For just the barest of moments, as Geralt stepped in and loomed, Jaskier mistook the expression on his face for anger. It would have been justified, of course, this whole situation was a series of thinly veiled ruses and Jaskier had knowingly dragged the Witcher into them. They were surrounded by awful people who loathed him (and Geralt by proxy), and weren't going to be free of them for at least a full day. There were hours, long, excruciating hours of this left to endure. Geralt had every right to be cross with him...but the look on his face wasn't anger.
Normally, Jaskier prided himself on his general ability to read Geralt. However misguided his pride regarding that skill was, he could usually navigate the boldest of the Witcher's emotional notes with some reliability. That particular nonexpression though, in this setting, hadn't hit quite right and Jaskier was flummoxed.
Geralt lifted a hand--but no touch followed.
Jaskier's fool heart ached.
"My parents?" Jaskier repeated and it was a beat before his face twisted with surprise and something akin to panic. "You...want to find them now?"
He considered the Witcher, the party beyond, the time of day--anything, everything really, so long as it spared him having to answer that question. There was nothing stopping him from seeking them out, they could do it now, before the ceremony began. It would be easy. His gaze listed back to the house and he wondered just how likely he was to run into Iris if he went wandering the halls--technically it was his house. He could be in there.
Jaskier took a deep breath and reached to push his hair off his forehead. He wasn't sure when he'd broken into a cold sweat, but he had, and his fringe was stuck to his brow.
"Right, sure, okay," he added distantly and looked back at the party. They were being watched. His relatives weren't even being subtle about it, staring and conversing and laughing as they looked him in the eye. Fuck.
Jaskier shifted unconsciously and put Geralt more firmly between himself and...all of them. (If pressed, he would have insisted it was just because he could hide behind the man's greater, muscular bulk, like ducking behind a tree, nothing more...and he would have been lying.)
"They're back in the house," Jaskier said and drew a deep, steadying breath. "I am...sure you don't want to--meeting them is a chore on a good day. Would you...rather stay here?"
There were a dozen questions in that halting offer, all unspoken, all painted in some shade of desperation. He gave Geralt an out, because Geralt was his friend and nobody deserved to have his parents inflicted upon them...but Jaskier clearly would have preferred to have his fingers broken, one by one, rather than chat with them alone.
He would, if Geralt declined to go with him, he just--it would be excruciating.
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Normally, Jaskier prided himself on his general ability to read Geralt. However misguided his pride regarding that skill was, he could usually navigate the boldest of the Witcher's emotional notes with some reliability. That particular nonexpression though, in this setting, hadn't hit quite right and Jaskier was flummoxed.
Geralt lifted a hand--but no touch followed.
Jaskier's fool heart ached.
"My parents?" Jaskier repeated and it was a beat before his face twisted with surprise and something akin to panic. "You...want to find them now?"
He considered the Witcher, the party beyond, the time of day--anything, everything really, so long as it spared him having to answer that question. There was nothing stopping him from seeking them out, they could do it now, before the ceremony began. It would be easy. His gaze listed back to the house and he wondered just how likely he was to run into Iris if he went wandering the halls--technically it was his house. He could be in there.
Jaskier took a deep breath and reached to push his hair off his forehead. He wasn't sure when he'd broken into a cold sweat, but he had, and his fringe was stuck to his brow.
"Right, sure, okay," he added distantly and looked back at the party. They were being watched. His relatives weren't even being subtle about it, staring and conversing and laughing as they looked him in the eye. Fuck.
Jaskier shifted unconsciously and put Geralt more firmly between himself and...all of them. (If pressed, he would have insisted it was just because he could hide behind the man's greater, muscular bulk, like ducking behind a tree, nothing more...and he would have been lying.)
"They're back in the house," Jaskier said and drew a deep, steadying breath. "I am...sure you don't want to--meeting them is a chore on a good day. Would you...rather stay here?"
There were a dozen questions in that halting offer, all unspoken, all painted in some shade of desperation. He gave Geralt an out, because Geralt was his friend and nobody deserved to have his parents inflicted upon them...but Jaskier clearly would have preferred to have his fingers broken, one by one, rather than chat with them alone.
He would, if Geralt declined to go with him, he just--it would be excruciating.