Title: like finely aged wine

A/N: For the Dandelion zine!

Summary: Jaskier's prized possession was a crate of wine Geralt bought him as an apology. Twelve bottles that he only brought out for the most important of occasions: dates with Geralt, rants with Yennefer, picnics at Ciri's castle, and more. A look at Jaskier over the years.

i. First bottle

There were very few things that Jaskier wouldn't forgive. Oh, he could and would hold a grudge; he had mastered the art of pettiness by the time he'd turned ten. But that was something entirely different than carrying hate, to nurse it and feed it until it became an entity on its own. Jaskier preferred forgiveness; it was better to drink with old foes than avoid them. Besides, it never hurt to keep things friendly when he could.

He had enough enemies from past dalliances as it was.

However, forgiveness required an actual apology, which was why he wasn't exactly excited when he found Geralt for the first time in months. It didn't hurt that he was also sitting on his bed in the inn, expression carefully blank, as though they'd gone on another adventure together and hadn't fought at all. It figured the Witcher would just wander in and expect everything to be fine.

"How'd you get in here?" Jaskier asked, quietly closing the door behind him. Innkeepers and maids liked to talk and this was complicated enough without bringing in half the neighbourhood to hear.

"Your door was unlocked," Geralt answered simply, his voice low and rough as though he hadn't spoken for days. Knowing him, that had to be the case. Despite his relaxed posture, his golden eyes remained fixed on Jaskier as though waiting for something. At his foot was a small, wooden crate and Jaskier didn't remember seeing that before.

"You know that's not an answer, right?" Knowing it'd take an army to pull Geralt off his bed, Jaskier settled for grumpily leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. He had forgotten how tiring it was to pry information from him.

Geralt studied him for a minute before admitting, "The cook let me in."

Which was the answer, but that wasn't the question Jaskier really wanted to ask. Why? After that day on the mountain, after months of utter silence, why now? With anyone else, he would have guessed loneliness or regret, but Geralt was 'above' that. Or rather, Geralt squashed his emotions into a pit of denial so deep it would take years to dig it out. Jaskier ran a hand through his hair. "Bribery. Of course. Next time, I'll bribe them to keep you out." Breathing in through his nose, he counted to ten before asking, "What are you doing here?"

This time, Geralt took even longer to respond. As a self-proclaimed 'man with no feelings', he didn't really have any nervous ticks that gave away his thoughts, nothing that Jaskier could focus on and say, He's anxious because he's scratching his nose. "I came to meet you."

"Again, that's not an answer!" Jaskier growled, resisting the urge to toss his lute at him. All of this was sobering him up. "And here I was, happily inebriated," he complained.

"I can fix that," Geralt offered, nudging the box forward. A heavy thing, it slowly slid across the wooden floor. If it scratched the planks, he'd force Geralt to pay for damages.

"No thanks." Jaskier wrinkled his nose, already imagining its contents. Though, with Geralt, it was probably ten times worse than what he was thinking. "What'd you put in there? A monster's head?"

Geralt gave him a blank look, as though he were an idiot. Jaskier didn't know why he felt a swell of fondness at seeing it again, he hated that look. "Why would I do that?"

It was a fair point. Not that he'd admit it. Jaskier looked away scornfully and scoffed, "I don't know. Why do you do anything you do?"

There was something extremely annoyed in Geralt's expression and privately, Jaskier was thrilled. A little frightened, but thrilled. It was getting to him. "It's a case of wine," he stated flatly.

"Wine?" That caught his attention. Jaskier eyed the box before resisting the urge to take one out. Knowing Geralt, the flavour would be terrible, but still. It was free wine. One should never look a gift horse in the mouth, especially one that would still get you drunk.

"Yes, for you." He motioned for Jaskier to take the box. "Just take it."

These were more words than Geralt used in a week. Jaskier withdrew his hand, resting it at his side. Even though he knew the answer, he asked, "And why are you giving this to me? Didn't think you were one for presents."

"It's…" Geralt shifted uncomfortably, the bed creaking in response. With his hulking frame, he looked out of place in the small room, his shoulders hunching slightly so he'd take up less room. "It's…for that time."

"For that time?" Jaskier prodded, knowing immediately what he meant. At his core, Geralt was an awkward man. For all of his roughness and combative prowess, he was clumsy in the ways of the heart. Luckily, that's what Jaskier excelled at. And he wasn't going to let his friend stumble through life, unable to actually say what he meant. More importantly, he wasn't going to let this go without a proper apology.

