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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Text

To give without knowing (20/20)

AO3

previous / masterpost

word count: ~4k

Epilogue

Geralt and Jaskier’s room at Kaer Morhen was lit with an assortment of candles that painted a faint golden glow onto Jaskier’s skin. From his place - his head lying on Jaskier’s lap - Geralt looked up at him, with no need to hide everything he felt for the bard.

He looked beautiful in this light. He always did. And so Geralt told him, because there needn’t be any more secrets. Finding the right words was still hard for Geralt and more often than not, he closed off and tried to hide away instead of confronting Jaskier about his feelings, but he knew that at the end of the day, he could talk to Jaskier and that he would stay with him. That he loved him.

“You’re beautiful.”

Jaskier’s fingers that were running through Geralt’s hand in a soothing motion, faltered for a moment, but then Jaskier’s lips spread into a wide smile.

“You are too,” he replied, his hand leaving Geralt’s tresses for long enough to trace his face; smooth out the perpetual crease between his brows, caress his cheeks and run a thumb over his lips. Without thinking, Geralt pressed a small kiss against his thumb, making Jaskier’s smile brighten.

He didn’t need to think anymore, didn’t need to doubt or agonise over his or Jaskier’s feelings. If the weeks travelling with Jaskier by his side in which he had been allowed to kiss him and tell him how much he meant to him, however often he wanted, hadn’t been enough to convince Geralt that he had no reason to be scared, the months they had been together at Kaer Morhen had left no doubt about how Jaskier felt.

Geralt closed his eyes again, giving a content hum as Jaskier’s fingers trailed his nose, his brow and found their way back to his hair. Absentmindedly, Jaskier began to part his tresses and weave them into a lose braid.

If anyone had told Geralt a year ago, that he could have this, he would have snorted in disbelief and turned away, despite his heart aching for it.

Now, though, it was as natural as breathing – as natural as loving Jaskier - to let him run his fingers through his hair whenever he pleased. Geralt had dreamed about this for so long and yet the reality of it was better than anything he could have ever imagined.

When Geralt had searched for the carvings, he had imagined Jaskier talking endlessly about whatever held his interest at the moment and he would have been happy to listen to Jaskier if that was what he wanted to do. But Jaskier didn’t rant about the pranks Lambert kept pulling on him and his plans for revenge, nor did he gush about the elven poetry Eskel had showed him in the library. Instead, Jaskier quietly hummed to himself. Geralt wasn’t even sure Jaskier realised he was doing it, but with every note Jaskier sang, Geralt felt lighter.

“Sing the words for me?” he asked softly enough to not interrupt Jaskier’s humming.

Jaskier didn’t falter in his song, but without missing a beat, he added words to the melody. They were the exact same words that had torn into Geralt’s chest with icy claws, not five months ago. And yet, as Jaskier now sang of moonlight-strands of hair and blazing eyes of liquid fire, Geralt felt warmth flood his insides and he couldn’t stop a smile from tugging at his lips. He didn’t want to stop himself either. Not when he now knew that those words that had caused him so much agony, had been meant for him all along.

Low enough that Jaskier might not be able to hear it, Geralt hummed the melody as well. The bitter winter winds howling outside created a haunting harmony to their song. Theirs, because this too had been written for Geralt.

Geralt snuggled closer against Jaskier’s warmth, knowing that soon enough, Vesemir would tell him to go fix the roof of one of the towers or spar with his brothers. For now, though, Geralt was allowed to be with his beloved, for no reason other than that they simply wished to be close to one another.

Jaskier finished the braid and let his hands caress Geralt’s face again. As he sang of hands so gentle and so strong, Geralt reached out and enclosed Jaskier’s wrist with his hand. There was a slight hitch in Jaskier’s breathing and an amused and curious note entered his voice, but he didn’t stop singing. When Geralt opened his eyes, he was met with a gaze so soft and loving that it took his breath away.

Slowly – not because of doubt or fear, but because he wanted to savour the moment – Geralt brought Jaskier’s hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss against each of his knuckles.

