#geraskier ficlet

[inanoldhousewrites]

Geralt limps.

Of all the changes between this journey and all their others, this is the thing that stands out to Jaskier. Not the new Roach, not Milva striding beside them, not the fact that instead of wandering wherever the next contract calls them they have an urgent mission, not the fact that everything is different about their relationships to Yennefer. No, it is only this fact.

Geralt limps.

When they first started traveling together, Jaskier was the one who was prone to limping: his boots were truly not made for traversing long distances. Blistered abounded, accompanied by the occasional misstep leading to a tender ankle. But Geralt, would tred on, surefooted as anything.

This time, Geralt limps.

Geralt has been one of the constants in Jaskier's life, one of the unchangeable facets. Find Geralt, follow him, sing about him, never doubt him for a second. Jaskier used to be able to keep time by Geralt's sure and consistent footfalls.

But now, Geralt limps.

As a witcher, Geralt's healing is both accelerated and magnified, bolstered by his potions, which would kill a normal man. Jaskier once saw Geralt stuff his own entrails back into his body and sew the wound shut. His ability to heal from almost anything was as unquestionable in Jaskier's mind as the sun rising.

And yet, Geralt limps.

Jaskier was a young man when he first met Geralt, and in the ensuing decades has not been untouched by time. He wakes with aches now, stiffness that would have been unthinkable in those early days. The road of aging stretched before him, the inescapable path of slowing, weakening, and eventually having to stay behind, while Geralt, seemingly unaging, walked on.

But instead, Jaskier walks easily and Geralt limps.

Geralt has always had one unswerving objective: walk the Path. Kill monsters, collect coin. Nothing could move him from the Path, not adoring bards, not alluring sorceresses. And then a young princess compelled him to walk a different path. She became the sole objective. It is to her that Geralt is going, and nothing will keep him from her, not time, not injury, not as long as he has breath. And where Geralt goes, Jaskier is determined to be by his side.

So Geralt limps on and Jaskier keeps pace behind him.

[all-or-nothing-baby]

LAVENDER MILK AND BLACKBERRY WINE

.

The first time they share a room together at an inn, Jaskier is, unsurprisingly, completely at ease with—well. With everything.

The bard is so comfortable in these surroundings, obviously much more at home with soft bed linens and oil lamps than a patch of damp grass and only the light of a yellow-y moon. Jask is seemingly still so at ease with Geralt, too, even in such close quarters. He's apparently also completely unbothered by his own stark nakedness as he now shamelessly strips down entirely, readying himself for a warm and replenishing lavender milk bath and a cup or ten of blackberry wine.

The witcher watches the bard, whilst trying not to.

Geralt's cat-eyes very much struggle to stop following pale and slender limbs as they swirl around like dragonflies in the fragrant steam that now sits heavy and hot in the midst of their small room. Jaskier prances and preens and eventually melts like jam in porridge into the bath's soothing waters. The eternal bard then, of course, proceeds to prattle on and away about something and nothing and everything, occasionally breaking out into broken verses of half‐baked songs.

Geralt—sat sharpening his blades, sometimes grunting in occasional outward acknowledgement, sometimes not—keeps trying his damned best not to look.

He fails.

Jaskier sips long and often from his cup, the wine leaving his full mouth lacquered. Plum‐stained. Inviting.

Geralt watches still, swallowing whole cupfuls at a time of the sweetened fruit wine, thickly and far too fast.

The bard is then nonchalantly asking Geralt if Geralt, “Would you like to maybe join me in the tub?”  

Geralt pulls a face with an air of faux-disdain, huffing and puffing his cowedly dismissal. 

Very obviously trying not to smile, Jaskier purses those berry‐smacked lips of his and merely blinks at Geralt for a few moments, just. Looking. Or looking back, seeing as Geralt—even red-faced and fuming as he is—simply cannot look away.

Then Jask concedes a small, secretive smile, like he knows something Geralt wants to, before he shrugs it off and says, not unkindly, "Suit yourself."

Geralt immediately hurls himself out of the room with the force of an enraged Archgriffin, the plucked excuse of purchasing more wine a most welcome gods-send.

"Hurry back, dear witcher!" Jaskier's giggling torment floats after him. 

