“Geralt!” The bard’s voice carried like a siren’s call over the noise of the battle.
Geralt pulled his sword from the drowner he was facing and spun in a pirouette to lob off the next one’s head before it could attack. His senses focused and he searched through the crowd of dead drowners, looking for the bright lilac doublet that Jaskier was donning. He growled as he spotted Jaskier on the ground. He should not be on the ground and he should not be so close to the fight. A drowner caught Geralt on the arm and he hissed as he spun again to slash the monster’s torso open. He did a quick spin with his sword held high and ready but thankfully that had been the last one. The battle was over. He charged over to where Jaskier lay on the ground. “Jaskier! Fuck.” A patch of blood was blooming amongst the soft lilac on Jaskier’s stomach. “I told you to run!”
Jaskier whined. “I tried, they cut me off. Fuck, Geralt.”
Geralt tore apart the expensive fabric in seconds and inspected the wound as he pulled Jaskier into his arms. “Fuck.”
“Oh gods, I’m dying aren’t I? Geralt, I’m too beautiful to die!”
He was too beautiful die. Geralt agreed with that, but unfortunately, in Geralt’s experience that meant shit all.
Jaskier began to wriggle in Geralt’s arms, aggravating the wound and causing it to bleed more. “Stay still!” Geralt growled. “You’re making it worse.”
“I will not spend my last minutes on the Continent on the dirt!” Jaskier snapped and then winced as his twisting pulled on the wound. . “Oh bloody hell. That hurt!”
Geralt sighed and ran his finger along the edge of the claw mark. It was deep and bleeding profusely. Jaskier wasn’t wrong. If they didn’t fix this fast then Jaskier would likely bleed out. The image of Jaskier lying pale and cold in his arms was not one he enjoyed. “I need to stitch it.” Geralt muttered. “Now.”
“Won’t that hurt?” Jaskier pouted but Geralt could see the glimmer of fear in his usually bright eyes. His face had gone incredibly pale already and looked like he was about to be sick.
Geralt frowned as the idea hit him. “Maybe not.”
“Maybe… Geralt? What, what does that even mean?” His voice was shaking now, barely above a whisper.
Geralt hummed, trying to keep the growing panic out of his voice. “I can take away the pain, with Axii. It doesn’t have to hurt.”
Jaskier looked down at his stomach, where Geralt’s hands were pressing against the wound to try and slow the bleeding as best as he could. Jaskier choked and looked away. Geralt swallowed. His own hands were covered in the bard’s blood. It was a sight he’d hoped he’d never see. Jaskier nodded weakly, still not looking at Geralt; eyes closed tightly as he bit his bottom lip. “Do it.”
Geralt nodded as he made the sign of Axii. “You don’t feel any pain now.” He murmured quietly.
Jaskier’s breathing eased almost immediately and his face smoothed into a blissful expression. “Thank you…” He practically purred. “Oh that’s. that’s much better.”
“Hmm.” Geralt carefully laid Jaskier down on the ground and brushed his fringe from his forehead before going to get his healing supplies from Roach’s saddlebags. It didn’t take long to stitch up the wound, and he helped Jaskier drink a healing potion they’d brought for emergencies last time they’d encountered a healer. Jaskier had a tendency to get himself into trouble and Geralt had just known something like this would happen.
Jaskier wrinkled his nose as he gulped down the brew. “Urgh. That is. That’s disgusting.”
Geralt rolled his eyes. “You lost a lot of blood. Drink.”
Jaskier grimaced but finished the last of the potion. “I feel fine.” He huffed. “Better than I have in ages in fact. There was this weird feeling in my chest just here.” Jaskier held his hand over where his heart was in his chest. “It’s been all achey for a while, every time I look at you, which you know, just isn’t fair, because you are so beautiful to look at.”
Geralt stilled at the bard’s words, tumbling from his lips as if he were drunk off his head. He knew that feeling well, it was the same feeling Geralt had when he looked at Jaskier, especially when the bard was off wooing barmaids and stablehands. “Jaskier.” He said in a low voice, a warning to his friend before he said something he would regret.
Jaskier sighed with a soft smile on his face and stared up at the sky as Geralt finished bandaging his stomach. “That ache has gone now. Thank you, Geralt.”
Geralt hummed, the ache in his own chest only intensifying at Jaskier’s words. “You’re welcome.”