"On the mountain. When we…when I…" Geralt rubbed his neck, looking more and more embarrassed with each passing second.

"Ah, yes, the mountain where you declared we weren't friends." Faking a frown, Jaskier tapped his chin. "What was it you said, again? Something about—"

"Don't be annoying," Geralt grumbled. If Witchers' could flush, he would be redder than a tomato by now.

That stopped Jaskier in his tracks. Glaring, he snapped, "Annoying? You came here to beg for my forgiveness—"

"I'm not begging."

"—and you think you can talk like that?" Jaskier rested a hand on his hip, ignoring Geralt's quick aside.

"You have a point." Geralt paused, clenching his fist. He looked away. Taking a deep breath, he slowly unfurled his hand. "I was wrong then."

"For?" Jaskier pressed, unable to stop himself.

Geralt glared at him and spit out, "Everything."

Well, that wasn't quite what he was looking for, but he'd take it all the same. Jaskier hummed happily as he reached for the casket. To be perfectly honest, he had forgiven Geralt the moment he'd laid eyes on him, but no one needed to know that. He had his self respect and dignity to protect, after all. Flipping open the lid, he pulled out a dark green bottle and held up to the light. "A red wine, huh? Perfect for a catching-up drinking session. I need some new songs."

Geralt groaned.

-x-

ii. second bottle

There were many places Jaskier expected to bump into Yennefer—in a ballroom, at a court, in front of Geralt's corpse. Ironically, she would probably be the reason his stupid friend got killed and not any of the monsters he hunted. The one place that had never crossed his mind was the broom closet of a minor noble, while he was on the run from said noble's guards.

"Fancy seeing you here." He smiled charmingly, or at least as charmingly as he could while still panting from exertion. Behind him, there were shouts and angry footsteps as the guards looked for him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked flatly, as though she wasn't the one hiding in the closet. Somehow, she always appeared composed and he hated her for it. Yennefer glanced over his shoulder and smirked. "No, let me guess, another one of your affairs?"

"What gave it away?" As the sounds grew louder, he pushed her to the side and squeezed his way in. "Ugh, this is so tight."

"What are you doing?" she hissed, stubbornly pushing back against him. "Find your own hiding spot."

So she was hiding too. He tucked that info away for later, for when he wasn't in life-threatening danger. Shoving, he wormed into the gap next to her. "There's no time!"

"Oh for god's sake," she snapped, letting off a string of curses before grabbing his hand.

"Awfully forward of—" Before Jaskier could finish his sentence, the world turned topsy-turvy and suddenly they weren't in the closet anymore. No, they were in his room in the inn and the world was spinning around him. Falling on all fours, he heaved as he tried to regain his bearings. "What…was…that…?"

"Teleportation." He couldn't see her face, but he knew she was rolling her eyes. Her heels clicked on the wooden floor as she slowly examined the room.

"Magic," Jaskier groaned. He had always thought teleportation was useful before this—if he could just escape all of his trysts so easily. He had been utterly wrong. It was better to face the wrath of every guard than it was to go through that again. "Oh god, does it always feel like this?"

"Only if you're not used to it," she replied tartly, peeking out his window. Clearly she didn't like what she saw, as she sniffed and added, "Quaint place."

Jaskier wondered just how many times she had vomited before she'd gotten used to this feeling. It was a strange, humanizing thought, and he pushed it to the back of his head. "I'm not as rich as you."

"No, clearly not." The bed creaked as she sat on it. He could just see her hand pressing against the bedsheet. She clicked her tongue. "Definitely not."

There was nothing like spite to force a man to compose himself. Jaskier forced down the bile in his throat and unsteadily rose to his feet. "Then go back to that noble, huh? Oh wait, you can't."

Yennefer looked at him sharply. Honestly, what did Geralt see in her? She looked like one of those governesses, never smiling, never laughing. Then again, neither did Geralt most of the time and he was still with him. "Don't talk about matters you know nothing about."

Jaskier waited a minute for her to elaborate. When she didn't add anything else, he rubbed his forehead, frustrated. Of course she wouldn't explain. Another thing she shared with Geralt. He wasn't sure why he found one endearingly annoying and the other just plain irritating. "If you don't say anything, obviously I'm going to know nothing about it."

Her glare grew deeper. "I could turn you into a frog."

