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Ciri knew that Geralt was keeping something from her. Sure he wasn't open about lots in his life, and she was lucky if he did more than grunt in affirmatively or growl in disagreement at her questions. She had so many questions for him. Everyone in Cintra knew about the White Wolf, both from the songs by the bard Jaskier and from tales those in the Cintran court had of the witcher.
It was only natural that she wanted to know which were true and which were embellished for entertainment. Mainly she found that Jaskier had added emphasis to aspects of fights that weren't necessarily incorrect, but neither were they entirely accurate. Due to this she knew that the bard would have done well in the Cintran court, he would have fit in with the courtiers that told the truth and twisted it to their own machinations.
Geralt thought would not survive like the bard would have. The tall man, built like a 'shit-brick-house' as Eist would have said, had the tact of a striga at a wedding. From his clothes to his smell (sometimes the smell told more about him than the clothes), Geralt stood out. Even without the hair or witcher eyes the princess suspected that he would have stood out.
As it was he was exotic to her, perhaps even more exotic than she was in the Cintran court. Both of them had fair hair and complexions, and powers which they themselves may not know the full depth of.
From what she could gather, from limited conversation, Geralt had helped her father, whilst he (her father) was under a curse, and in payment asked for the Law of Surprise. Which lead to her being his Surprise Child. Knowing the witcher, even in a limited time, it wasn't hard to piece together that he hadn't reacted well to the news. From there he avoided Cintra, but did hear the news of her parents demise, and when he lad learned of the turmoil that Cintra was facing he had come to rescue her from the situation. Knowing her grandmother, very intimately, it was easy to understand why she had imprisoned the witcher after trying to trick him.
So much could have been avoided if she had been able to go with Geralt when he had come for her.
Also during their time together she had learned that there had been a sorceress, Yennefer, who had been bound to Geralt by destiny (or a djinn), and that their relationship had imploded due to the weight of that. Ciri got the impression that those involved in magic or politics hated destiny and ruined their lives trying to outrun it, only for destiny to come back and drag them as they clawed at the ground screaming. Geralt certainly looked like he had been dragged along the ground.
Geralt hadn't actually told her any of this, she had divined it by asking questions and watching and listening to his tells. A grunt meant something different when paired with his eyebrows pinching together. His silence with the barely there smile something different altogether.
Those smiles were her favourite. Unfortunately they were usually paired with the most hated expressions, a pained look where his eyes were downcast, his eyebrows pinched, and a rumble in his chest that sounded like thunder.
Both of these usually occurred when she mentioned Jaskier.
Something had happened in relation to the bard which Geralt blamed himself for. Ciri may even blame him also if she ever got the story from him. So she hadn't asked for it, she knew that their budding relationship (if you could call it that) wouldn't last if she became angry at the witcher, that he would also push her away if she did.
So when they were attacked by some renegade soldiers, Nilfgaardian ones to boot, and both of them became separated, Ciri panicked. She didn't know if Geralt would be safe, or well enough to come find her. She didn't have the coin to hire anyone to help her in her search for him. Neither he for her.
One of the soldiers had picked Ciri up and rode off with her whilst Geralt fought the rest. She was disoriented enough that she couldn't focus to scream or do much more than struggle. When they had ridden into a copse of trees she had purposefully gotten caught on a branch and made her escape.
Remembering Geralt's advice for if they were separated she followed the tree line near the main road that they had been travelling. But she didn't know which direction she was meant to be heading in. There was no way for her to accurately know which direction she and the soldier had ridden from. So she guessed.
Judging from the town that she came across soon after she had guessed wrong. Ciri had limited coin and only a destination in her mind. A destination that if she told anyone could get her killed.
Being a princess, having the education of an heir of Cintra, helped. Basic geography told her that she was headed in the correct direction of her and Geralt's destination, and she could inquire how to get to the places around the destination so as not to reveal where she was actually going.
All these plans changed when she passed the tavern and heard the infamous 'Toss a Coin to Your Witcher'. Only one bard sung that song anymore in its entirety, the others, copycats, had attached themselves to other songs and tales which were more prevalent. There was one going around about her grandmothers death, the sacking of Cintra, and the might of Nilfgaard.
