleep peacefully for a while longer. If he’s slept longer than the bard, then he truly is exhausted. Unable to bear it, he carefully and slowly rolls over. Facing Geralt now, he reaches out to gently touch the white hair and brush it back from Geralt’s cheek. It’s a veritable rat’s nest at the moment. Dirt, and bits of forest have decided to mix in, turning the color grey in sections. He lightly picks little bits of leaves and sticks from the mess.
He freezes when he sees yellow under Geralt’s eyelashes, afraid he’s woken him up. It disappears again and he relaxes with a soft sigh. When he’s sure Geralt is truly asleep again, he leans forward just a bit and presses a soft kiss to Geralt’s lips. He shouldn’t have, he knows. It’s wrong to do that without his permission. They aren’t like that. Ashamed, he turns back so he won’t be tempted to do it again. Or to wake Geralt and straddle his hips and…no. No, that won’t happen. Somehow, he manages to doze off again until Geralt wakes up, pulling away reluctantly.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, aware he’d been pressing himself against the bard in his sleep. Thankful the mutations prevent blushing, he’s even more thankful when his cock softens almost immediately.
“It’s quite alright, who could blame you?” Dandelion teases, trying to act like everything is normal. He sits up but keeps his knees up to his chest to hide his own reaction to Geralt’s proximity.
“Pick any one of your previous lovers,” Geralt tells him oddly. He sees the small wash basin and splashes his face a little and tries to get his fingers through his hair.
“I’ll do it in the bath, if you want. Get it untangled for you. You’re too impatient, you always rip out more than you untangle.”
“Hm.”
“I’ll go let them know you’ll need water drawn up.”
“Thank you,” Geralt says carefully. He’s lost all track of time and goes to the small window. It’s not quite afternoon yet but it will be soon. “I’ll get us breakfast,” he adds. It will take a while for enough water to be heated and brought to the tub. They should have time to eat first. And he can see if Eskel is still there. He had said he wanted to leave earlier, but perhaps he would have waited. He’d said he might wait. They head down the stairs and split at the landing.
Relieved to see Eskel waiting at the table he orders two plates of food before joining his friend at the same table.
“Tell me about him,” Eskel says with a grin. “You two stink of each other. How long have you been together? I always hear rumors about you and that witch in Vengerberg.”
“They’re probably not all rumors,” Geralt admits. He loves her, still. And he knows she loves him. They’re just not able to make a little sacrifice. It’s too much. They’ll probably end up together again eventually, and they’ll part ways. It always ends badly but he can’t keep himself away from her for long. She doesn’t mind when he reads her books, doesn’t criticize his choices or ask him if he’s sure he understands the material. Of course, she can read minds so she knows full well he understands. If she’d said he didn’t he might have argued with her. He has no idea why he can’t do that with Dandelion.
“Oh, did you leave her for the bard?”
“We aren’t like that. She and I parted because of… irreconcilable differences,” he says.
“You’re a taciturn bastard and she got fed up with it?”
“Why do you assume it was her who got fed up?” he asks in annoyance.
“Because you look like someone took your favorite practice sword when she’s mentioned. If you’d made the choice you wouldn’t look like a kicked cur.”
“It was time to travel again. She’s possessive and her temper is…” he doesn’t have a word. “We do well for periods of time, and then it becomes too real and it’s time to end it again.” They can’t ever be a real couple. He can’t marry her, he’s not human. He can’t give her children, they’re both barren. He doesn’t want to settle in Vengerberg with nothing to do but be useless. She doesn’t want to give up all the creature comforts of her lavish lifestyle and clientele. So when things get too intense, they push each other away.
“So, why do you smell like the bard?”
“We had to share a bed,” he points out, grateful when a serving maid brings over plates of food.
“You like him, Geralt. I don’t know how much, but he likes you.”
“No, he just hasn’t found anyone to fuck on the road, and so he thinks he wants me. He’ll find someone in the village. Hopefully not someone married this time, and he’ll be satisfied until there’s too long of a dry spell again.” No, the bard didn’t truly desire Geralt. Geralt just happened to be there. And even if he did, once he got what he wanted he’d move on. Like he always did. How many towns had Geralt heard him whine about how deeply in love he was with some woman he’d just met, only to bed her and abandon her a week or two later?
“I don’t think that’s it, did you see how he looked at me? Like a jealous lover. He was not happy to see you with me.”
“He did not. Odds are he thought I’d travel with you and leave him behind so he’d lose out on stories to write his songs about.”