"You wouldn't," he sneered, challenging her. At least, that was the plan, but his voice cracked half-way and he wobbled slightly as he tried to find a stable position. There was no bite to his words, he could tell it by the way she smirked. Stumbling onto the lone chair in the room, he sat on it backwards, leaning his chest against the chair back for support. At least he didn't have to look as wobbly as he felt. Just how long was this motion sickness supposed to last, anyways?

"Hmm, don't think I have to." Every word from her felt like a taunt. "So what was it this time? Another fling?"

Averting his eyes, Jaskier didn't bother to reply. Sure, he was predictable. Geralt just had to look at him to guess what he was up to, but he wasn't sure how to feel about Yennefer of all people figuring him out. They'd barely even talked. They weren't even allies, just people who sometimes worked together because Geralt forced them too. Maybe he really should reconsider his affairs business if even strangers knew about it.

Jaskier frowned. Or maybe Geralt had blabbed during pillow-talk. Sure, he wasn't much of a talker, but she was a witch, after all. Maybe she'd gotten it out of him. "Did Geralt tell you?"

Immediately, Yennefer scowled. "No," she hissed between clenched teeth, looking like a lioness ready to pounce. It reminded Jaskier of the Queen of Calanthe, and he swallowed. "Of course not."

"Oh." Jaskier wasn't sure what to make of that. If Geralt had apologized to him, he must have gone to Yennefer too. He rubbed his neck. "So, uh, he didn't try to give you an I'm sorry gift?'

Yennefer snorted, a completely un-ladylike and inelegant move. "I wouldn't let him."

"Oh." Well, that explained it. Honestly, he would never understand their relationship, and he really didn't want to. "He gave me wine." Jaskier gestured at a box near the foot of the bed. "It's surprisingly good, considering he picked it."

"He must have had help." Yennefer rolled her eyes. "He doesn't understand himself, let alone others."

Look who's talking, he almost said, but he'd tested his luck once today. There was no point in trying it a second time. Jaskier had experienced enough curses to last a lifetime. "Probably. Wish I could have seen that conversation. 'I need an apology gift for abandoning my friend on a mountain'."

Yennefer replied scornfully, "At least he left you. He tied me to him, the bastard."

This was the first he'd heard of it. Jaskier bit his lip. Geralt was his friend. Yennefer was a horrid woman. Geralt was his friend. This sounded really interesting. Geralt was his friend. "I don't—"

At the same time, Yennefer looked out his window and if looks could kill, Geralt would be dead right now. "And that pig of a nobleman might have had a cure for it."

"How'd you end up in the closet?" Jaskier asked, before he could stop himself. Internally, he sighed. Well, if he was going to do this anyways, he might as well go all the way. "This seems like a long story, want some wine?"

-x-

iii. third bottle

There were many idyllic ways Jaskier liked to while the hours away. Wooing a noble lady, practicing his songs, lazing about in the afternoon sun. Sometimes, as a treat, he liked to do all three at once. If he were entirely honest, almost anything he did was an utter waste of time and that was precisely why he liked doing them. There was no pressure, no demand, just time spent spoiling himself.

Therefore it was entirely unexpected when Geralt joined him on a grassy hill for cloud watching of all things. Sure, he had returned from yet another monster-hunting/city-saving adventure, so he was due for a little rest and relaxation. Yet he had never accepted that as a reason before. Flat on the ground, Jaskier glanced to his right, at the profile of his stoic lover. Quiet, unsmiling, it looked like Geralt.

"What is it?" Geralt asked, still staring up at the clouds. He hadn't so much as moved and Jaskier wondered if he just had a second sense for observing things.

Well, it sounded like Geralt too. So it had to be him, as odd as it was. "You're lying here." Jaskier blurted, not sure what to say, how to say it aside from stating the obvious.

At this, Geralt turned his head and looked at him. "Yeah?"

"You." Jaskier gestured at Geralt for emphasis. "Are. Relaxing." This was the exact opposite of what Geralt did. Maybe he was sick. Or maybe he'd gotten cursed again. In Geralt's line of work, this wasn't exactly uncommon. A monster, a witch—Jaskier's eyes widened as he found the perfect suspect. "Was it Yennefer?" He wouldn't put it past her to pull some petty revenge for an inane argument

"Yenn—" Geralt cut himself off, rolling his eyes before looking up at the sky again. "She didn't do anything," he answered gruffly.