Trusting in destiny, something which Geralt would surely disapprove, she entered the tavern and waited in a corner, waited for the colourful bard to finish singing so she could implore for his help. And she may have prayed to the same dastardly destiny that Geralt hadn't hurt the bard so completely that he turned her away.
***
Jaskier noticed the girl immediately. It was as though a young Pavetta of Cintra had walked into the tavern. He almost expected a young Duny to follow her. Though the two were surely dead his mind wondered if they had not instead been shrunken due to a curse.
The young lioness of Cintra was alone and in a tavern, dirty and bleeding from her arm and head. Jaskier needed to finish up and get to her before anyone else noticed.
Finishing as quickly as he could, gathering the coin and mentally calculating how much he would have left over after he bought both himself and the princess meals and board, he made his way efficiently toward the young girl.
"Follow me and pull your hood up." He handed her his lute, playing off her presence at the edge of the crowd as something casual, a servant waiting for their master to finish before they made their way elsewhere. "My other affects are at another location, I'll collect them and my horse and the both of us will go to a more appropriate town for the both of us."
"You know who I am?" With the hood up and carrying the lute, the princess looked like a hand servant or a young child just eager to earn another coin from a travelling bard.
"I knew your mother and father, and I never forget a face."
Looking at his current situation, smuggling a fugitive princess into a whorehouse to collect his pack and horse, he wondered when his travels with Geralt would cease to influence his present and future. Based on the state of the princess, in shock and alone, it wouldn't be over soon.
"This is a whorehouse Jaskier." By the gods and monsters witchers slay, she sounded like Pavetta.
Looking back at her he could see that she was wide eyed and taking in the colour and clothing (and lack of it) with gusto. Clearly she hadn't had exposure to life outside the Cintran palace. Neither had he mother, though her father certainly had.
"Very astute, we are, but we won't be staying for long." With that he ushered the princess through the thankfully empty room that he had hired.
***
Geralt was going to kill every Nilfgaardian soldier on sight from now on. Trudging through the forest and road where the soldier had taken Cirilla, where she had escaped, and where she had made her way to the closest town, he wasn't feeling in a charitable mood to any of those who called themselves Nilfgaardian.
The scent of Ciri went into a tavern but also lead away from it, getting stronger the further away from the tavern it went. Following it he noticed hints of something else, something familiar.
He knew it couldn't be Yennefer, she wasn't anywhere near this part of the continent. Most likely somewhere causing chaos with her chaos. Also, he knew her scent by heart now after spending so much time basking in it, in her body beside his on a bed, bedroll or on the floor.
So not Yennefer. He didn't think it was any of the other sorceresses, they all had a distinct edge to their smells, something purely magic which made his nose sting.
That only left one person. Jaskier. If Ciri was with him then they both were in even more danger than before. The bard seemingly attracted danger like honey drew flies. Ciri herself also drew danger toward her; just look at Geralt. So the both of them together, they were a recipe for disaster.
Their scents and tracks, now visible to him now that he knew what to look for, lead to a whorehouse. Jaskier had taken Cirilla of Cintra, princess and hieress to a kingdom, to a whorehouse. Of course he did.
***
Jaskier was smart. Ciri knew this based on how he had survived so long with Geralt, the largest magnet for destiny and danger, the two 'D's that he tried to avoid.
Within the first five minutes the bard had had her change clothes into something less conspicuous, common peasant boy clothing. There was plenty to spare from the floors of the whorehouse, and littered in a spare room which had cast-off's that were left behind. And so, with new trousers, tunic and travelling cloak, Ciri went from looking like she had been attacked to looking like she was ready to do some attacking herself.
Jaskier had also gotten help for her cuts and scrapes from a passing whore. She hadn't known that she was injured until they pointed it out. Shock, Geralt had told her that it could kill you more efficiently than the man that had stabbed you. If you didn't know or feel that he had stabbed you and you walked it off the infection or blood loss would get to you eventually.
Just as the two of them were finishing up with the man who was helping her with her ailments Geralt stormed into the room. And saw that she was partially disrobed with Jaskier and an unknown male in the room. That wasn't good.