When he was done, he brought his other hand to Jaskier’s face and tugged him closer. Jaskier followed his lead happily and leaned over to kiss Geralt.

The position wasn’t comfortable for either of them, with Geralt having to lift his head off Jaskier’s lap and Jaskier having to bend his back to meet each other’s lips, but Geralt wouldn’t exchange this for anything else. Jaskier moved slowly against him, smiling into the kiss as Geralt cradled the back of his head.

“Jaskier?” Geralt pulled back just enough to speak, but still holding Jaskier close.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Jaskier’s eyes lit up just the same as they had the first time Geralt had said it.

“I love you too.”

They didn’t need to say it out loud - both of them knew how the other felt – and yet, Geralt’s heart beat faster every time the words fell from his lips. He didn’t need to say them, but he could. And he wanted to. After spending so much time thinking that Jaskier wouldn’t want to ever hear those words coming from Geralt’s lips, he relished in seeing Jaskier’s face brighten whenever he uttered them, just as much as he loved hearing Jaskier say it back.

Geralt’s hand wandered up, brushing the scar that was barely visible anymore above Jaskier’s brow. He leaned up to press a soft kiss against it, but fell back onto Jaskier’s lap with a frustrated growl. This really wasn’t the best position to do this.

The muffled sound of Jaskier’s laughter made Geralt stop his grumbling and when Geralt threw him a mock-glare Jaskier’s shoulders only shook more.

“Do you want to sit up?” Jaskier suggested with a grin. “Might be more practical.”

Geralt huffed, drawing his brows together in a frown that he knew wouldn’t fool Jaskier.

“I’m comfortable where I am.”

Jaskier hummed thoughtfully and tugged lightly on a strand of hair that had come loose from Geralt’s braid.

“But consider this: If you sit up, we can kiss more comfortably.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes and as if he still needed to contemplate Jaskier’s words. He cocked his head, which must look strange as he was still lying down.

“Could we hug too?”

“You know you don’t have to ask.” Jaskier rolled his eyes, but his expression softened. “But yes, we can hug too.”

He opened his arms a little and immediately, Geralt sat up and turned so he could wrap his arms around Jaskier and bury his head in the crook of his neck. Jaskier’s content sigh ghosted over his neck and made goosebumps erupt all over his skin, as he rubbed small circles into his back.

The very same motion had been used so often to soothe each other, to comfort and tell the other that they were protected. Now, though, it was just a caress, a drawing of lazy patterns, simple as that. They didn’t hold each other close to fend off the cold and there was no need for comfort. They simply embraced because they wanted to.

For a moment, Geralt closed his eyes and just took in the feeling of having Jaskier in his arms. He nuzzled into Jaskier’s neck, laughing lightly when Jaskier complained that the bits of loose hair tickled.

When Geralt opened his eyes again, his gaze fell onto the shelf Eskel had helped install on the wall opposite the bed. Most of the shelf was occupied with little trinkets and knickknacks Jaskier had insisted were important to bring with him. Books, hair brushes, a small vial of perfume and Jaskier’s attempts at knitting, which Geralt had come to accept as part of their room now. All of it was something Jaskier valued for one reason or another and seeing it in the room that used to be so barren and cold most winters, ignited a bright flame in Geralt’s chest. All of those things were a reminder that Jaskier belonged here with him, that he had chosen Geralt and intended to stay.

And yet, despite how much meaning Geralt read into these things, it was nothing compared to the feeling he got when his eyes fell onto the top shelf. There, in a neat row, sat the carvings Geralt had given Jaskier. His lips quirked up and he let out a small laugh when he saw the stick sitting between the cat and the fish. Over the months, they had made a game out of Geralt pretending to throw the stick out and hiding it away until Jaskier found it again. Jaskier had become better and better at finding all of Geralt’s hiding spots. Granted, Geralt had never truly tried to make the snake unfindable. If he wanted to keep things hidden, he had ways to do so. Thankfully.

“What’s so funny?” Jaskier asked, and pulled back just enough to be able to see Geralt’s face. His hands slid down Geralt’s shoulders and arms until he was tenderly holding Geralt’s hands in his.

