I, too, needed your help (Geralt/Jaskier)

Chapter 1

~ so lock me up and sock me up, and throw away the key ~

Jaskier's warm, playful voice filled up the rather dull prison cell. There was very little certainty in what would happen with him now and since he was too scared to just ponder on it in silence, entertaining himself and those few rats that kept him company seemed like a good idea.

The prison guard got quickly fed up with Jaskier's singing and left his spot uttering words "That's it! I'm taking a shit..."

Any normal person would consider this an opportunity to try and run away, however, Jaskier showed no interest in getting up from the cold stone floor anytime soon. He looked content, sitting comfortably and drumming with two spoons against his left palm.

There was suddenly a loud "thump"sound, a low grunt and then the mentioned guard stumbled backward, passing Jaskier's cell and entering his vision for a brief moment. The bard stopped singing, frozen in place with senses perked up. A second passed, nothing happened.

Jaskier decided that whatever happened wasn't worth his attention and started jamming again, not wanting to disappoint his attentive audience.

But when he heard the sliding sound of the sword leaving its scabbard and then metals crashing against each other, Jaskier's patience ran out.

"Fucking hell! You know what? We're trying to rehearse in here!" Really, no peace, even in prison. "Gentlemen, I am so sorry. Give me a moment," Jaskier turned to rats, which didn't seem to mind the interruption one bit, and put away his drumsticks in defeat.

"I need to deal with this guard's complete lack of decorum." Maybe if the bard didn't speak so much, he'd catch on the sound of keys clinging in the air.

As Jaskier started to get up, the prison cell's door swung open. He took it as an invitation to speak up his mind before being restrained (if not worse) by the guard.

"Good sir, you would not know talent if I shoved it up your- Geralt."

The name of the witcher choked out of Jaskier's throat as soon as he saw him. Nevermind he swore to never speak it out loud again. Never mind he promised never to even think about the said witcher. Once Jaskier's eyes met Geralt's, it was a game-over.

The previous playful atmosphere was swallowed up by iciness the silver-haired man radiated whenever he went. Iciness that caused old emotions to resurface. Sorrow, anger, remorse. The fact that Geralt basically told Jaskier to fuck off during their last meeting was meddling in the air, creating heavy tension between the pair.

While Geralt's brows were furrowed and eyes clearly reflected guilt and regret, Jaskier's face displayed rage and a broken heart. He started at Geralt intensely, without blinking, probably in fear the witcher could disappear at any moment.

Jaskier had a fruitful past with hallucinating things, mainly when not sober, but this was not the case now. He was clear-minded and all his senses screamed this was very much real. Geralt was real, standing in front of him after months.

"Done enjoying your blessing?" Jaskier asked at last with a challenging look, tilting his chin up a bit, straightening his shoulder proudly. Yes, he just admitted that the words Geralt said at the mountain were still very much a fresh wound, carved deeply in the bard's mind.

'If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.' That sentence cut deep, resurfacing every time Jaskier attempted to sleep. It was not fair. Why was it only him that struggled? Why was only the bard pained by their abrupt and harsh farewell? And why the fuck could Geralt just show up whenever and wherever he wanted, as if nothing happened, casually rescuing him from the imprisonment?