On his way down the staircase to the main part of the inn, Geralt bites into his bottom lip so fucking hard he's tasting iron for the rest of the hellish evening.

[saw3amanda]

Jaskier makes it fifteen minutes down the mountain when he realizes he has something to say. This wouldn't end on Geralt's terms.

read an excerpt below

The gravel crunched as Jaskier began his descent down the mountain. The sound was nowhere near loud enough to drown out every cursed word Geralt had screamed, and Jaskier could feel them rolling in his head on repeat. 

Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you shoveling it!

Jaskier felt a pull in his muscles, lactic acid gathered from days' trek across rough terrain. He looked around quickly, and seeing no one, promptly fell to the ground. He propped his lute in his lap.

If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off of my hands.

His hands shook as he reached into his pack for his water skin. 

"Stupid fucking witchers," he mumbled then he took a swig. "Cowardly, emotionally useless fucking witchers.”

Jaskier shoved his water skin in his bag, and stood abruptly. He was in a small wooded area intersecting the path, surrounded by almost barren bushes and colorless trees. Whatever pale sunlight that made it past the clouds had to jump the next hurdle of filtering through the foliage, a weak imitation of a chiaroscuro patterned across the ground. The whole dim scene added a dramatic element that, for once, Jaskier did not want.

“How many times has he done this?” he said incredulously, hands running through his hair. “How many times has that perfidious bastard sent me away? And yet I came back! Every godsdamned time!”

A thought crossed through his mind. He’s come back too, I can’t forget that. 

And it was true, Geralt had returned more than once. Not nearly as much as Jaskier, but it can be said that soft apologies were whispered as he wrapped his arms around Jaskier in his bedroll. There were forehead kisses in the shape of I’m sorry , and small gifts left quietly in his pack, like a crow. Their first kiss had even been after an awkward apology dinner Geralt had made in their camp, until an impromptu rain shower interrupted it. 

“But it’s not enough,” he spoke quietly, remembering each harsh departure, each time Geralt had left in the middle of the night to not return for weeks, every angry word said between the two. Small gestures do not salve the end of a two-decade relationship, lovers or not. 

He looked down. His hands still shook, and he could feel the heat in his face, but he knew why now. This was anger .

Jaskier walked slowly back to his pack and pulled out a sheet of paper, his quill, and a small pot of ink. Broken prose and lyrics dotted one side of the paper, but the back was blank.

Jaskier smiled slightly as he set the quill to paper. Geralt wouldn’t get to dictate their end.

[stangalina]

Jaskier has found a very effective method of diffusing tense situations involving Geralt and the various dimwitted and judgemental humans they're forced to interact with.

Unfortunately, enacting this method has about a fifteen percent chance of earning him a knee to the sternum afterwards.

Though it is usually worth the risk, since this method works one hundred percent of the time.

The method is thus:

Sit on him.

It works like a charm.

Allow me to elaborate.

It's very difficult to be scared of someone, no matter how intimidating their features or bone-chilling their stare, when they just sit still and do not question a fully grown man flopping down onto their lap. It does wonders for a tense prejudiced atmosphere inside a tavern. Given, the mood only changes from tense to confused. But confused isn't planning to stone them both out of town so he'd consider it a win.

Getting to sit on Geralt's leather clad and very impressive thighs is also a win in of itself, obviously. The knee to the gut only comes if he pushes his luck or gets too handsy.

Different variants of this method also work. Such as wrapping himself around Geralt's abdomen like a stray piece of seaweed so the merchant will stop looking like he's about to piss himself and actually catch his breath long enough to sell them something.

Murmurs of Witchers being infested with infectious diseases can be silenced by Jaskier grasping Geralt's chin while talking to him in a show of feigned annoyance. Perhaps a gentle touch to the cheek if he's feeling tender, or a light tap on the nose to be playful.

Depending on how Geralt is feeling, he will either ignore Jaskier, or play along. It doesn't matter which one he chooses, as the method still works either way.

It's the people equivalent of putting a collar on a wolfhound and having its lead be held in the mouth of a perfectly groomed poodle wearing boots and a waistcoat. No less dangerous. But a hell of a lot less intimidating.

And if Jaskier is secretly using this method as an excuse to get Geralt more comfortable with physical contact for totally innocent reasons, then that's nobody's business but his own.