"But you know she would," Jaskier muttered under his breath, a little put out. That answered his other question—Geralt had apologized and Yennefer had forgiven. Great. At least none of Jaskier's flings had the tendency to put them into life-threatening situations. Maybe he should amend their open relationship to not include dangerous witches.

"I'm just spending time with you," Geralt added and Jaskier felt the sigh more than heard it. Their arms bumped slightly, sending a tingle up his spine. "I can stop."

Before Geralt could get up, Jaskier latched onto his hand. "No, it's fine." There was no point in ruining a day out over his suspicions; they had few enough of them as it was. Besides, with another day or two of lazing about, he'd be proven right. Curses always took forever to disappear. When Geralt gave him a dry look, he smiled. "Come on, just a little longer."

"Fine." Geralt lay back down, though he didn't pull away. "A little longer."

His eyes were soft, Jaskier noted silently. So very soft. He wondered sometimes, how long it took for Yennefer to forgive him, how long it took for them to finally talk. If they still looked at each other overwhelmed and as though they didn't know what to do with their emotions.

If that look had ever changed to the one Geralt had now, domestic and gentle. There was such an easy thing between them now, where Geralt would scoff at Jaskier's latest messy affair and Jaskier would bemoan his partner's inability to be romantic. An easy thing that didn't really need explanation or words, really. Even now, they just lay there, soaking in the sun, enjoying the breeze. Pure boredom at its best. "I wish we could just always do this."

"Don't you always do this?" Geralt asked, not a hint of mockery in his voice.

"I'll have you know I do actual work." Jaskier paused, before averting his eyes. "Sometimes."

"Sometimes," Geralt agreed, and this time Jaskier knew he was teasing him.

"A lot of the times," Jaskier corrected. "As fun as it is getting chased out of every kingdom, I'm getting too old for that."

Geralt rolled over to his side, his brow furrowed. "You're getting old?"

That was either a compliment, or Geralt was the densest man alive. Probably the latter. Pointing at a strand of grey hair, he nodded. "Not all of us are immortal."

"I'm not immortal." Geralt reached and gently touched the hair. "And that's only one."

Jaskier snorted. Why was he stuck with immortal beauties for companions? At least Ciri would understand his plight. "One can lead to more, and I want to have something nicer than a room at an inn when that happens." Having had enough of the topic, he gestured at the picnic at their feet, utterly forgotten. "Let's finish that bottle. There's no point in lazing about if we can't get drunk while at it."

-x-

iv. fourth bottle

"You're going into academia?" Mystified, Yennefer glanced at her goblet, at the ruby red wine inside, and then up at Jaskier. "I'm not that drunk."

Regrettably, they were sitting in one of Ciri's rose gardens, and not in Jaskier's room, so he couldn't just toss her out. Not that it had stopped him from trying before, but the guards refused to believe that Yennefer's tongue was a lethal weapon and should be treated as such. It didn't hurt that Ciri was taken with the older woman and he could only blame her terrible taste on Geralt. Like godfather, like goddaughter, and he worried about Ciri's future partner.

"What's so funny about that?" Jaskier asked, and immediately he wanted to take his words back. They gave her too many openings.

"Seriously?" Yennefer asked. When he glared at her, she scornfully laughed. "And I thought it was a prestigious academy."

"Yeah, well, you're also a teacher somehow, so I guess anything's possible," Jaskier snarked back. Luckily for her, she was seated opposite of him on the round table, or he'd have kicked her shins. Actually, maybe he could still—

"Don't be like that," Geralt sighed, dropping a hand on his thigh to stop him. He and Ciri sat opposite one another, and not for the first time, Jaskier suspected this seating was on purpose, to prevent some accidental fight.

"Hey, I wasn't the one who invited her." Jaskier pulled his wine bottle closer. Honestly, if he'd known she'd come, he wouldn't have used one from his secret stash. "Why is she even here?"

"Oh? I thought we were friends," Yennefer drawled, thatching her fingers and resting her chin on them. There was something utterly evil in her smile. Magic was the only reason no one else had noticed.

"Friends don't make fun of each other," Jaskier retorted before gulping down his wine. He was too sober to deal with her.

"Congratulations!" Ciri piped up, smiling at him over her goblet. "I think you will be a great professor."

"Thank you." Jaskier beamed back at her, though he couldn't resist throwing one more barb. "See? This is how friends treat each other."

Ciri giggled, amused. "You two are friends, though."

"Loosely," Yennefer muttered. "Very loosely."

