Weirdly Quiet

[deerna]

Rating: SAFE
Fandom: The Witcher
Relationship: Geralt/Jaskier
Tags: First Kiss, Getting Together, Starvation, Serious Injuries
Wordcount: 684
Notes: Scritto per Explorers di Lande di Fandom: un fanwork a rating SAFE con prompt "silenzio" e in cui erano permesse max 2 battute di dialogo.

Summary:
Geralt is always the quiet type, but it's when that weird type of quiet that Jaskier gets worried.

Excerpt:

Geralt had been weirdly quiet when Jaskier had fallen sick with a fever and he’d been forced to nurse him back to health. He hadn’t realized the witcher hadn’t been sleeping because of it until days later, when he finally felt better and could take a bath by himself, and upon re-entering the room he’d found Geralt curled up on the floor next to his saddlebags, a change of clothes clutched to his chest like a child would a favorite toy.

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Geralt was weirdly quiet when they stopped to make camp that night.

Admittedly it wasn’t a very weird thing in itself—Geralt never was the chatty type in the best of circumstances, let alone when they were tired from travelling and bored with the plain landscape that they were going through. But Jaskier couldn’t help but worry sometimes, when his silence assumed that particular nuance: usually, weirdly quiet meant that Geralt was hiding something and that something was something that Jaskier was always totally justified to get worried about.

Geralt had been weirdly quiet that time after the contract with the vampire; bruxas were too quick and too dangerous and too unpredictable for him to be watching the fight, so Jaskier stayed behind and waited for him at the inn. It was only in the evening, after they’d been riding for half a day, that Jaskier found the huge, ugly bruising all over the witcher’s side, where his ribs were broken and his hipbone got cracked for having been thrown against a wall.

Geralt had been weirdly quiet the last week of that autumn when they hadn’t seen each other for the whole season and had been time to go on their separate ways again. It had been a bad year for the witcher, and if Jaskier hadn’t heard his stomach make empty noises he would’ve gone hungry for the gods know how much longer before he finally got to Kaer Morhen.

Geralt had been weirdly quiet — but hilariously mulish — that time Jaskier dragged him at a banquet where he was supposed to be performing at. The witcher had frowned the whole time as the food got served course after course, until he’d finally unbuttoned the doublet during the last dish, undershirt showing obscenely down to the waist of his braies, the whole table eyeing him in distaste. Jaskier had to drag him away before they caused a diplomatic incident.

Geralt had been weirdly quiet when Jaskier had fallen sick with a fever and he’d been forced to nurse him back to health. He hadn’t realized the witcher hadn’t been sleeping because of it until days later, when he finally felt better and could take a bath by himself, and upon re-entering the room he’d found Geralt curled up on the floor next to his saddlebags, a change of clothes clutched to his chest like a child would a favorite toy.

Geralt had been weirdly quiet the last time the people at the village had called him a monster and a freak and had refused to pay him a fair sum for his work, even after Jaskier had sung the song and had yelled at them and had cursed their mothers and their ancestors. It had broken Jaskier’s heart, to see him so closed off and dejected, exhaustion and shame marring every line of his body.

Even going back with his mind to relive the whole day, this time Jaskier couldn’t recall anything that might have upset the witcher: they had stayed at a comfortable inn, where Jaskier had checked him over for injuries after the last contract and had found none; he’d spent the evening singing and performing until they could afford a room and a big dinner for both of them; he was wearing a new armor that he’d managed to buy thanks to the generous bonus from the village’s alderman for a job well done, and yet—

Geralt was weirdly quiet as he gave Roach a brush down, as he lit the fire, as he spread the bedrolls on the ground, as he skinned the rabbit that was their dinner, as he ate in silence next to Jaskier, his lips pressed in a thin line and his gaze fixed on the flames before them.

“Are you alright?” Jaskier gave in, when he couldn’t stand it anymore, heart tight with worry.

Geralt was weirdly quiet as he slowly breathed out, put a gloved hand on Jaskier’s cheek and leaned in for a kiss.