Geraskier Oneshots

A Fine Mount (Part One)

"Geralt."

"Geralt?"

"Geralt!"

The Witcher started, then groaned at the pain even that small action had brought.

"You have to get up, Geralt, please."  His tone was commanding, but Geralt heard the slight shake it had to it.  It frightened no one, especially not Geralt.

"Just try, man!  My God, please," It was almost a whine by now.

Ah. Jaskier.

He opened his eyes, and immediately closed them again, a sharp pain shooting through his head like a barbed arrow.  Again, the low groan accompanied this action.  

"Militele willing, if you don't get up right this very second, I swear I-" 

"Jaskier." He growled.

"What?"

Now he again opened his eyes, and instead of an overpowering pain, a dull ache seated itself right between his eyes.  It, however, was manageable, and allowed him to push himself into a sitting position (with Jaskier's hand hovering protectively near his lower back).

"There you are.  Just a bit..."  There was urgency in his voice, and something told Geralt it didn't have to do with him.  He grabbed Geralt's hand, and put the other on his back, and helped to pull him up.  Of course, Geralt had to do it himself, considering Jaskier was shaped like a knife and about half as thick around.  "Alright.  Great, uh, great job. Now-"

He was cut off by a gruff shout.  Nilfgaard soldiers were visible through the low-branched trees.

"Ohhhh, oh no, Geralt, let's go!"  Jaskier grabbed Geralt's hand and yanking him in the opposite direction.

Geralt's leg began to throb painfully, the old injury flaring back up, as it often did.  He began to limp, the weaker leg dragging behind him.  "Jaskier, stop.  I don't think I'm going to make it much-"

"No, stop it, you ass, we're almost there.  Hurry up."  Jaskier's fear had apparently gone, replaced by determination.

So Geralt just followed him.  

Eventually, he slowed and doubled up, gasping.  "I... managed to... get our... horses. They're just... over... there,"

Geralt stumbled, and if Jaskier hadn't straightened up right at that very second, he would have fallen. 

The pair heard a scream, and looked through the treeline to see a soldier brutally slashing through a woman with a sword stained dark with blood.

Jaskier looked back and forth at the two horses they had, who were both peacefully grazing, seemingly unaware of the cacophony behind them.  Roach looked up at them and flicked her ear.  "Right.  Um... I'd prefer you'd ride Pegasus."

The Witcher looked at him inquisitively.  "Why?"

"Well... Roach is... Roach."

Geralt smirked and allowed Jaskier to help him onto Pegasus.  "Roach is always a bitch.  Perhaps I should trade her for this permanently."

Pegasus snorted as if to confirm, oblivious to Jaskier's sudden silence at the idea of trading the mild tempered ride he was used to for the reddish Roach. 

Jaskier mounted, and Roach, for once, took it, even as he fastened his lute to the flap.  But when he clucked his tongue, she tossed her head fiercely.  He blinked, obviously unaccustomed to a horse who acted this way straight out of the gate, but gathered up his reins and flexed her back and forth so she would dip her head.  She fought it, but, upon realizing Jaskier wasn't going to stop, dipped her head dutifully.  Her head shot back up when Jaskier loosened the reins, but she no longer strained against his hands.