"Ciri, are you drunk?" Jaskier asked, worried. Actually, now that he thought about it, should she even be here, drinking with them? It wasn't like he could tell the queen to stop, but still. Someone had to keep an eye out for her, and her other two babysitters were utterly incompetent with children.

"Not in the least." Ciri smiled sweetly, before swirling her wine. At his disbelieving look, she added, "I have had a glass a night since I was eight."

"Eight?" Jaskier's first taste of wine had been at 18. Noble children really were nothing at all like the commonfolk.

"I know my limits." Ciri took another delicate sip, her expression too dignified to remind him of any of his hometown's children. "Now, what are you teaching?"

-x-

iv. fifth bottle

Jaskier woke up to a dry mouth and the lingering taste of vomit. There was an uncomfortable turmoil in his belly, one that promised he wouldn't leave the toilet for hours, and his head pounded like a drum. Lying on his back, he stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling, his right hand curled around a cool, glass bottle. From the corner of his eye, he could just make out that it was one of Geralt's apology bottles, and that it was utterly empty. Actually around him were several other vintages of alcohol, and he didn't have to guess to know where they'd gone.

He was never going to drink that much again. And this time, he meant it.

There was something heavy and warm on his waist. Jaskier looked down to find a hairy, muscular arm, and followed it up to find a sound asleep Geralt. Memories of last night, in bits and flashes, returned, and he resisted the urge to groan. No wonder he was so drunk, it was the only way he would have agreed to this. Only way Yennefer would agree to it too. He didn't have to crane his neck to know that she was already gone. If it weren't for Geralt's arm, he'd be gone too.

It had been a mistake. An utter mistake. No matter what had changed in their relationship over the years, he and Yennefer were never going to be more than friendly enemies. Drunken, sloppy kisses weren't going to change that. Jaskier breathed out his nose, glancing up at Geralt. His expression was entirely unguarded and content. Well, at least one person had enjoyed it.

When Jaskier received a raven a week later, a letter informing him that this would never be repeated, his only regret was that he hadn't sent it first.

-x-

vi. sixth bottle

It was hard, being a teacher. Harder than any job Jaskier had done before, and he'd fought monsters with the best of them. Well, to be precise, he had watched people fight monsters, but he had been on the front lines for each encounter and that had to count for something.

Still, none of that had prepared him for standing in front of a classroom, day in and day out, and having dozens of students watch him with bored eyes. There were a few eager beavers in his class, but the vast majority came in expecting a bird course. Or were from his fan club, and Jaskier took no small amount of pride that even as his hair greyed, he still had it.

And all of that was easy compared to grading all of his students at the end of their term. His table was swamped with papers, with tests and projects and things he probably shouldn't be marking but got foisted on him because another teacher had seniority. There was a reason that Jaskier had made his final exam a pure performance one, he hadn't wanted to deal with any paperwork nonsense after.

Leaning forward, he delicately plucked a paper off the table, grimacing at the tiny cramped writing that filled both sides. It was even worse than he thought. Immediately, he dropped the sheet and headed to his closet, pulling out a small box of wine he stored safely beneath his many clothes.

If he was going to do this, he might as well be comfortable.

-x-

vii. seventh bottle

"Why do you look so good?" Jaskier bemoaned, kicking his legs as he sat on the edge of the rooftop. A small part of him worried that this was dangerous, to be drunk and on a rooftop with no rails. The rest of him realized that while he hated it, Yennefer did have teleportation magic and the worst he'd suffer was nausea. However begrudgingly it was, she'd save him.

Probably.

"Hard work," Yennefer replied bluntly, sipping her wine as she stared up at the night sky. Even now, there was something elegant about her profile, about the way her hair flowed in the cool breeze.

It only made Jaskier hate her more. "You and Geralt are stupidly good looking. And immortal." He gulped his wine, ignoring the taste as he chased a blissful buzz. "You know how old that makes me feel?"

"As old as you are?" Yennefer hazard a guess, her tone completely dry and disinterested.

"Exactly!" Jaskier picked up the bottle, refilling his glass once more. He couldn't remember just when they'd started sitting here on the rooftop, having monthly bitching sessions as they complained about coworkers or students. It seemed being teachers had done what Ciri, Geralt, life-changing experiences, or even time couldn't: made them actual friends.

He would also never tell her that. Biting his lip, he shoulder bumped her. "You shouldn't get both. Either be good looking or immortal, but not both."