“Nothing,” Geralt said, giving Jaskier’s hand a light squeeze. “I’m just happy that you’re here.”

There were only two figures missing from the collection. The wolf and the horse stood on the nightstand next to their bed. Whenever Geralt held Jaskier at night, he could see them watching over them. He would have thought that after months, he would have gotten used to that sight and what it meant, but then again, he hadn’t gotten used to being able to the way Jaskier’s back fitted against his chest either. But he was more than happy to spend the rest of his life getting used to it. He doubted the warmth in his chest and the wonder that overcame him whenever Jaskier snuggled closer, would ever go away.

Jaskier followed Geralt’s gaze and let out a contemplative hum.

“I don’t want to leave the figurines here when we leave Kaer Morhen again.”

“I could always make you knew ones.” When Jaskier’s brows rose up, Geralt added, “Yes, I know that I don’t need to give you gifts.”

Jaskier nodded, pleased and lifted Geralt’s hand to press a kiss against his knuckles. Geralt couldn’t help but think that it felt like a reward.

“You could always take half of them with you,” he suggested. “You could put them in your rooms in Oxenfurt.” He hesitated, but one look in Jaskier’s eyes made him stomp down any doubts before they so much as became full thoughts. “So you won’t have to miss them when we spend the next winter there together.”

Jaskier’s face lit up. “That’s a wonderful idea. Especially since you so rudely thwarted our plans of having you come visit me there. I was looking forward to that.” He playfully jabbed a finger at Geralt’s chest. “Spending the winter there will more than make up for that.”

Geralt huffed in response to Jaskier’s teasing. He really could get used to this. He wanted to have moments like this one for the rest of his life. He wanted to have Jaskier with him for the rest of his life.

“I have something for you,” Geralt said, the sudden seriousness in his voice a stark contrast to the earlier playfulness. “I wasn’t sure when to give it to you, but if you’re worried about missing the carvings…this might help a little.”

He made to get up, but Jaskier stopped him from getting farther than a step, by holding fast onto his hand.

“Geralt, you just said – “

“I know,” Geralt interrupted softly. “I don’t need to. But I want to give you this. It’s…it would mean a lot to me.”

The fondness in Jaskier’s eyes as he nodded warmed Geralt from the inside. Geralt took another step away from the bed, but then he stopped.

“Close your eyes.”

Jaskier lifted an eyebrow with a grin. “Seriously?”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier closed his eyes and immediately Geralt narrowed his. He leaned in again and long before his lips ever reached Jaskier’s, a smile played around Jaskier’s mouth.

“You peeked,” Geralt said, just before brushing his lips against Jaskier’s.

“No I didn’t,” Jaskier said, still pretending rather badly to have his eyes closed.

Geralt snorted and reached for the shelf to pull down the scarf - if it could be called that – that Jaskier had attempted to knit over the course of the winter.

“Oh come on.” Jaskier’s grin took away the effect of his indignant tone. “You don’t need to blindfold me.”

Geralt didn’t reply, just placed the scarf around Jaskier’s head and secured it gently, making sure no hair got stuck in the knot. For a moment, he just took in Jaskier’s pout, the excited twitching of his hands and the way Jaskier tried to move his head in the direction Geralt was.

“Geralt?” he asked, making Geralt realise that he had gotten so lost in watching Jaskier that he had forgotten to move. “Are you still there? You know, this is really unfair, what with you moving soundlessly.”

“I’m still here.” Geralt pressed a kiss against the crown of Jaskier’s head, before turning away again and opening the chest in the far end of the room. He pressed against the inside of the chest lid, and the secret compartment he had built in there years ago, snapped open.

He hesitated a moment, before his fingers closed around the thing he had hidden in there. It might be too much, too soon. Despite having worked on this for longer than he had any other carving to perfect it, a spike of doubt shot up in him. Perhaps it wasn’t good enough. Maybe he should wait a little longer before he gave it to Jaskier.

One glance at Jaskier, bouncing a little on the bed in anticipation, dissipated all of his doubts. His fingers tightened around the gift and he walked back, kneeling onto the bed behind Jaskier.