“You’re wrong,” Eskel informs him. He looks up when he sees the bard come back in. He drops his voice so only Geralt could hear him. “See? He’s glaring at me right now,” he laughs a little and puts an arm around Geralt’s shoulders comfortably.
Once Dandelion joins them at the table Geralt starts eating. He’d waited, he had no idea why. It had just felt right. When Eskel tries to take some of his bacon he bares his teeth a little and the other witcher laughs again. The bard is focusing far too much on his food and seems a little subdued.
“Not awake yet?” he asks in a friendly tone, leaning into Geralt.
“I don’t have much to say at the moment,” Dandelion says. “Geralt, they did say by the time you finish eating the bath should be ready.” It’s a pity they won’t be staying long enough to have their clothes properly washed. Dandelion has a fresh set of clothing he can wear, even if it will be creased from it’s time in the saddlebag. He thinks Geralt is out, so he’ll just be putting smelly clothes right back on. Perhaps they could rinse them a bit in the bathwater and he could just wear them damp. Or if the bard can find his spare shirt, he could rinse it for Geralt to switch into once it was dry. He’s not sure.
He nods in acknowledgement, surprised that the food is as good as it is. When he’d gone up to ask a maid for food, he’d seen the owner of the inn staring at him.
“You’ve got all sorts of shit in your hair,” Eskel tells him, breaking the silence. “Did you let it drag you around the forest before you killed it or did you do this on purpose?”
Geralt glares at him and awkwardly tries to flatten the tangles. He lightly slaps away the twig his friend offers him. “You’ve looked worse many a time,” he points out.
“If I recall, a few of those times were not entirely my fault. Someone dropped the water bucket in the dirt during a short drought, causing someone else to unwittingly slip and fall in mud. And I know it wasn’t me dropping the buckets.”
“If you recall, the buckets were only dropped because somebody filched food and someone else took the blame and the beating for it.”
“True, true. Then those someone’s both took another round of punishment for the bucket and the mud.”
Geralt snorts and finishes his breakfast. The punishment had simply been extra chores. And then an extra round of running through the traps. Worse had happened. He waits for Dandelion to be done before he stands up. He gives Eskel an odd look when Eskel winks at him.
“You’re quite chummy,” Dandelion tells him when they’re almost to the baths. “I didn’t know you could speak in a whole sentence before noon.”
Unsure of what to say, he’s doesn’t understand what he’s done now to make Dandelion mad at him. “We’ve known each other longer than you’ve been alive,” he says gently, trying to make it better. It does not make it better.
“I am well aware of that, I can see plain as day how close you two were. Are, apparently. Are still close. And you’ve never even told me you had friends. Had people you cared for that much. Are you this close with all the other witchers I’ve heard of? Or is it just Eskel?”
Hurt, he hates when Dandelion is like this, acting like a scalded cat. “You never asked,” he protests weakly. “Eskel is… he’s the only other living witcher from those of us chosen to undergo the trials. We’re all that’s left.” It hurts to say that, it hurts to dredge those memories. “You should bathe first, you’re less filthy. You don’t need dirtied wash water.”
“Fine,” the bard bites off, stripping out of his clothes quickly. He’d brought a change with him, but hadn’t known what to do for Geralt and had forgotten when he’d gotten annoyed. “I won’t need much time to scrape the sweat off anyway.” He grabs up soap and steps into the tub and dunks his head first thing. He washes his hair perfunctorily and then scrubs his skin before ducking under again. Geralt picks up the bucket full of rinse water and tries to help but the bard snatches it from his hands and dumps it over his head before getting out of the tub. He grabs one of the linen towels up and starts drying himself.
Deeply uncomfortable Geralt strips down and eases into the still hot water.
“Would you like me to get your friend to help you bathe?”
“No,” Geralt tells him in confusion, unable to hide the hurt in his eyes.
Dandelion’s shoulders slump. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…I don’t know what came over me, that wasn’t…oh Geralt,” he sighs. “Try and rinse your hair but don’t soap it, I’ll go get a comb and some oil.” He waits for the nod. “I mean it, if you want me to fix all those tangles making you look like a wild man, don’t make them worse. Or I’ll just leave you to have to cut your hair off completely to get it fixed.”