[fangirleaconmigo]

Geralt pointed at Dandelion and back to himself. “This snuck up on me you know.”

Dandelion tossed back a gulp of wine and set the glass down so he could stretch and look out over the countryside. “Did it now? Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“It’s true! Sometimes I’ll still look over at you buck naked or something and think, holy fuck. Me and Dandelion huh?” He chuckled and caressed Dandelion’s hand on the bench between them.

Dandelion snorted derisively. “Twenty years is a slow sneak, my love.”

“Oh, like you knew,” Geralt said.

Dandelion sniffed. “I did. I was just waiting for you to remove your head from your asshole.”

“Please,” Geralt gestured dismissively. “It’s like you always say. Love is an incomprehensible fucker.”

“I most certainly do not say that. If I did, I wouldn’t be very good at my job would I? Love is like a pear.”

“Yeah yeah. Come closer then and let me take a bite.” He grinned with a soft predatory glint.

Dandelion scooted over. “Well alright you sweet talker.” He planted a kiss on Geralt’s forehead.

“Not there,” groused Geralt, hand comfortably stroking Dandelion’s back.

“Oh,” said Dandelion. “Fine.” And he kissed Geralt on the nose.

Geralt made a noise of complaint.

“Alright,” said Dandelion. “You win.” He rewarded Geralt with a tender, scorching kiss on the lips.

Geralt withdrew from the kiss with a lopsided smile. “That’s it.”

Dandelion laughed. “Happy anniversary my love.”

“Happy anniversary sweetness.”

[ladyannemarie5]

Jaskier graduated summa cumme laude from the most prestigious university on the continent. He acts like a superficial and disinterested bard all the time, but from time to time he acts like what he is, a master of the 7 liberal arts: Grammar, Rhetoric, Logic, Geometry, Arithmetic, Music and Astronomy.

Geralt doesn't notice this until Radovid shows up.

Every now and then Jaskier would blurt out a nonsensical comment that usually isn't meant for anyone, other than Geralt with his great ear, to hear.

The prince, hears everything that comes out of the bard's mouth and it is surprising when he laughs at whatever Jaskier said to the bard's amazement. Most amazingly, Radovid responds with another nonsensical comment that makes Jaskier laugh.

Geralt looks at them with a frown. Jaskier stops his laughter and eagerly asks the prince if he has read the philosopher he was apparently quoting. Radovid launches into a story of how his private tutor forced him to read the philosopher and he subsequently became enchanted with the man's writings and read his work for his own pleasure.

The more they travel, the more that happens. It turns out that the apparent nonsense Jaskier occasionally spouted is actually quotes, references and facts from philosophers, poets, astronomers, mathematicians, etc., that he was taught in college or read himself. Radovid responds to each of them with charm and delight, because apparently, Radovid has read them all as part of his royal education.

Geralt is not jealous. He isn't. No matter what Ciri and Yennefer say. He just doesn't like being out of the joke, doesn't like both of them acting like others aren't there and having to listen to their academic conversations when no one but them seems to care.

He just doesn't like that Jaskier smiles like never every time Radovid quotes an old poet of yesteryear that no one but them has read, as if it's an inside joke, because there should be no secrets in their group. He also doesn't like it when Jaskier laughs so loud because that can attract monsters. He hates that Jaskier sits next to Radovid every night talking about boring books because they are mere humans and if something attacks them, then both will be in danger and Geralt will only be able to save one (cof cof Jaskier), it's simple strategy. And absolutely not jealous because the bard now asks the prince for his advice when he writes songs, it's just that was something that used to de-stress Geralt and now he can't sleep well anymore. It's simple comfort.

But it all finally goes to shit when Jaskier turns down Geralt's invitation to spend the winter in Kaer Morhen because stupid Radovid invited him to his castle on the coast where he apparently has the best collection of maritime astronomy on the continent.

Geralt spends all that winter stuck in the library of Kaer Morhen reading anything that might interest Jaskier other than bestiaries. He tries very hard not to think about his bard and the prince huddled in front of the fire looking up at the stars until late at night drinking wine, getting closer and closer and closer until…

No. He won't allow it. When he sees Jaskier in the spring, he'll be sure to casually mention everything he read in winter, he'll make a fool of the prince when Geralt shows his bard the ancient books he brought him from the Wolf school library (not that Vesemir needs to know what came out of his precious library).