Taking one last deep breath, he draped the thin chain of the necklace around Jaskier’s neck and clasped it. Immediately, Jaskier’s hand shot up to run over the wooden pendant lying above his heart. His breath hitched as he traced the fine carving on it.

“Geralt?”

Geralt unfastened the knot holding the scarf in place and moved so he could see Jaskier’s face as he took in the necklace Geralt had made for him.

Jaskier’s breath hitched.

“It’s-“ His words broke off with a choked sound as his eyes lit up with more joy than Geralt had ever imagined he could bring to him. His voice was but a breath, when he finished, “- beautiful.”

Jaskier truly was. He always had been. When the sunlight shone onto him, his hair would turn nearly golden. When he smiled, his eyes would crinkle at the sides and when he woke up and yawned in a truly undignified manner, his tousled hair would make Geralt want to run his hands through it to smooth it out.

Now though, with a wooden wolf medallion resting against his chest, Geralt was sure that Jaskier had never looked more beautiful.

“It’s just like yours,” Jaskier marvelled as he tilted the pendant to see all the details and the shading Geralt had burned into the wood with a controlled igni, that he had had to practice with Eskel first before he had been confident enough in his skill to use it to adorn Jaskier’s gift.

Geralt hummed, a pleased flutter in his chest at how happy Jaskier sounded at the prospect.

“Not quite,” Geralt said. When Jaskier gave him a quizzical look, Geralt added, “Flip it over.”

Jaskier did as he was told and when he realised what was on the other side of the medallion, he let out a small gasp and his eyes widened. Almost reverently, he stroked a finger over the delicate buttercups that were engraved into the wood.

“This might be a little easier to take with you on the Path,” Geralt said, catching Jaskier’s hand and holding it gently. Months of fear told him to amend what he had said and add that Jaskier didn’t have to take it with him if he didn’t want to. He was well aware that with this carving, there would be no doubt whom he had gotten it from. He knew he shouldn’t doubt, but still… “You can wear it so others can only see the buttercups, if you don’t want to be seen with the wolf medallion.”

Jaskier’s brows kitted together and he dropped the medallion back to his chest.

“The only reason why I would wear it like that is so I could keep the wolf closer to my heart.”

Geralt’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“You like the gift then?”

Jaskier’s eyes crinkled at the sides with a smile as he gave Jaskier’s hand a light squeeze.

“I love it.” He leaned forward to steal a kiss from Geralt. “And I love you.”

When Jaskier pulled away again, Geralt chased the kiss, burying his free hand in Jaskier’s hair and relishing in the feeling of Jaskier smiling against his lips.

“Greedy,” Jaskier teased.

“Can’t I be?”

“When it comes to kisses? Always. There’s nothing I would rather give you.”

Geralt took it as an invitation to steal another kiss. Jaskier laughed lightly, breaking the kiss with the sound. Geralt didn’t mind. There was no sound more beautiful than Jaskier’s laugh and no feeling better than knowing Geralt had been the one to get Jaskier to make that sound.

Geralt’s hand left Jaskier’s hair and played with Jaskier’s two-sided medallion.

“You never gave me an answer,” he began slowly, “when I asked you why you had chosen your name to be a flower.”

“Ah.” The hint of a shadow fell onto Jaskier’s face. “I never did tell you, did I?”

A spike of uncertainty pierced Geralt’s chest and he drew away.

“You don’t need to tell me.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I just…I might have been a bit dramatic when I chose that name.”

“As opposed to now, when there’s not a single dramatic bone in your body,” Geralt deadpanned, earning him a snort and a swat to the arm from Jaskier.

“Oh shush you,” Jaskier said, with laughter in his eyes. “I mean it. I might have been a bit…melodramatic. One might also say, I was feeling terrible about myself and I wanted to take that and make it into something good.”

“You don’t need to downplay how you felt,” Geralt said seriously.

