Try, Please Try For Me

One Of The Pack

"You're sure you're alright?"

Jaskier sighs for the third time that morning, rolling his eyes. "I already told you I am. A little sword training isn't going to kill me."

No, Geralt thinks, but I could.

"Oh don't give me that look," Jaskier says, placing his hands on his hips.

"What look?"

"That brooding one you're doing right now. The 'I am a ruthless monster who will only hurt you' look. You already know you can't scare me off, darling, so stop worrying about it."

"I wasn't--"

"You were."

Ok, fine, maybe he was. But it's not his fault. This is pretty fucking nerve wracking and Geralt doesn't want to accidentally run his husband through with a sword. (At least not in a way that's free from innuendo)

"Look," Jaskier says, holding Geralt's gaze. "I've mastered all the stances and forms, completed all the drills you ask me to, fought you with my training sword hundreds of times, and done my sets with the real one. I'm ready, Geralt. Eskel, Lambert, and Vesemir say I am too. And my head is completely healed now so you can't keep using that as an excuse to delay my training."

Geralt sighs.

Jaskier is right. So are the others. Lambert's been pestering Geralt to start him on actual sparring for weeks now. And as much as he hates to admit it, at this point it's not that Jaskier isn't ready to fight with a real sword, it's that Geralt is too paranoid to let him.

"If you won't spar with me, I could always ask Lambert."

"No--" Geralt says, a little too quickly. "Don't go to Lambert. I'll do it." He draws his sword and Jaskier grins, doing the same. "But if for any reason you need to stop, you tell me, okay?"

"Stop fretting, dear. You need to trust that I know what I can take." Then he adds, "but I will."

And that's good enough. Geralt does trust Jaskier. It's him that he's worried about. But he knows that he can't keep Jaskier away from danger forever, and that means he needs to trust the bard's word.

"We'll start with a standard match," Geralt says. "Whole arena is fair terrain. It ends when one of us is disarmed or immobilized."

Jaskier nods.

"Normally when we spar, the wolves fight till the first draw of blood. We can work up to that if you want to, but for now, we're sticking to the safer option."

Jaskier rolls his eyes, teasing. "If we must."

"I'll let you have the first strike," Geralt says.

The bard grins. "Oh Geralt, you gentleman."

-------------------------------

Geralt somehow manages to get through their sparring match without killing his husband.

He felt like he was walking on eggshells the entire time, but they made it through and the bard is alive and that's what matters.

When they clammer back into the keep for lunch, Jaskier is looking worse for wear, but other than a few scrapes and bruises-- a common result of training-- he's doing fine.

Lambert gives the two of them a toothy grin when Jaskier sits down across from him, the bard's expression noticeably vacant as it often is after training until he gets his food. "Hey Buttercup, you look like you got trampled by a horse. Did Geralt finally stop being a stick in the mud and spar with you?"