He'll graduate summa cumme laude from freaking Oxenfurt if it means getting his bard's attention again.

[thedemonofcat]

When Jaskier was just a week old, he encountered Death. From his crib, Death gazed upon him and softly uttered, "Not yet, little one."

At the age of seven, when the family dog fell ill, Death visited Jaskier once more. His parents couldn't provide solace for the pet's passing, but Death did.

In a bar, where Jaskier crossed paths with Geralt, Death observed from afar, wondering what would transpire next.

True to his name, Jaskier brimmed with vitality, like a beautiful yet toxic buttercup. This was why Death found itself fond of Jaskier, preventing his premature fading away.

A sword to the stomach, a sacrifice to protect Ciri, should have been Jaskier's end. When Death finally came to claim him, Jaskier had led a fulfilling life filled with joy and music, albeit tinged with loneliness.

Just as Death had done when Jaskier was a babe, it gently whispered, "Come now, little one, it's time to go." Death hoped to bring peace to the Dandelion they had grown to love.

But the growl of the white wolf, Geralt, begged Jaskier to stay, as Geralt asked Jaskier to remain.

Death and life had cherished each other but could never be together. Yet, life sent Death gifts, and Death treasured them all. Now, it was Death's turn to offer a gift to life. So, Death entrusted Jaskier to the safety of his vibrant existence.

From a distance, Death watched as Jaskier recovered, surrounded by his family: Geralt, Ciri, and Yennefer—all very much alive.

[astaldis]

@fluffbruary

For the Fluffbruary prompt 26 "book". Enjoy!

Chapters: 3/4                   Words: 1,150 Fandom: The Witcher (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach/Gallatin, Jaskier/Radovid V the Stern, Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier, Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier   Characters: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, Gallatin, Jaskier, Radovid V the Stern, Geralt of Rivia,  Additional Tags: fluffbruary's Fluffbruary Prompt Month 2025, Fluff, Teasing, Established Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, alive Gallatin, Valentine's Day, Boys Kissing, Idiots in Love, Ficlet Collection, Friendship, Banter Summary Chapter 3: A quintuple Geralt & Jaskier drabble set shortly after the friends left Bremervoord in Sirens of the Deep on their way to the Dragon Mountains. Can be read as Geraskier or just friendship.

(A few fluffy Witcher M/M ficlets for Fluffbruary 2025. Chapter 1: Cahir/Gallatin; Chapter 2: Jaskier/Radovid; Chapter 3: Geralt & Jaskier (or Geralt/Jaskier); Chapter 4: Geralt/Regis)

[plaudiusplants]

Wrote a ficlet by accident, might expand on it later

With Geralt being a wolf witcher and wolves being so closely related to dogs, Jaskier thinks he can be forgiven for assuming he would show affection in the same way as a dog. It makes sense, after all, especially with how he walks around taking insults like he deserves them. Jaskier has never seen a *cat* look apologetic, especially for something that isn't even true! And yet. And yet.

Geralt clearly adores Roach, but not in the way a dog adores something. Dogs need to spend every moment expressing their love. A dog would love a horse in leaps and bounds, in playing chase, in teasing and laughing and playing. Geralt loves her quietly, with soft words and sweet treats and a refusal to let anyone else ride her. At first, Jaskier wonders if this is simply out of respect for the fact that horses are endlessly anxious beings, but no; Roach is less afraid of noises from the trees than Jaskier.

Even with all these clues, it doesn't become clear to Jaskier until almost four months into travelling together that his witcher is more a cat than a dog. The realization happens one almost cold night at the end of summer when Geralt shifts, bit by bit closer and closer, until Jaskier can feel his body heat. He's sure Geralt notices his heartbeat jump in surprise by how he tenses, ready to bolt away again at a hint of discomfort. Jaskier relaxes, very purposely, and nudges Geralt's knee with his own. Geralt looks like he could purr with contentment.

(Also, a week later, Jaskier catches his witcher chittering at a bird.)

[islenthatur]

Oh look, that little snippet i posted ages ago is now a one shot... i finished it on a whim...

