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The thing with raising a child is that things really start to get put into perspective. Self flagellation has turned into self reflection, and with help from a lot of people around him, Geralt is slowly starting to… if not forgive then accept things about himself that he didn’t know was hurting.
His and Yennefer’s relationship never recovered, but there is a friendship there now, built finally on mutual respect and trust. Geralt is still not convinced that witchers feel like others do, but he is coming to terms with feeling something.
Teaching Ciri, protecting her, seeing her interact with people around them, her trusting him is wonderful and terrifying. It doesn’t seem like anything he does is good enough, but he’s trying his best. By his side are the other witchers, the handful of sorceresses that keep finding them, Jaskier, and other friends passing by. The world outside the keep is ever changing, conflict brewing everywhere, but his little family, his friends, they take care of each other.
It’s early spring, the frost still making the grass crisp and nights cold, but the skies are the kind of clear you only get this time of year. Ciri is traveling with Yennefer and Triss, with how busy the witchers usually are in spring it’s best for her to learn from the women of Aretusa. It’s back to the dynamic duo, as the bard likes to call them. Just him and Jaskier.
That’s another thing that has shifted. As his relationship with Yennefer ended, and with the realization that Jaskier won’t die off in a few decades (by age anyway), the walls he’s been building have been coming down.
Of course they can’t be together all the time, but when they meet up again after some weeks apart, or when Geralt returns from the bath house, and their eyes meet… There is something there. Something that has him hauling Jaskier into a hug when they reunite, something that makes him feel warm and satisfied when he finds Jaskier still there waiting, and a familiar ache when he is not.
Once, just once, when Jaskier was standing up to follow a handsome young man out the backdoor, Geralt had slipped up. He'd whispered “Stay,” and Jaskier had heard him, and frozen in place. Long seconds ticked by until Jaskier made up his mind. He left anyway, which had Geralt’s stomach sink, his eyes burn. But Jaskier came back. He came back with two ales, sitting down opposite Geralt and chattering as if Jaskier hadn’t turned someone down to stay with Geralt.
Today in a busy market, Geralt can’t help but to stick close to Jaskier. To keep them clear of pick pocketers, sure, but Jaskier seems to smile secretly to himself when their arms brush together, or when Geralt points something out that he thinks Jaskier would like. Naturally he picks up something for Ciri too, it’s very bad for his wallet to keep noticing things she would like.
At some point they end up by a leather worker’s stall. Belts, pouches, straps and gloves. Geralt finds himself inspecting a cord of leather string, thinking he needs to switch out the cord for his gauntlets.
“My father used to have a pair of these,” Jaskier says next to him. Jaskier never speaks of his parents, and when the witcher looks over, he looks deep in thought.
“The same style. Look, the lining here along the side. He mostly wore them for their hunting trips.”
The gloves are very fine indeed, smooth leather sewn together artfully and pressed with the leather worker’s stamp.
“I used to try them on sometimes,” Jaskier says distractedly, even as he puts them on. They fit well, they don’t seem to be lined with any fur, so the fit is slim and dexterous. “He always pretended not to notice. Mother gave them to him, I think.”
Jaskier stares down at the gloves, lost in a memory. He snaps out of it abruptly, taking the gloves off and stepping back.
“Do you like them?” Geralt asks carefully.
“Doesn’t matter, does it? It’s not as if I could afford something like that anymore.”
Geralt looks after him as Jaskier gives the gloves a longing look, then steps firmly to the side, instead looking at the belts by the side of the stall.
“How much?” Geralt ask the stall keeper, holding up the cord and the gloves.
The stall keeper is looking at Geralt with a knowing smile, tilting his head.
“Tell you what. Trade me some arachnomorph venom, and I’ll throw in some patching pieces too. It really helps soften the leather before burnishing, but it’s not the easiest to get a hold of.”
Easy enough trade. The stall keeper probably won’t mind that it's been bottled since last year, it’s not like he needs it for its venomous qualities. They make the trade swiftly, the gloves being hid quickly in the bag by his hip. When they move to the next stall, Jaskier gives him a curious look when Geralt just hums when asked if he bought something.
