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He knew he was foolish before he asked the question, but what could he do?
It had been over twenty years and if he didn’t keep trying, surely all that time was for nothing - all the sleepless nights, all the stolen looks over the campfire? All. The. Damned. Songs.
Come away with me in the night.
“Why don’t we leave tomorrow? We can go to the coast, get away for a while?”
It wasn’t the first time he’d asked of course, Jaskier loved the sea - and knew that given the right circumstance Geralt would too. The sharp salt air and brisk winds that washed away lingering scents of blood and guilt.
The hushed roar of the ocean was a sound just loud enough to drown out wayward thoughts, its tones are as full of potential destruction as Geralt’s own voice.
Come away with me, and I’ll write you a song
Sitting there on the top of Caingorn together they were just far enough apart that he yearned for the warmth of Geralt’s hip. Still it didn’t bother him, not really. They were side by side, where they were supposed to be. Both gazing at the view swathed in the glow of the setting sun, both musing on the loss of their new friend- Jaskier thinking how important it was to keep old ones close. As he drank in the vastness before them, he felt hazily as though he were looking into their future - everything that the sunlight touched was warm and golden and gentle.
At the coast, overlooking the sea, Jaskier would sit on a tuft of pillowy grass, one leg pulled up to lazily support his lute. Around him wild flowers would be nodding in the breeze that danced up to them over the sea. He would be plucking idly over the chorus of the “Ballad Of The Dragon Slayer” or some such title. His notes would be tugged away by the wind as soon as he sang them to life. Geralt would huff at this lyric, or that detail, roll his eyes and stroll towards Roach to brush her down, slowly, lovingly. The way they rarely had time to do on The Path.
Come away with me, where they can’t tempt us with their lies.
In reality on the mountain, the golden blanket of the sunset had already shifted again, its warmth ebbing into the chill air as if it were never there to begin with. Geralt had slipped away too of course, Jaskier’s light disappearing into Yennifer’s tent. Her trickery and false comforts shrouding his Witcher one again, leaving Jaskier alone in the dark.
And I want to wake up with the rain
While I'm safe there in your arms
He was nothing if not a helpless poet and he had dreamt of some things so many times that it was difficult to separate true memories from fiction.
Had there not been times in the driving, bitter rain where they had huddled together under a craggy outcrop? Geralt’s cloak wrapped around them both, Jaskier complaining about the stench of blood and horse whilst his cheeks flushed from their closeness.
Had there not been more than one early spring day where he had awoken to the hum of crickets to see the White Wolf naked, washing in a stream? Geralt's body swirled all about in mist rising from the dew, his head fully haloed with morning light.
Had he not then turned to Jaskier hearing him stir from slumber to meet his eyes with that small half smile of his that were as rare and precious as gems?
Had there not been numerous occasions when Geralt had saved him from harm’s way, a shout on his voice and shadow forming over his brow until Jaskier smiled again?
Perhaps? perhaps not.
I want to walk with you
On a cloudy day
In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high
He held onto one memory so dearly, so clearly that even here on the highest point in the region, he could smell the sweet, strong scent of the start of summer. The path that day took them over a rickety style and through grass so high it whispered and sang when the wind passed through it, tickling their fingertips. Jaskier had wished he could capture that sound, but for once kept the thought to himself so as not to disturb nature’s concerto. Geralt had been leading Roach without hurry, and in contrast to the scenery, her steps were almost silent against the soft earth. The two of them were framed so beautifully between the yellow grass and slate grey sky that Jaskier had wished for a moment that he had learned to paint rather than to play.
Surely all of these moments that he had stored so carefully in each corner of his heart could not be ones that he alone treasured? So he had asked the question. Perhaps today in the fading light of their newest adventure the answer to ‘all I ask is for you to come away with me’ would be different this time.
Come away with me and we'll kiss
On a mountaintop
This time the answer was different.
As he stumbled away golden memories flooded over with red, and Jaskier wondered if Geralt could hear the staccato of his heart and the roar of his blood as it flamed his cheeks and numbed his hands. Witcher hearing was legendary. Could Geralt hear the terrible rhythms of his churning insides, of the spilling over of his endless refrain?
Come away with me,
Won’t you try to come?
Come away with me in the night
And I'll never stop loving you
Even if he could hear it, Geralt never had liked his songs he supposed.