#idk man there's just something so soft about Jaskier taking up gardening to me

[abluescarfonwaston]

“I’m looking for-”

The guard cut him off. Pointing into the grounds. “He’s usually in the gardens this time of day. Take a left at the circle. It’s on the right.”

He blinked at the guard. Took a hesitant step forward. 

No one stopped him.

Why did Oxenfurt even have guards if they just let strange men in? He definitely qualified as strange. He was a fucking witcher after all.

No wonder Jaskier was so strange if this was where he was educated.

The gardens were beautiful. They smelled wonderful.

He wandered through it. There was little point trying to sniff Jaskier out. He’d undoubtedly switched perfumes since last they’d met.

His ears ticked up. Jaskier was humming.

He turned down the path. Stopped. Looked around.

The only person was kneeling in the dirt wearing an absurdly large brimmed hat. Gardening.

He looked around again. 

Nope. The humming was definitely coming from the person gardening.

He opened his mouth to call out-

Someone squeeked behind him. He turned.

A woman - girl really - with her hair up in another comically large hat and a trowel covering her mouth was staring at him.

That at least was normal.

She waved him over. Eyes flicking between him and the man that could not be Jaskier. She motioned for him to be silent leading him behind the elderberry bushes.

“Sorry Master Witcher, do you need something? I can get it for you- just - just don���t bother Professor Pancratz please? We only just started on the Skellige plants an hour ago and he gets so distracted-”

“I understand.” He nodded seriously at her. She deflated with a sigh of relief. “I’m looking for Jaskier? The bard?” It seemed silly to add that. Everyone knew Jaskier these days but it might speed the conversation along.

She squinted at him. “Yes. I- I did gather that. Did you need something for a potion? He says were not allowed to charge Witchers for potion ingredients because no one pays witchers fairly for their services but it does cost money to maintain the gardens so if you wouldn’t take too much then-”

“I don’t need ingredients.” Although now that he looked he could see that the majority of the plants were ones used in potions. Witcher and human alike. He reached out, touching the leaf of one. “Myrtle pepper? This doesn’t grow in Oxenfurt.” It didn’t grow in the northern realms even.

“Oh yes! He brought that one back a few years ago. Apparently the whole department bet that it would die but he got it to grow. He’s a genius.” 

“Hm.” He stood up. “Jaskier?” He questioned. Trying to steer her back to the point.

“I’ll let him know you stopped by?” 

He frowned. He didn’t want to stand here all day waiting. “Tell him I’m at the Barrel and Brug.”

She mock saluted. “Will do!” 

When Jaskier entered hours later he smelled of flowers and soil.

“Thought you didn’t like flora.”

“Ugh.” He collapsed next to him at the bar. Stealing his drink. “You do one professor a favor and next thing you know you’re the leading thinker in plant science! I’m a bard! What is wrong with this world!”

“Hm.” He smirked amusedly taking his drink back.

“Jakob asked me to bring him a few seeds back for him because he was too old to get them and then bam! Next thing I know everyone's asking me the ideal soil conditions to maximize the Beggertick blossoms! I am a poet Geralt! This is absurd!”

“Given you’ve mistaken Vetch for Lupins I have to agree.”

He snorted. Resting his head against the sticky bar top. “I refuse to learn any of their names. If I don’t keep misnaming them they’ll make me publish a paper. An Academic paper mind you. No verse allowed. They’re Horrendous to read and worse to write. I refuse. I won’t do it. I won’t!”

The barkeep dropped off another drink that he’d motioned for. He slid it to Jaskier consolingly. 

“Oh no. You might write something useful for once.”

His head snapped up. “How dare you! My music is incredibly useful!”

“At getting folks drunk.”

Jaskier shoved him hard. He didn’t move.

He let Jaskier sputter and curse at him for a bit longer before interrupting him.

“Got a contract for a Griffin.”

He closed him mouth. The tirade abandoned. “In Oxenfurt?”

He nodded. Near enough.

He sipped the beer. Propping himself up on the table. Swirled it. “How long do you think that’ll take?” 

He cocked his head at the hesitation in his voice. “Few days maybe.”

“Oh.” He sighed. Relieved. “Then we can head south?”

“What, worried we’d leave tomorrow?” Jaskier grumbled noncommittally into his drink. He blinked. “You are.” Surprised.

“I just need a few days to make sure the plants settle in alright, that’s all!”

“The ones from Skellige?”

He nodded sheepishly.

“Your assistant.” He started. “The plants are.” He tried instead. He fought with the idea and words in his mouth. “You don’t charge Witchers?” He finally settled on.

Jaskier’s lips drew into a thin line. “No. Told them not to.”

“Bad business.”

“School’s not a business. And its not like you use that much anyway.”

“Treading on Nenneke’s territory there.” Oxenfurt’s garden didn’t compare to Nenneke’s. Not with her greenhouse full of plants long extinct. But it was impressive.

“Ugh don’t tell Nenneke about this- Swear it to me Geralt. If she decides I’m decent company then next time you end up there we’ll both be trapped! She’ll never let us leave Geralt!”

“She would never count you as decent company Jaskier.” He assured.

He smiled ruefully. Toasted to that and drained his tankard. 

“Why those plants?”

“Hm?” He questioned, trying to catch the bartenders attention.

“Why’d you choose those plants?”

The garden full of Witcher plants. From all across the continent. Elderberry, Beggertick, myrtle pepper. The fountain full of blood moss.

“Why not roses?” Jaskier loved roses. He’d once proposed he’d grow them if the world had no more need of poetry and song. Which it never would. Not that Jaskier could give it up even if it did.

Jaskier’s eyes stayed trained on the shelf of alcohol behind the bar.

“They’re useful aren’t they? More useful than roses.” The bard playing tonight started a jig. His attention shifted to the folks gathering on the floor to dance. “I’ll grow roses when you retire.”

“You mean when you retire?” He called out after Jaskier as he leapt into the procession of dancers. No answer coming beyond the stomping of feet and laughter.

Witchers don’t retire. You know that Jaskier.

Roses symbolize love. Jaskier educated him, stealing a few from a garden for his then paramour. Pure love in its many forms. He’d said, smacking him with a blossom.

No. He thought watching Jaskier flit and spin through the song. They don’t.

Love was a garden of myrtle peppers, elderberries and bloodmoss.