“I know.” Jaskier’s twitched into a thin smile that slowly grew warmer as he exhaled. “Buttercups aren’t exactly the most beautiful flowers out there. Or the most useful ones. Or the most resilient. When I was a child, I tried to make a bouquet of buttercups and the petals had fallen off before I could give it to my mother. I don’t remember much, it’s been so long ago, but I do remember that I cried and tossed the stems away. My mother found them and together we planted a little patch of buttercups in the garden, where I could see them from my window. She taught me how to take care of them so they would grow and I loved doing that whenever I was frustrated from my lessons. I have no idea how much time I spent staring at these buttercups every time that I failed at something. When I didn’t understand my lessons on how to become a viscount, when I had an argument with my father, when I felt like I was wilting away in that place.”

A line between his brows had appeared at his first words and deepened as the story went on, but now it smoothed away, as Jaskier rubbed the pendant between his fingers. “I felt like those plucked buttercups. It was only a matter of time before I too would fester like they had. But If I could just find the way to care for myself in the right way, if I found my garden and people who cared for me like my mother and I had for the flowers, I could grow. I thought that though I might still not be very useful, or resilient or…or good enough for anyone to want to keep me around, but maybe I could find someone who would look at me and find comfort in me.”

“You did,” Geralt said, putting as much sincerity into his voice as he could.

Jaskier’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “When I told my mother, she helped me leave Lettenhove and go to Oxenfurt. I know my father wasn’t happy about my going away, but…I think he has accepted that I’d rather be a bard than a viscount. And he knows I’m happier like this. But I don’t know for sure. I haven’t seen them in so long. Only once, since leaving Lettenhove and that was even before the two of us had met.”

“We could visit them, if you wanted.” Geralt shifted his weight a little, as he tried to find the right words. “If you miss your mother, we could meet her. If your parents watched you perform, I’m sure they would be proud of you. I know I am.”

Jaskier’s bottom lip trembled and his grip tightened around the pendant. “I think I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

“So. Oxenfurt, Beauclair and Lettenhove. We’re going to have a busy year.”

Jaskier let out a small laugh and his eyes glinted with joy that made that delicate thing in Geralt’s chest glow brighter than the sun.

“Oh, don’t forget that we’ll have to go back to the coast again to tell Essi about everything that happened. And I’ve already promised Lambert and Eskel that we are going to meet up with them again in summer.”

“If you keep making so many plans, they aren’t all going to fit into just one year.”

Jaskier gave him a boyish grin and nudged him playfully with his elbow. “Good thing you’re not going to get rid of me anytime soon, then. We have all the time in the world.”

The notion was so strange, so wonderful. Even after all this time, imagining a future together felt like a dream. Geralt’s words got stuck in his throat and he could do nothing but hum in agreement. Jaskier understood him even so.

“Well, anyway,” Jaskier gave a mock bow, “that was the glorious tale of the meaning of my name.”

“I like it.” Geralt’s voice was strangely rough. “And I think buttercups are plenty beautiful.”

“Flatterer.” Jaskier let out a snort, but his expression remained soft.

“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “Fine. Poet, then.”

Geralt let out a groan, that quickly ended in a chuckle. “Now that’s more an insult to you than to me, masterpoet.”

“I don’t think so. You can be quite good with words. Occasionally.” He winked and tilted his head to the side, a glint in his eyes. “Like when you told me what your gifts meant. I assume that there’s meaning to this carving too?”

Geralt hummed in agreement.

“So what does it mean?” Jaskier asked in a way that made it clear that he knew exactly what it meant.

“What do you think it means?”

Geralt leaned closer to press their foreheads together. He closed his eyes, focussing on Jaskier’s touch, as he played idly with Geralt’s fingers and drew small patterns onto his skin.

Jaskier didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to. Both of them already knew what it meant. They saw it in each other’s eyes when they later sat together with the rest of the wolves, joking and laughing. They felt it in each other’s touch, when Jaskier brushed his side when they were preparing dinner together. They heard it in each other’s voices when Jaskier cheered Geralt on while he sparred with Lambert and Geralt gave snarky commentary just for the sake of Jaskier’s entertainment.

And later, when the keep had quieted down again and they laid in each other’s arms once more, Geralt leaned closer to Jaskier and whispered it in his ear. And Jaskier caressed his cheek gently and whispered it right back.

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