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The Continent was a vast and sometimes terrible place. It could be wonderful, and Jaskier had seen some incredible things whilst travelling by Geralt’s side, far more than if he’d just been stuck in a court, certainly more than one Valdo Marx of Cidaris. Honestly, it had all been amazing. Jaskier’s life had been more exciting than he ever could have imagined. The young lad from Lettenhoven, actually living his dreams, and in the best company. Yes, Geralt could be a little grumpy at times but he was possibly the most loyal friend that Jaskier had ever had. They just fit together like chalk and cheese, total opposites but the best of friends.
Jaskier couldn’t be more grateful.
If he wasn’t currently dead on his feet.
The Continent was vast. It was bloody massive, and it could take weeks to travel between villages at times especially as he didn’t have a horse and Geralt refused to share Roach so he was fucking exhausted. His feet burned in his shoes and he couldn’t wait to make camp.
“Geralt?” he called, trying not to whine, but he really was ever so tired.
“Hmm?”
“It’s getting dark?” Jaskier suggested, even though dusk probably wasn’t due for another hour or so. He didn’t like slowing Geralt down, never wanting to be a burden, but the witcher would understand. This was like some unspoken code between them. Sometimes, when Geralt was tired of sleeping in the woods he would suggest that they visit a town, for Jaskier’s sake. Jaskier was happy to go along with it. The witcher never liked to ask for things that he wanted but he would do it for Jaskier, and similarly Jaskier was good at spinning his own wants and needs into something practical.
It wasn’t perfect, but it suited them.
Geralt grunted and soon enough he pulled them into the forest to make camp. Their routine was set in stone at that point, dancing around each other whilst they sorted out bedrolls, logs and Roach. And then it was just the two of them, companions on the road. Normally Jaskier would pull out his lute and sing for a while, staring up at the stars and letting nature inspire him in the fading light. Geralt would grumble and grunt about it, but when he didn’t realise Jaskier was looking, Jaskier would catch him smiling fondly.
It was peaceful.
It was free.
It was them.
But tonight Jaskier was too tired to play. He just watched the flames dance in the campfire, enjoying the heat against his skin. On nights like this they sat in silence. Geralt was content to go about his nightly routine without words, and Jaskier just let the sounds of the forest wash over him. It was rare that he enjoyed silence, but with Geralt it was easy. There wasn’t a burning need to fill every second with nonsensical words, he could… he could just be himself. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d felt like that… around anyone else.
Jaskier sighed and rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder, letting his eyes flutter shut. Distantly he heard Geralt calling his name, in his very grumpy witcher manner, but Jaskier just smiled, floating and happy.
When he awoke to the sounds of birds bringing in the new day, he was tucked up on his bedroll with Geralt’s heavy woollen cloak covering him. He chuckled to himself and buried his head into the fabric. Most people saw witcher and were afeared, but when Jaskier looked at Geralt he saw his best friend in the whole wide world, and he wouldn’t change that for all the Continent.