[Here, he goes quiet. His brows come together, his heart lurching in his chest. Is that really true? Geralt had made it very clear what he thought of Jaskier in that moment. And whether he was backed into his corner or not, lashing out because either he had to, or because it made Geralt feel better, the case of the matter was the Witcher had not come looking for him, either.

Not until he was needed, apparently.

He looks back. In the end, it doesn't... really matter. Jaskier can be heartbroken, can carry the weight of it on his own. It doesn't change how he felt about Geralt during their time here, either. How good a friend he's been since then.

Though he might have mentioned the year he simply fucked off to who knows where. (They both know where.)

Jaskier laughs, and the moment passes.] That doesn't answer my question! Poor Sam, though. I don't know how I'd feel if your daughter didn't like me. No, wait, I know. I'd be very insulted. The least you could do is put in a good word for the man who made you famous. She... [He softens, picking at a loose thread in their quilt, wrapping it around his finger.] She was there when I first woke up. I'm not sure what I would have done without her.

[Scuttled off into the night to not be seen again, perhaps. He doesn't mention that part.]