Toss a Coin to Your Witcher (Completed)

Sleeping Alone

"Geralt, where exactly are we going?" Cirilla asked, hugging her cloak tighter about herself as she struggled to keep up with the Witcher. Once the flames had died down, Geralt had searched the rubble, eyes stining with tears he refused to shed, and put the bodies to rest. 
"There were only three bodies." He said now, as if it explained anything. He couldn't spare time to explain it to Cirrila, he had a mission, to find his Bard. When he had seen the set of footprints that he recognised to be Jaskier's stupid damn boots with no grip he had actually laughed, feeling so overwhelmed with relief that he didn't know how to act. He'd set off following them immediately with Ciri following close behing on Roach, the few belonging he possessed in  saddle bag by her foot.
"There were only three of them? Zola, Nadbor and Yurga." Cirilla sighed, and though Geralt could hear the grief in her voice, to put it simply, he didn't have time for it. When he'd thought about finding Cirilla, Jaskier had always been there to be loving and gentle while he would be gruff and protective. That was how it was meant to be. He was no good with emotional vulnerability. 
"I wasn't travelling alone." Was all he said.
"Jaskier..." She realised. Geralt made a non-committal 'Hm' and crouched down to inspect the mud. Where was he running to? Or from? There had been no sign of who'd burned down the cabin, so maybe they were still on the Bard's trail? "Who are they Geralt?"
"Cirilla-" Geralt groaned, really not wishing to discuss this topic, but rather continue searching for his moron.
"Ciri." She said, a half-smile on her lips.
"Ciri, "Geralt corrected and stood to face her. "Who he is doesn't matter, just know that I need to find him and that I'm sorry I have to drag you along but it's safer than leaving you."
"He huh? That's something at least. Is he a Witcher?" Ciri asked, stroking Roach absentmindedly. Geralt blatantly ignored her questions and instead listened for some sign of Jaskier. The woods were eerily silent. The ground at the forest floor was hard packed dirt that didn't show the signs of foot treads, so the prints had been gradually disappearing, now all Geralt had to go on was the crushed weeds or occasionally snapped twig or branch. The sky was darkening and he knew eventually he would have to give up on this - for the day anyway - and camp down, but he couldn't bare the thought of sleeping alone after all this time.
After another hour of following these small signs, and no hope of seeing the Bard, Geralt called it an evening and lit a fire for Ciri to warm herself by. He returned to the camp with a rabbit and cooked it for her, adamantly refusing to say a word on the matter of Jaskier. Eventually she gave in, mostly due to her exhaustion, and laid down, pillowing her head on her arm and falling asleep in minutes. Geralt leant back on Roach where she lay in the red leaves that had coated the ground, and stroked her mane while she slept. Only he remained awake, staring into the flames and remembering the last time he'd camped out under the stars:

Jaskier sat between Geralt's legs, leaning back on his chest while he idly twanged the strings of his lute, a tune Geralt didn't recognise but spoke of the calming love that swept over him then. He wrapped his arms around the Bard and rested his head on his shoulder so that brown hair tickled his nose where it fell just past Jaskier's chin. Geralt didn't admit that he preferred Jaskier's longer hair and the rugged look it gave him, but Jaskier knew it anyway. 
Neither of them spoke, but Geralt knew Jaskier would be thinking over a million lyrics for the way the fire danced or the feel of the Witcher's breath on his neck, it was how his mind worked, and it was rare that Geralt allowed him these romantic moments.

He pressed a soft kiss to the Bard's neck and breathed in the sweet smell of him, eyes drooping as he relaxed and felt the tiredness sweeping over him. He'd fallen asleep to the hum of Jaskier's song and a feeling of complete safety and warmth from within and without, and his Bard had sat there for awake hours just so that his movement didn't wake Geralt. 

"Why are you not sleeping?" Ciri asked, and Geralt's gaze snapped over to her. He hadn't realised she was awake again.
"I can't." Geralt didn't think she would understand, so he simply left it at that. 
"Worried about Jaskier?" Geralt just hummed in response; she was partly right at least, but the other part was that after almost 12 years of sleeping beside the Bard's warm body, or in his arms, he wasn't sure he knew how to sleep without him. "You must be close."
You have no idea, He wanted to say, but instead he grumbled: "He'll get himself killed without me. He's a moron." And though it wasn't strictly incorrect, he meant it with love.