"Geralt, this is Jacques, he's helping me with the injuries that the bandits managed to get in. Jaskier is keeping me company as I waited for you. Jacques this is my friend Geralt, the White Wolf. Now if you could please, finish quickly, collect Jaskier's coin and the three of us will be out of your hair."
She'd seemingly successfully stopped the storm that Geralt was going to unleash on three of them. He managed to keep quiet until they were safely and firmly outside of the whorehouse and Jaskier had collected his horse and Geralt had collected Roach.
"Jaskier, what were you thinking. You know who she is, that was entirely inappropriate for her age. At least wait a few more years before you try to seduce the child."
"I'll take that with a grain of salt Geralt. She tracked me down and I needed to get my affects before I was going to be spirited away by your Surprise Child."
"It's true you know, I quite like my spiriting away of men, you included Geralt." Jaskier and Ciri shared a smile behind Geralt's bacl.
"Either way it was inappropriate. We need to keep moving."
"Jaskier is coming with us!"
"What?! No I'm not!"
"Why the hell would he be coming with us?
"Because I said so, and I'm in charge."
What she didn't add was that she was also tired of the longing looks Geralt was shooting Jaskier behind his back. It hadn't even been an hour in the mans presence and she was already tired of the pining going on between the two. How could either of them stand it?
***
After a weeks travel with both Ciri and Jaskier, Geralt could say that he felt calmer and more settled than before.
Both of them worked well together, someone was finally willing to openly answer all of Ciri's questions, and someone was happy to bounce ideas and lyrics around. Each of them was a half of a whole when it came to conversation. Geralt was more than happy to let the two of them continue the long hours of conversation without him; he would just listen in on the important parts.
Like how Jaskier had been travelling and had met other witcher's, he didn't name them or what animal pendants they wore, Geralt had no clues as to who he had actually met. For all he knew the bard may have bumped into Lambert or someone he'd never met himself. Though the witcher circles were small they were also spread quite vastly, two witchers couldn't make good money in the same area, so they tended to avoid each other.
Though there was nothing to be upset about, Geralt did not like the implications of the bard travelling with other witchers. Yes, if he sang about them too it would perhaps increase the esteem of witcher's as a whole, rather than just the White Wolf. However, the Jaskier would be singing about another witcher.
He would not begrudge the bard of new company or travels, but that didn't mean that he liked it. Somewhere in his ribs it hurt, like a wraith had rammed their hand into his body, twisting at the thought of the bard with another witcher. Geralt knew he was not the most friendly or companionable, though he tried he could not master social niceties. As such he lost good company because his was lacking. Because they would eventually prefer someone better or more suited to them.
***
The plan wasn't working. Somehow being with Jaskier made Geralt sadder and happier at the same time. The gentle giant of a man was more complex than Ciri had given him credit, than even Jaskier's songs had too.
The morose atmosphere that now surrounded the White Wolf was quite worrying to the young girl. She hadn't seen him in such a mood, even when he was half dead the first time they met in the woods. Somehow she knew that Jaskier was both the cause and the cure to the issue. Perhaps it was because the bard had moved on in his life after Geralt? Or that the bard was getting along more so with her than him?
The last option wasn't really an option in her mind. Geralt was sore and upset that Jaskier had spent time with other witchers; and he wasn't going to do anything about it. So instead, she would.
"Jaskier?" Ciri whispered so as to avoid Geralt's suspicion. She had waited until they were building camp and Geralt was preparing to go off to take down a werewolf a few leagues away.
"Yes Little Lioness?" Jaskier whispered back, equally as cautious of Geralt overhearing. The witcher would have his head if he knew that Jaskier had given her such an obvious nickname.
"When are you going to tell Geralt that you're still in love with him?" And didn't that catch him off guard.
Forgetting that they had been whispering before the man yelled at the top of his lungs, alerting Geralt and maybe even the werewolf a few leagues away. "Well I never, how- you may be a princess, but- I cannot believe you!"
Perhaps she had been too direct, she had wanted to plant the seed of confession in the mans head, not cause a rift in their friendship.
