And yet... Here we are

Disagreement

"Geralt! There you are," Jaskier called as he raced up to the Witcher getting Roach ready. He held onto his lute to try to keep it from swinging from his shoulder too much. "You could have waited for me to pay off what I owed Zoltan for the room."

"I already told you that you aren't coming." Geralt mumbled as he fixed the saddle.

"And I already told you that I was." Jaskier countered. His hand wrapped around Geralt's wrist undoing one of the straps he had been fixing on Roach's saddle. Geralt huffed at the action. "Imagine what a ballad this would be, Geralt. To sing of the time you concurred a djinn and win rather than succumb to the wills of it because you were too lost in the violet eyes of a crazy witch." Jaskier moved his hand to brush it along Roach.

"Don't touch Roach." Geralt grumbled, moving the bard's hand away from stroking the brown horse.

"Oh, you're no fun." Jaskier denounced. He let his hand fall to instead stroke over the case of the lute. "Now back to the ballad. Imagine it." Jaskier thanked the stable hand that brought him Pegasus. He hopped atop of the horse in times with Geralt mounting Roach. "Imagine the tales they will sing using your name. How you defeated the ever-changing djinn. How you slayed the monstrous manifesting smoke. How you pirouetted a planned dance to swing your sword into its malformed being. How-"

"Jaskier." Geralt interrupted as he began to head in the direction his Witcher senses were leading him.

"What?" Jaskier asked. He kicked Pegasus in an attempt to catch up with the Witcher who had already gotten ahead of him.

"Shut up."

Jaskier huffed and pressed his lips together. He rode beside Geralt in silence, for a moment. When they crossed the bridge to leave the heart of the town, the bard turned to look at the Witcher once more with full intent to start a conversation. However, he frowned when he saw the frown the white-haired man perpetually placed on his face. The scowl never faded from view as the troubadour looked at him. 

The bard began to wonder what went on in his mind. What demons did Geralt face when he closed his eyes? Did he suffer flashbacks that plagued his mind and chased away any semblance of possible mental relief? He was always seen as a warrior, but did he want to be? Had Geralt ever wanted to even be a Witcher? Geralt had never even told him how he had become a Witcher. 

"Speak." Geralt grumbled. He couldn't stand the staring eyes anymore, Jaskier assumed. 

"Oh, um," Jaskier stammered over his words. He cracked a smile but didn't try to continue. He had no idea how to even voice how he was thinking about the Witcher's inner demons to the man himself. Instead, he simply turned back to looking at the path and fell into silence. 

Jaskier didn't need Witcher senses to tell that Geralt was staring at him. He could practically feel those amber eyes piercing his doublet. In an attempt to distract his mind, Jaskier began to stroke his horse. The bard pressed his lips together as he chewed on the back of his bottom lip. 

"I don't think I've ever seen you speechless." Geralt commented. 

Jaskier glanced over to the man and was rather surprised to see the smirk the Witcher was obviously trying to suppress. In an attempt to project confidence, Jaskier scoffed and rolled his eyes. He sat a little taller on Pegasus. 

"Me? Speechless?" Jaskier gave a smug smirk. "I've never been speechless a day in my life."

"Then why didn't you speak when I told you to?" 

"I didn't have anything to say." 

"That's being speechless." 

  "Not having anything to say and being speechless is completely different. One is a product of intense thought, and one is a product of extreme cowardice." Jaskier adjusted on his saddle as he glanced up at the sky. Snow had begun to fall around them.