Chapter Text
“Do you think,” Jaskier said, “that Yennefer is going to be really, truly unbearable about this?”
Geralt turned to look at him. They were on the Path back to Kaer Morhen, probably a few more days out, by his mark. Roach was meandering ahead, so used to the trek that she probably could have made it without him. The air held a sharp bite to it that promised colder days ahead, but for now the sun still shone merrily above them, keeping the frosts at bay. They had begun heading north well before the chill had truly begun to set in, both ready for the comfort of warm lodgings and old friends. Geralt smiled, thinking about seeing Ciri again soon.
Triss had no doubt told Yennefer that Geralt planned to marry the bard to grant him greater longevity, but they’d not yet told anyone that they were actually married now. Geralt could feel his own golden ring bumping against his chest, nestled next to his medallion. Jaskier’s was hidden under layers of fur and leather, Geralt having bullied him into wearing gloves now that they were in cooler climes.
He thought about Jaskier’s question for a moment. “Yes,” he finally settled on. “But she’ll be pleased, too.”
Jaskier knocked their shoulders together as they walked, reaching out to take Geralt’s hand in his bulky gloved one. He had begun doing that a lot lately—just holding Geralt’s hand, or sitting against his side when they stopped to rest. Always touching, even more so than before. It never failed to make a slow, pleased warmth spread through Geralt’s chest. It was a good thing he couldn’t blush, or this winter would be a nightmare of teasing.
As if it wasn’t going to be already.
“I admit I’m a bit worried she’ll turn me into an eel or something.” Jaskier pulled them to a stop as they rounded a bend on the mountain path. The valley spread out below them, the golden fields and dense reds and oranges of the forest winking up at them. “I’ve never been up when there were still leaves on the trees,” Jaskier said, gripping Geralt’s hand tighter. “It’s beautiful.”
Geralt kept his eyes on Jaskier, smiling fondly. “Hmm,” he said by way of agreement.
Jaskier glanced at him, and then rolled his eyes, though he was smiling as a blush spilled across his cheeks. “Oh, stop. You’re incorrigible.”
Geralt shifted closer, until he was smiling into Jaskier’s flushed skin. “Mm. I have it on good authority that you don’t mind.” He nosed at Jaskier’s hair. It was deep brown again, no grey in sight, and the skin around his eyes was unmarred by wrinkles. They might return one day, Geralt knew, but no time soon. His own wrinkles had grown a bit deeper, his bad knee a little more twingy, his reflexes a bit slower. Jaskier had been concerned the first week, as Geralt adjusted to the sudden onset of more human physiology.
It was worth it. Jaskier was here with him, and Geralt couldn’t regret a little stiffness in his joints if it meant he got to have this.
Jaskier turned his head until he could press their lips together briefly, pulling away with another smile, cheeks still flaming. “We should keep going,” he said. “Roach is starting to lose us.”
It was true; Roach had continued on heedless of their pause, clearly disinterested in her master’s preoccupation. Geralt laughed, feeling lighter than he had since he’d first laid eyes on Ciri in those woods. “Wouldn’t want to get shown up by a horse,” he agreed, turning back towards the path. Jaskier stayed close to his side the rest of the day.
*
Yennefer, as it turned out, was not the one they needed to be concerned about.
“I knew it!” Ciri crowed, clinging to Geralt’s shoulders. As soon as they’d walked through the front gates she’d launched herself into his arms. “You were so mopey when he wasn’t around.”
Jaskier snickered beside him. Their good mood was infectious, and Geralt found himself smiling as he lowered Ciri back to the ground. “Don’t say it,” he warned Ciri in good humor. “He doesn’t need the ego boost.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jaskier drawled, giving Ciri a wink. “You’ve already told me you loved me six times since this morning. A fellow might start to get ideas.”
Geralt squinted at him. “Have you been counting?”
“Yuck,” Ciri said with relish. Behind them, Yennefer made a shockingly childish gagging sound.
Jaskier flushed up to his hairline, though he still seemed pleased with himself. Geralt watched the color progress with interest.
“Well, I’m glad neither of you died in this frankly suicidal endeavor.” Yennefer stepped forward to join their small circle. She was as stunning as ever, her dark hair pinned away from her face to expose the long line of her neck. “The others were taking bets.”
Geralt sighed, wishing he could be more surprised. “So they all know?”
“Triss won the pot,” Yennefer informed him gleefully. “Though they don’t know that yet. The rest of us were less confident in your collective capacity for forthright communication.”
“Are you going to have a real wedding?” Ciri demanded, hands coming up to rest on her hips. “It’s not fair that we all had to miss it. I didn’t even get to make your crowns!”
“We didn’t wear any,” Geralt assured her. Jaskier had turned to look at him, radiating excitement. Geralt avoided his gaze. “We’ll think about it,” he hedged, and felt Jaskier’s hand reach out to squeeze his briefly.
Ciri hissed in victory regardless. She snagged Jaskier’s free hand in her own, tugging lightly. “You have to tell me everything.”
Jaskier grinned at her, and the warmth that filled Geralt’s chest at the sight of the two of them threatened to overwhelm him. “Well you know our witcher of few words will do it no justice,” Jaskier agreed, and Geralt’s huff was lost under the sound of their laughter.
*
Later, after they’d received wry congratulations from Vesemir, after Jaskier had regaled the others with a hilarious retelling of their strange coming together, after they’d sent Ciri off to bed and retired to their own room—just one now—Jaskier spoke.
“We don’t have to,” he murmured, pressing the words into Geralt’s neck. They weren’t really trying to sleep, but they were both too tired for anything more strenuous. Instead they lay tangled together under the quilts, skin to skin. Jaskier’s head was tucked under Geralt’s jaw, and he amused himself by drawing ambling patterns along Jaskier’s back. It had become his favorite way to pass the time. He felt drunk off of it every time, hazy with comfort and affection.
He hummed, taking a moment to process Jaskier’s words. The soft kiss Jaskier pressed to his shoulder didn’t help. “What do you mean?” he rumbled, enjoying the way it made Jaskier shiver against him.
“The whole wedding thing,” Jaskier said. “I know Ciri seemed excited, but—I don’t know if you would want to reenact all that in front of everyone. We don’t need to.” He brought his free hand up to trace a finger along the ring that rested in the hollow of Geralt’s throat. “This is enough for me.”
“I know,” Geralt smiled, shifting slightly so he could meet Jaskier’s eyes. “But you want to.”
Jaskier wriggled uncomfortably, flushing. He did that a lot nowadays; Geralt was hopelessly enamored with it. With him. “You know me,” Jaskier shrugged, half explanation, half apology.
“Hey,” Geralt said, capturing Jaskier’s chin so that he could press a chaste kiss to his lips. The tension melted out of him immediately, gratifying. “Anything you want, remember? I don’t mind. I’ll marry you as many times as you want me to.”
Jaskier beamed then, and their next kiss was sloppy with it. Geralt couldn’t remember being so happy in his entire life. “Don’t say that,” Jaskier warned with a grin, joy bubbling up underneath his words. “We’ve got decades and decades now. I’m probably going to want you to marry me a lot. Any way I can think of.”
They had time. He would propose to Jaskier in a hundred different ways, court him with gifts and sweet words, bind him with foreign phrases and silver rings and anything else he could think of. It didn’t matter; they were already one heart. But he wanted it, wanted to see Jaskier’s surprise and joy over and over. “Let’s start with this one,” he said thickly, brushing Jaskier’s hair away from his face tenderly. “I love you. Will you marry me?”
Jaskier laughed as he answered, “Yes, I love you too, yes,” and Geralt knew it was only the beginning.