"It'd be useless to be immortal if we couldn't move," Yennefer pointed out, rolling her eyes. "I'm not living to a thousand and using crutches."

They had this argument every year and, as far as Jaskier was concerned, they would continue to have it till he died. "You have magic, what do you care if you can't walk? Another stupidly unfair thing."

"Fine, it's unfair. Life's unfair," Yennefer sneered, looking down at him. "What're you going to do about it?"

"I'll tell Ciri to ban you," he immediately shot back, not bothering to think about his decision for a moment.

"Oh?" Yennefer grinned and if he were just a little more sober, he'd recognize it for the trap that it was. "Go ahead." She held out a scroll of paper and a pen. He should have wondered where she'd gotten it.

He was too drunk to care. "Fine, I will."

Jaskier spent the next three months too embarrassed to visit Ciri.

-x-

viii. eighth to tenth bottles

If there was one thing Jaskier had learned over the years, it was that there was no point in hoarding things. Time passed, people came and went, and it was better to enjoy the moment than to regretfully look back at it.

So he drank when he wanted to, kissed who he wanted to, and loved like there was no tomorrow.

-x-

ix. eleventh bottle

There was nothing Jaskier loved more than to lie by the riverbank, tucked comfortably into Geralt's side. His head rested on his love's chest, his breathing soft and slow as they watched the clouds pass. Lying like this, it was easy to forget how his bones creaked and complained when he walked, how his back ached when he stood, and how Geralt's touch had turned even gentler with the passage of time.

It was easy to forget that Jaskier was old. Not getting old, not turning old, but old. His hair was entirely silver now, his skin wrinkly and paper thin. Geralt's muscles were just as firm as ever, his body unchanging.

No, not entirely unchanging. Jaskier sighed contentedly, listening to his lover's heartbeat. All those years ago, it would have been impossible to imagine Geralt like this. It was harder now, to remember those early days, to remember that gruff Geralt. Harder, but not impossible, and perhaps the good thing about having immortal friends was that they never learned to let go of things. If he forgot, Yennefer was certain to remind him.

"Should we go back?" Geralt asked, his voice low and soft.

"Not yet." Jaskier closed his eyes, content to just laze the day away here. "The bottle's still full."

It had been empty hours ago, but Geralt merely tightened his grip and nodded.

-x-

x. twelfth bottle

Geralt wiped the tombstone, his touch reverent as he cleaned Jaskier's marker. Somehow, it was never as dirty or overgrown as he'd expected it to be. Maybe Ciri still had a guard come out to clean it every now and then. Crouched before it, Geralt ran his fingers along Jaskier's name, along the numbers and words he had memorized over the year.

He had known before this, just how deep grief could be. How regrets could linger and fester until they haunted every step. What he hadn't known was that a life lived happily, filled with memories and joy, could leave him feeling full even after loss. That death didn't have to hurt, though it ached every now and then.

There was a soft pop behind him and he didn't have to turn to know just who'd arrived. Leaning forward, he kissed Jaskier's name before standing up. "I didn't expect you to be here."

"We were friends," Yennefer replied, her expression soft. She'd been wearing it more often these days. "Somehow."

"Somehow," Geralt echoed, chuckling. Jaskier had that effect on everyone, worming his way into their hearts until it was hard to imagine lives otherwise.

"And I have the fitting marker for his anniversary." Yennefer pulled out a bottle.

Geralt's eyes widened and he snatched the bottle. The label had faded, worn with time, but even still, he recognized the bottle. They'd had too many of them over the years for him to forget. "There was one left?"

"Exactly one." Yennefer gracefully knelt by Jaskier's grave and set out three glasses. "I don't know what he was saving it for, but maybe it was this."

"I doubt it, he never looked that far ahead." Still, he sat down beside her.

Taking back the bottle, she hummed her agreement. "You're right, he was never one for thinking." She uncorked the bottle, and carefully filled the three goblets.

"He thought sometimes," Geralt half-heartedly defended Jaskier, unable to refute it entirely.

"Sometimes," Yennefer agreed once more, picking up her glass. For once, she wasn't in the mood to argue. She sniffed the wine and smiled. "Hmm, smells good. I suppose some things do get better with time."

Geralt chuckled. "You should have told him that."

"And let his head get any bigger?" Yennefer snorted inelegantly, before holding up her glass. "To Jaskier."

"To Jaskier," Geralt repeated, clinking their glasses together.