Not until a few days later, when they are camped a bit from the road, that Geralt finally has gathered his courage. It’s one of those clear nights that promise a lot of stars, but also the cold. There is a prepared shelter for travelers that they are making use of, a small wooden pallet under a sloped roof to take them up from the frosted ground, but the air is still chilling.
Jaskier is notably not wearing any gloves. Instead he is holding up his hands towards their little fire, warming himself. Jaskier keeps shooting him knowing looks, absolutely noticing Geralt working himself up to something.
“Got you something,” Geralt manages after a while, digging into the saddle bag where he hid the gloves. He hands them to the bard, feeling oddly worried about his reaction.
“These are…” Jaskier trails off, as he turns them over, realizing it’s the same pair. “Geralt…”
“It’s still cold out. The merchant gave me a good deal, and you seemed to like them, so.”
Jaskier is quiet for so long that Geralt gets properly nervous.
“You don’t have to accept them. I just thought, with what you told me, that you might like them.”
“I do, it’s just… Sorry, mixed feelings here. Like I said, my father used to have a pair much like these, but uh. They are gorgeous.”
“We’ll trade them to something else in the next settlement if you want,” Geralt offers softly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t. I’m just surprised. Geralt, these gloves are really expensive. It’s a wonderful gift.”
“Worth it,” Geralt says immediately, thinking of how both Jaskier and Ciri sometimes seems to think they are not allowed nice things. They both act spoiled, they both make a show to point out the fine things, but rarely do they actually ask for it. Jaskier likes to buy things for himself, yes, but he always gets flustered with finer gifts. “Put them on, if you’d like.”
For a long while, Jaskier just rubs the soft leather between his thumbs. Eventually though, he puts them on, carefully. They look good on him, warm and sturdy without being bulky. and Geralt nods in approval.
They say nothing else about it that night.
Jaskier keeps wearing the gloves. Sometimes he opens his mouth as if to speak, but closes it again. They don’t trade the gloves when they pass through the next village, or the next.
There is a letter from Yennefer, detailing some of the classes Ciri had, suggesting a meetup for the summer solstice.
Jaskier talks of a small festival in the east, and instead of parting, Geralt asks to join him. Their journey there is twofold. Putting one foot in front of the other is one part of the journey. The other part, walked at the same time, is where Geralt allows himself to try. Sweet things he never dared say, fleeting touches, admiring looks.
Jaskier travels both part with him, and one memorable night, Jaskier touches his gloved hand to Geralt’s cheek. He’s only removing a soot stain, but the soft leather against his cheek, the gentle way the bard looks at him as he thumbs the stain away, it has Geralt laying awake for hours in his bedroll.
Their first kiss is after the festival. It’s the middle of the day, they shared some salted meat and the last bread they bought. Sitting side by side, listening to the birds sing among the trees, basking in the sun, life is pretty good. Geralt still doesn’t know who leaned in first, but he remembers how Jaskier waited for him, that last inch. Geralt had pressed their lips together, hand coming up to Jaskier’s chin, just barely touching him.
Then he kissed him again, firmer, soaring with relief, with hope, with… love. Yes, maybe it’s time to use the big words.
Jaskier leaned back into the grass, which is still pale and damp, and Geralt follows. Easily leaning over him, blocking out the sun as they trade kisses back and forth.
Jaskier is smiling up at him, breathing ‘Finally’ into Geralt’s mouth, and the witcher can do nothing but agree.
They part and reunite twice more before summer solstice. Ciri is gifted a small carved stone in the shape of a swallow. Yennefer gets an elven tome Triss mentioned she wanted last time they met up.
Geralt gets kisses as they wake up in each other’s arms, Jaskier’s arms around his chest as they curl together on a too narrow cot. Sometimes he still feels like he isn’t good enough, but with Jaskier holding him close even after all these years, with Ciri learning and growing every day, he must be doing something right.