"Now you, how could you ask me that? After all this time, do you suppose me a cut sleeve? Ciri, I thought you knew me!" Yes, she had been too direct.
"And what is wrong, bard, with being a cut sleeve?" Great, now Geralt was involved. The potion he had taken for the werewolf made his eyes black, the veins around them black and more pronounced. He looked like a demon come to carry the bard's incredulous soul away.
"What isn't wrong with a cut sleeve? I heard all about them in Oxenfurt. They'll come onto any man they come across, they're dangerous!"
"Have I ever come onto you, bard?"
"Why would you? You're a-"
"Cut sleeve. And a witcher. Tell me bard, which one makes me more dangerous in your eyes?" Geralt's head tilted, even Ciri knew that that was the true sign of danger. The man wasn't looking at Jaskier as a friend anymore, but sizing him up like a monster, deciding where to put his silver sword, through the throat or stomach.
"But you can't be. Everyone knows that witcher's-" Jaskier stopped, looked down, and heaved a great sob. "They hang people like me in the North. A boy I knew when we were younger was caught with another; they were both killed by nightfall."
"Did you think that because I am a princess of the North that I would judge you Jaskier?" Her voice was soft now, hurt, filled with the pain of having made her friend scared of her. Was this how Geralt felt every time he turned away from her? When he bled or had drunk a potion that changed his face as it was now, did he feel hurt knowing that she may be scared of the sight?
Jaskier shrugged, "You never know what someone of the North may say about us. They're just as likely to kill than accept you."
"Jaskier, if there's anything you don't need to fear us for, it's that we would judge or condemn you. Both Ciri and I accept you, what we know now and what you choose to share later. You need never fear our, no, my rejection ever again."
***
Geralt hadn't known how to end the horror of a conversation, so he had mounted Roach and rode off to where the werewolf should be.
When he came back, covered in bowels and other foulery, he saw that the two of them had pushed their bedrolls together and huddled in the cold. After a quick dip in the nearby river Geralt himself lay his bedroll behind Ciri's and wrapped his arm around the both of them, his bulk covering Ciri completely and part of Jaskier. The witcher constitution was good for something, it made them all warm like furnaces.
"Geralt." The word was just a whisper from Jaskier.
"Jaskier."
"Did you mean it?"
"Did I say it?
"Well, yes.
"Then I meant it."
"You heard what she asked me, didn't you. About how I felt about you."
Geralt's eyes opened and looked at the other man, his tired eyes were reflected. Neither of them were ready for this conversation, but without it they wouldn't be able to go any further.
"Yes."
"Did you mean that you wouldn't reject my feelings too?"
"Yes.
Tired eyes swelled with tears, Jaskier sniffled and the fist in Geralt's chest squeezed and let up a bit. "Geralt, I didn't say it, but I do."
The White Wolf, Butcher of Blaviken, reached over his young charge, and swiped away the bards tears. "I know Jaskier. I do too."
"What does this mean, for us?"
"The same as the past few weeks. You travel with us, look after our Little Lioness, and perhaps our bedrolls may touch when we go to sleep."
"What about Yennefer?"
"Jaskier, if destiny could grant me anything, it would be you beside me for the rest of my travels."
***
Emotionally drained the two men fell asleep. Emotionally uplifted Ciri now felt more awake than ever before. Perhaps there was something to being direct after all.
**Extra**
Three towns later, two paydays for Geralt and several for Jaskier, Jaskier found a new jacket in his pack. For two days now he had bemoaned the change in weather, it was getting warmer the closer they got to the coast and the bard was sweltering in the heat.
The new jacket, a gorgeous turquoise, had one key feature; cut sleeves. Both sleeves had cuts through them, stylish and purposeful and would highlight whatever he wore, or didn't, under the jacket. He knew immediately who had slipped the piece of clothing into his pack, and exactly what it meant.
They were in the South now, yes it was more dangerous, but they were to stick to the coast, rest and recuperate. Now Jaskier and Geralt could relax, not wait until they were behind a closed door to hold hands, to be together.
Jaskier could now proudly stand with Geralt, cut sleeve's and all.