He nods again, and obediently does his best to rinse the worst of it out and then clean his body. Dandelion leaves and goes back to the room. He roots around for a spare shirt and finds one, surprised to see it doesn’t smell of anything. At least to his human nose. It should be clean, then. That’s a good find, then he finds a lightly scented oil that doesn’t upset Geralt’s sense of smell, and the wide toothed comb he’d whittled years ago. The fine one he keeps in his bag is for nits and other bloodsucking pests. Thankfully he’d only had to use it once or twice in all his travels. Scratching his head, he stops immediately and shudders. Then leaves the room with the necessary supplies in hand. He passes Eskel on the stairs and nods to him as pleasantly as he can. This witcher is far more open and willing to talk. Perhaps he could learn some of the things he’s wanted to for the past several years. Perhaps not. No sense in being childish.
He’s shaken slightly by the lost look on Geralt’s face when he comes back in. “Did you think I wasn’t returning?” he asks. Oh, he’s been horrible. He knows how Geralt is. How hurt he is on the inside. He’d just never thought there was anyone else who had a bond with him. Well, there was that witch who kept drawing Geralt back in. But it wasn’t the same as what he had with Geralt he doesn’t think. Their friendship is less turbulent, if nothing else.
“You were angry,” Geralt points out, uncharacteristically quiet. Usually he meets fire with fire, until one of them wins the argument.
“Not at you, really. I suppose I didn’t sleep as well as I’d thought. Ridiculous really, here, let me work on your hair,” he offers. The second Geralt nods he’s over by his side, carefully working the tangles loose from the bottom up. There’s quite a bit of detritus still stuck in the white hair, but whatever doesn’t come out with combing will come out in the water when he washes it. When he reaches particularly nasty snarls he uses a bit of the oil to make the hair separate easier. It doesn’t take as long as he’d been afraid it would, and he beams when it’s done. “All better now, there, you can wash it properly without making too much of a mess. You always tangle it, why can’t you just wash it like I showed you?”
Geralt turns to look back at him, eyebrows raised. “You always get mad and do it yourself anyway, when you’re around.”
“True, I suppose I do,” he hums to himself a little. “Is that your roundabout way of asking me to wash it for you now?”
“Whatever pleases you,” Geralt shrugs.
He rolls his eyes in annoyance, wishing just once Geralt would give him a straight answer on these things. “Fine, I suppose I’ll have to assume that’s a yes, because you seem incapable of saying it most of the time. I don’t know why it’s so hard to just tell me if you like having your hair washed for you or not. I can see the way your eyelids flutter when I’m doing it, I think it’s fairly obvious you do. I have no idea why it’s something you can’t admit, it’s not as if I mind.” The chatter is unending as he soaps his hands and starts working the lather into Geralt’s hair. “I don’t mind helping you, when you allow it. Sometimes I worry you truly don’t want it but can’t make yourself say no, and then other times all you do is act as standoffish as possible, like some cat that knows you’re going to plunk it into a bath the second you catch hold of it. Clearly you can speak when you want to, so you can stop pretending you don’t know how to have a conversation now, I’ve seen you with Eskel.” His fingers work the soap down to the witcher’s scalp and he watches as some of the tension seems to flow out of the other man.
When he’s done he picks up the bucket of water for rinsing and warns Geralt before dumping it over him. Rather than soak Geralt just gets out of the tub. They’ve held Eskel up long enough. The bard stares and his cheeks turn red and he turns away to fuss with the bucket. Sometimes it just catches him off guard how attractive he finds Geralt. How much he wants to touch him in places he isn’t permitted to.
“Are you alright?” Geralt asks, dripping water as he stands there, face creased in concern.
“Oh, I’m quite alright. I am going to go pack up our things. I will meet you back in the dining area, I assume Eskel will still be waiting there for you. Or perhaps in his room? You’ll find him regardless I’m sure.” He gathers up what he can, carrying it all low over his crotch before hastily exiting the room. What he wouldn’t give to… he bumps into a maid and apologizes profusely and awkwardly as he heads up to the room to pack.
Geralt stands there dripping a few more moments, utterly bewildered before drying himself off and dressing.
---
I have a lot of random thoughts about why Geralt would only mention Eskel as a friend. I haven't re-read the book where he has Ciri at the keep, but I just re-read the short stories and he doesn't mention anyone else. Also his memories/mentions of Vesemir are usually not kind and so I feel fairly comfortable assuming regardless of the video game relationship Vesemir was not necessarily a kind man. I make no presumptions of his intentions, and i know looking at some things through a modern lens isn't always fair, I just feel like it's really telling how mad at Visenna Geralt is.