[valewright67]

https://bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher.tumblr.com/post/633985280198754304/winters-at-kaer-morhen-are-long-and-empty

I don't remember if it's cross posted, and if I remember correctly, Jaskier does end up going to kaer morhen.

https://bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher.tumblr.com/post/633985280198754304/winters-at-kaer-morhen-are-long-and-empty

I don't remember if it's cross posted, and if I remember correctly, Jaskier does end up going to kaer morhen.

I think I found it! I'll reblog it too, in case the link doesn't work, but is this it?

[all-or-nothing-baby]

THE PEACOCK

.

Incessant babbling, day and night. Constant fucking humming and grating outbursts of half-baked songs with bastardized lyrics. The bard is—superfluous would be an understatement. More like pretentiously poncey and purposely pig-headed just to piss me off. And a liability, to say the least. He's a goading, impudent Puck, yet shite with a sword and can't even fight with his fists to save his own featherweight arse. I mean, the moron can't weigh more than a sack of grain, for fucks sake. In fact, I'm surprised a strong gust of easterly wind hasn't blown the idiot all the way back to Oxenfurt. Oh, and to rub salt into that wound, despite his puny stature the gannet puts food away like a damn ogre, therefore munching through coin as if there's no tomorrow, no warm bath to pay for after having to wash in murky lakes for weeks, no dry room at an inn needed for a well-earned ale and a plate of pie and at least a night's decent rest.

He's incorrigible. Flashy. Unnecessary.

The bard is a Nobleman's trophy bird—a fucking Peacock of a man.

Yet.

And yet.

When we part ways and he is gone, the absence of his noise is a troublesome thorn in my side. It's like a river run dry when all you needs is a skinful of water. All the wild sounds slightly out of tune; the night owls lamenting the sound of that surely enchanted lute, the mourning Mocking Jays mimicking his voice having stolen and butchered his song. I feel unchallenged. Unmoored, even. Having only myself once again to worry over and to protect, seems somehow more of an effort—a chore, almost. All food tastes bland. My appetite in general, it wanes. Everything is wrong. Even drinking away the day at its end is so much less appealing. Bathing without soft hands smoothing warmed lavender oil through the strands of my dirty hair? A pointless waste of funds. And a soft bed for the night, all alone? These days, I strangely find it a sort of soft torture.

Yes, a Peacock preens and parades and is as vociferous as it is vexing.

But.

And but.

It's intelligent. Cunning. Majestic. It is exquisitely beautiful. And in the dead of night, when I hear its call carried on the breeze, it is somehow a tonic. The dazzling bird of such brilliant colour laments its mate: another Peafowl, this one with a plumage of pure white. And, once together again, they are the most perfect of contrasts. They are whole.

Roach brays and nods her head, shakes out her mane a little.

Ah.

It seems this witcher may have been thinking out loud again.

"Hmm," Geralt agrees sheepishly, and rides on.

.

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

vote the fuckers out party

I'm gonna need something to keep me distracted from the horrors today SO:

If you send me a photo of you outside a polling station I will respond with either a snippet from Book 3 or a 100-word fic of your choice.

ALSO, if this works and I actually get people sending me things, I'll do a giveaway afterwards and pick a random person to send a signed copy of Hartswood & Stars, along with some stickers and such.

RULES

Don't dox yourself, obviously. You can blur your face out, or just like... send a photo of your hand at a polling station, or a screenshot of a postal/proxy vote confirmation, that sorta thing.

There WILL be bonus points if you get a photo of a dog at a polling station. I don't make the rules.

Tell me what you want when you submit - either a snippet or a ficlet.

I'll write fic for Hartswood and Stars, ofc, but I'll also do Geraskier, OMFD, and I can attempt some BG3 as well. If you're feeling spicy you can request a snippet from a book that's not Book 3 👀

If I get enough people to do a giveaway, I'll draw it once we know the results.

[fandom-trash-and-hyperfixations]

This is one of the top 10 Geraskier art pieces for me. Every time I come across it I stop and study it again. Swoon.

Throwing this into the Geraskier void.

I love this painting, “The Meeting on the Turret Stairs” and would love to see an artist do a Geraskier take on it. I unfortunately cannot draw, but I offer you a little drabble inspired by it. Hope you enjoy!

