Herbal Monographs

. . . and Rose

Wild rose softens the areas that we tense to protect ourselves, unraveling emotional tension patterns that get locked in the body. Rose naturally works in places where 'flow' is impeded. Rose unwinds the stuck-ness that is often rooted in old grief, old trauma.

-Herbal Monograph on Rose, HerbMentor

Lullaby tunes graced the air with vibrant beauty, kissed by the crackle of the fire, while the clouds over the forest canopy sealed the night in close--just the glow of the fire and illuminated tree-trunk sentries. Geralt leaned against the saddle on the ground, propped half-sitting. Jaskier rested against him, head on his thigh, as he played.

A few more notes filled the stillness as Jaskier ended the song, and then he touched his hand to the strings to quiet them. After a moment, he sat up, taking his pleasant weight and warmth with him, and rolled onto his knees to put the instrument away. Geralt watched him work the latches and lay the instrument carefully down. He touched the soundboard briefly with his fingertips before lowering the lid.

A private benediction. Something so simple. So him. Geralt felt himself vibrating still with the pleasure of the melody and the grace of its sweet airs.

"I love you," he said quietly.

The fire popped as Jaskier went still, then slowly turned to look at him. Deep shadows cut across his face, but Geralt could see wide, night-dark eyes.

"What?"

"In Houndstil," he said, and shifted against the hard ground, "you said I didn't love you. I told you that wasn't true." He lifted one shoulder, holding Jaskier's gaze. "But never said what was."

The shadows altered into a small frown, and the bard moved closer, shaking his head a little. "Geralt, that was months ago."

He couldn't tell from the look or the tone if that was accusation or bewilderment--if he owed an apology alongside. But Jaskier's pulse quickened, and his chest rose and fell with light breaths more tentative than angry.

"I know," he offered, voice rough even to his own ears. He gripped his hands searching for a way to say that the starless sky and the rustling leaves and the crack of the fire and the beauty of the song and Jaskier's scent and closeness were the alchemy of a feeling well-brewed and stabbed him with homesickness for the present. Like he lived it and lost it at once and thought this, this sweet slipping of a moment was the heart of the thing.

He ached with the emptiness of the words.

But Jaskier saved him, like he so often did.

"Say it again." And swallowed hard, staring at him, glowing in campfire light.

A smile eased across Geralt's face, the tension ebbing from his chest. "I love you," he said, blinking slowly. The words rolled out like warmed honey, and he tipped his head, watching the bard's face. "I have for years," he admitted. "For decades." His palms opened and turned skyward in a shrug. "Until the tavern, I always thought you knew."

Jaskier's expression transformed.

He hesitated over a smile as his pulse rocketed. Eyes filled. And a dented laugh bubbled out of him. A sore-joyous thing that seemed to hurt and glow at once. He blinked out tears as he shook and clamped a hand over his mouth as the laughter rolled into a sob.

Jaskier tipped forward, burying his face in Geralt's chest and wrapping his arms around shoulders and middle. He sucked a breath and laughed and sobbed in dizzying fractals.

Geralt held him, cautiously, then harder. Kissed his hair in stunned silence. And rubbed warmth along his spine through the thick, rough fabric of his borrowed shirt. Eventually, Jaskier sniffed and pulled away far enough to look at him. Wiped at his eyes.