Chapter Text
The path behind the keep wound gently between bare trees and frost-softened stones. Sunlight filtered through the thinning clouds, catching on snowmelt and old moss. It was quiet, but not cold—one of the first days that hinted at spring.
Geralt walked beside Jaskier, his pace measured, eyes flicking down every so often to check the bard’s steps. Jaskier’s limp was still noticeable, the movement stiff and guarded, but he was upright. Mobile. A little stronger each day.
“Feels strange,” Jaskier said after a while, voice soft in the still air. “Walking again. Like I’ve forgotten how my limbs work.”
Geralt huffed through his nose. “Still better than Lambert.”
Jaskier grinned. “Well, that bar’s criminally low.”
They rounded a bend where the sun caught the stones just right, warming them beneath their feet. Jaskier paused for a moment, one hand bracing on the wall, his fingers flexing against the uneven surface.
“I might need a cane,” he said, lightly, like the idea didn’t bother him much.
Geralt glanced at him, brow furrowing slightly.
Jaskier didn’t look back. “Just for a while, until my leg can keep up again. I’ll need something reliable. Practical. Travel-worthy.”
Geralt’s steps slowed. He turned his head, eyes narrowing with something unreadable.
Jaskier finally looked over, lips quirking. “For spring,” he concluded simply. “When we leave.”
A beat passed, then another.
“Unless, of course,” the bard added lightly, “you were planning to sneak out under cover of darkness again. Which would be very on-brand, but terribly disappointing.”
Geralt ignored the joke. His jaw flexed once, then stilled. “You’re sure?” he finally just asked quietly.
Jaskier gave him a small smile—warm, reassuring. “Ask me again in a few weeks,” he said. “But yes. I think so.”
Geralt didn’t answer—just looked at him. The line of his jaw tightened again for a second, then eased. His mouth twitched—small, not quite a smile—but his eyes softened, bright gold under the fading light.
Jaskier watched him for a breath, something easing in his shoulders, and then pushed off the wall to keep going. He didn’t comment when Geralt moved just a fraction closer beside him, close enough now that their arms nearly brushed as they walked.
The sun dipped behind the mountains, painting the path ahead in quiet gold.
And for the first time in a long time, the road before them felt like something worth stepping onto.
And above them, the sky was clear.