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marchtothefuckingsea · 2 years

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Bitter Water - Geralt of Rivia

My Masterlist.

I usually don’t do this kind of thing, but this was heavily, heavily inspired by some songs, so I included them as they’re used if you want to listen. If not, that’s fine too! They’re not needed at all the get the jist of the story.

Geralt x fem!Dandelion (Jaskier still exists, it’s mostly just a placeholder name that I thought fit her really well. she’s a bard too!)

Bittersweet fluff.

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: None. This is my first time writing in something other than first person, so excuse any mistakes.

Summary: It’s the utterly stupid song that makes Geralt realize that he’s in love with the bard. Undeniable, irrevocably, helplessly in love with her.

He watched the fire dance in her eyes as she stared at it, while a light smile graced her lips from something the male bard to her right had said; most likely a jab at the witcher sat across from them. His own lips curled up in a barely noticeable smile.

The close trio had spent the last week traveling in search of another beast, and had finally caught up to it and defeated it the day before. They had been paid with a bag of coin for their efforts and-though they had more than enough to rent a room or two in a tavern- the witcher and, most especially, the female bard had insisted upon sleeping outside while the weather was still nice, much to Jaskier's disapproval.

And, like always, Geralt would give her the world if she asked. Not that she ever did; she was a simple person. She didn't judge harshly, and she wasn't loud or obnoxious like her fellow bard. In fact, she was quite quiet, only speaking what was needed most of the time. She only came out of her shell during times like these, and when she sung. Gods, was she beautiful when she sung.

He immediately shook his head at that thought, as if shaking away a fly. The witcher turned his head back to the two bards, who had fallen quiet, now whispering to each other, Jaskier with a wide grin on his face, and Dandelion with the beginnings of one on her own, both looking at him.

"What?" He grunted, glaring at them half-heartedly.

"Nothing. Just having a good old chat." Jaskier piped up, unable to wipe the grin off of his face.

The witcher snorted. "I'm going to bed."

"Bed? You mean like the one I- I mean we- could have been sleeping on if you two weren't being fools?" Jaskier had suddenly included Dandelion in on his jeers. She rolled her eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully.

"Where's your adventurous spirit, poet?" She mocked him back just as teasingly. Geralt just grunted again, leaving the two to have at it. He sunk into his sleeping bag a sigh, listening to the bards joke with each other. After a while they quieted down and, with his elevated hearing, he heard the crunch of leaves beneath her quiet footsteps. His lips quirked up in a small smile; she had learned well, unlike the other bard. Had he the normal hearing of a human, he would not have heard her at all. Feigning sleep, he listened as she slid into her sleeping back with a contented sigh, sidling up closer to him.

"Geralt?" Her voice was quiet, not wanting to wake Jaskier who had already passed out several feet away. His snoring broke through the background noise of the last remaining crickets and cicadas of the warm season.

He considered pretending to be asleep, but he couldn't. “Yes?” He asked back just as quietly. Something about the moment felt intimate, and he couldn’t bear to be the one to ruin it.

“I- I thought you were asleep. Sorry-” She began to apologize, but he cut her off.

“What were you about to say?”

“I was going to ask you if..ugh it was stupid. Forget it.” The moment had been ruined.

“Geralt, I have to talk to you. It’s important.” Dandelion had crept up behind the witcher, surprisingly unbeknownst to him. Had he not traveled with her for over a year now, he would have took her tone for being serious, but her voice was just a few octaves higher than it would have been if she was actually, in fact, serious. He wondered why he knew that, and cleared his throat, clearing the thought away with it. The witcher was suddenly aware of another pair of footsteps; they were relatively quiet, but still clumsy and uncoordinated.

“No you don’t.” He grunted, returning to sharpening his hunting knife.

“No, I do.” She insisted impatiently. “I told you, it’s important.” Her voice grew louder as the clumsy footsteps grew closer, and he could tell she was trying to cover up the other bard’s footsteps with her voice.

“Is it about Jaskier trying to be quiet and sneak up on me once you have me occupied?” He retorted sourly.

“It’s- what are you even talking about?” Her voice wavered for a split second, giving him all the confirmation he needed.

“The gods only know what he has in that bucket of his. It smells sour.” He frowned, scrunching his nose up at the faint smell.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She took two steps back, unable to contain her nervous laughter. He couldn’t help the smug grin that crept onto his face.

“Oh come on!” Jaskier exclaimed, dropping his pail onto the ground and making himself known. “What a killjoy!”

Geralt’s nose really scrunched up then, the fowl smell becoming stronger. “What is that?”

“Mud.”

“From where??”

“The swamp where the zombies were.”

“That would explain the rotten corpse smell.” Geralt stood, towering over his companions, who were now backing up quickly, before he could retaliate.

How he ended up with two annoying bards was entirely unknown to him.

The next night, the witcher leaned back against a tree, distancing himself from the fire that the two bards huddled close to. His muscles ached from fighting the rest of the zombies that had managed to evade them earlier in the day. Another day, another job well-or not so well- done.

A soldier, a poet, a king

Dandelion strummed her guitar quietly, experimentally, glancing over to the seemingly sleeping witcher. Jaskier sat across from her, clearing his throat as he began to tap softly on the body of his lute, creating a soft drumming sound. The witcher listened quietly, feigning sleep as he rested his sore body. Iris had fought too, but she was far from tired.