Jaskier was still getting used to Kaer Morhen. The drafty hallways, the rooms that hadn’t had a person in them for decades, and the Witchers in it who bathed even less than Geralt. Still, they were a rowdy bunch who loved a good song and a pretty face. Jaskier provided them with both, and they were his best audience in years.

But he’d be damned if he ever figured out these staircases. There were so many within the keep, many with uneven stone steps that were easy to miss when one was distracted by the beautiful view out the window. Snowy mountain tops covered with evergreen trees, and the sun looming high over the landscape captured his attention every time.

Still, he had to grab his lute to practice before dinner. He had a new song in mind, one that had been growing for a long time, but tonight, he finally wanted to share it. He had a sneaking suspicion it might make a particular Witcher blush, and he was determined to find out. So he climbed up a few more stairs, only to see his Witcher standing before him, armor on and eyes fixed on Jaskier. 

“Geralt…a little late to be training, isn’t it?”

“I promised Eskel a spar.”

“Mmm, well may the best Witcher win.” Jaskier took a step up, raising his hand to brush against Geralt’s armor as he moved. Much to his surprise, Geralt raised his hands and held tight to his arm. 

“Tonight…” Geralt began, and Jaskier sighed, resting his head against the wall as his Witcher leaned in to press a kiss to the inside of his elbow. “Tonight what? You’ll hold me for warmth? You’ll curl up against me and fall asleep without another word?” Jaskier glanced down at him. “And you’ll leave me wondering if I am anything more than an extra fur in your bed." He watched Geralt’s lips part in protest, and The Witcher shook his head.

“Tonight, bring wine up to my room. We’ll talk. And then take it from there.”

Jaskier took one of Geralt’s hands and pressed it to his lips. He knew exactly where he planned to take it, if Geralt would allow him to. And tonight...just maybe he would. 

“Don’t be late for dinner. I’m going to play. And then we can…talk.” Geralt nodded, and their touch slowly slipped apart. Jaskier continued up the stairs, choosing not to linger by the next window. He had some practicing to do before dinner, for if this was to be the song he finally woo’d Geralt with, he damn well would make sure it was perfect.

[ladyannemarie5]

Jaskier is more than happy to care for his witchers when they return to Kaer Morhen in winter, not that it's a sacrifice to be surrounded 24/7 by manly, strong, beautiful men, but he knows that his wolves can't be pampered by him the rest of the year because he spends every season with Geralt. 

So he comes up with an idea to make everyone see his witchers exactly as he sees them: heroic and delicious. 

A few years ago, Oxenfurt put out a series of portraits of the most handsome professors to motivate more people to go to college. Of course, the number of students inside the classrooms grew a lot. 

Jaskier wants to go further, so he tells Yennefer about making portraits of the wolves according to a different year theme. You know, a kind of calendar. 

Eskel, sweet and strong, will be Spring. Lambert, young and virile, will be Summer. Vesemir, wise and serene, will be Autumn. And Geralt, mysterious and silent, Winter. 

Jaskier can only be carried away by his fantasies. 

Thanks to Yen and his magic, by the end of Winter, in every place of the continent there is a series of magical paintings of the witchers of the wolf school exquisitely depicting a whole season that motivates all people to be kinder and more helpful to them. 

Some time later, wives and husbands convince their partners to call a witcher to solve their monster problems and give them generous tips, taverns fill them with beers for attracting so many people, inns give them the best rooms and as many bathrooms as they ask for, brothels fight to have one of them in their places and show off their charms. 

Jaskier has just invented themed calendars and is happy to know that his wolves are fully appreciated. 

The next calendar will undoubtedly feature Coën and Aiden.

[wren-of-the-woods]

Wren's Silmarillion Fics

Ficlets

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Longer Stories

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A Tale of Two Bards (and also a Witcher) | 35k | T | Silmarillion/Witcher crossover | Geraskier & Maglor

Maglor has been wandering the shoreline for literal millennia. He hadn’t heard another voice in almost as long. He is, understandably, quite disoriented when a loud human interrupts his perfectly peaceful brooding.

After the disaster of the Dragon Hunt, Jaskier goes to the coast on his own. Things don’t really go as planned, but who cares? Peace is overrated anyway.

In which there are language barriers, found family, guilt crises, several long-overdue realizations, and, eventually, a very confused Geralt.