“There will come a soldier, who carries a mighty sword.” She sang softly. “He will tear your city down, oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.”

“Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lord. He will tear your city down, oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” Jaskier joined in for the chorus, but not playing his own instrument the way it was meant to be played. He still tapped on the side of it, and Dandelion began to tap her heel against the log she was seated on in time with the rhythm.

Geralt, who had actually been drifting off to sleep, tensed in surprise. He had never heard the self-proclaimed bard sing before. He had heard her hum tunes before, and even that was music to his ears. Her soft voice carried to his ears easily.

“There will come a poet, whose weapon is his word.” He cracked his golden eyes open, and he found his gaze meeting hers. “He will slay you with his tongue. Oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” She smiled gently, her face illuminated warmly by the fire. His heart seized in his chest unfamiliarly. Had he been bitten?

“Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lord. He will slay you with his tongue. Oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” Jaskier, at that moment, had been completely forgotten by the two of them, their eyes locked on each other. It was strangely intimate.

“There will come a king, whose brow is laid in thorn. Smeared with oil like David’s boy. Oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” He watched her soft lips form the words of the familiar song he had heard sung by a number of different voices before. But her voice easily eclipsed the others; it was magic.

“He will tear your city down. Oh lei, oh lai, oh….” She trailed off, ending the tune with a last strum of her guitar that lingered in the air. She did not break her gaze from his, staring back at him with just as much intensity.

He didn’t want it to end.

Several nights later, after another job well done, the witcher sat in a tavern, watching his two companions sing. Jaskier played his lute, which had a higher pitch and produced a distinct timbre than Dandelion’s own stringed instrument that resembled a guitar. Not her energy nor her instrument matched the bard’s, but they played together well anyway. She strummed out the last, deep note to the tune, before Jaskier tilted his head towards hers, and a smile graced her face as she nodded, agreeing with whatever he had said. Jaskier strummed out a note that sounded vaguely familiar, and when Iris joined in with her guitar, Geralt groaned at the realization. Not this song again.

Toss a Coin To Your Witcher (Female voice)

He listened with an indifferent frown as they played the intro, stretching it out longer than they usually did. He noted that Dandelion looked nervous; That was unusual.

“When a humble bard graced a ride along with Geralt of Rivia, along came this song.” His jaw dropped against the brim of his mug as Dandelion began to sing the song, in that sweet voice of hers. Every muscle in his body tensed in surprise, and he gripped the handle of the beer mug until his hand ached and his knuckles were a deathly white.

“From when the white wolf fought a silver tongued devil, his army of elves, at his hooves they did revel.” Her voice was hesitant and tinged with anxiety that was only noticeable to the witcher that sat quietly against the wall, almost in a trance. “They came after me, with masterful deceit, broke down my lute, and they kicked in my teeth. And while the devil’s horns minced our tender meat, and so cried the witcher, he can’t be beat.” He smiled, noticing that the female bard had changed up the song, filling it in with the correct word that he remembered her and Jaskier arguing over constantly weeks ago as the bard had worked on the song.

“Toss a coin to your witcher, o’ valley of plenty, o’ valley of plenty.” Jaskier’s voice joined hers at the chorus, giving Geralt the smallest bit of control to rip himself out of the trance she had put him under.

“At the edge of the world, fight the mighty hoard that bashes and breaks you, and brings you to mourn.” She wavered slightly when Jaskier trailed off, shoving the spotlight back onto her. Geralt could tell she was nervous, and he recalled her admitting that, although she was a self-proclaimed bard, she rarely sang in front of people. Though Jaskier had encouraged her since she had joined them in their travels, and she had grown comfortable singing around the fire with the witcher and the other bard.

“He thrust every elf far back on the shelf. High up in the mountains from whence it came. He wiped out your pest, got kicked in his chest. He’s a friend of humanity, so give him the rest.” Her tone was defiant as her eyes swept over every person in the room in the same glare that several of them had given Geralt when they had entered the tavern.

He wondered if any of the others in the room were affected by her voice like he was.

“That’s my epic tale, our champion prevailed. Defeated the villain, now pour him some ale.”

“Toss a coin to your witcher, o’ valley of plenty, o’ valley of plenty. Toss a coin to your witcher, a friend of humanity.” Her voice filled the tavern, the anxiety that had tinged it at the very beginning of the song dissipating as she grew more confident. She continued the chorus on her own this time-in that sweet, entrancing voice of hers- and Geralt felt realization hit him like a brick wall.

Geralt had never felt helpless, had never felt so uninhibited, in his entire life. But now that it was there, he couldn’t shake the feeling. He was frozen in place during her song, but as soon as she drew out the last note breathlessly-with a smile on her face that made the witcher breathless, too-he stood abruptly, leaving the room and ignoring her quizzical glance that he felt on his back. As much as it pained him to do so, he needed to be alone. He needed to gather himself and his thoughts, his emotions that he had absolutely no control over like he had thought. He was painfully aware, now, that he had lost the ability of control ever since he had met her.

He was in love with her.

He was utterly, irrevocably, helplessly in love with her.

“Fuck.” He breathed out. He sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands as he breathed in deep breaths in an attempt to regain some semblance of control. He had danced around his feelings for a while now; months, perhaps even longer. Ever since that night that he had heard her sing, she must have put a spell on him. After that, her normal voice even sounded sweeter to his ears.

Geralt was the last person that would believe in fate. But maybe, he thought, maybe she was his fate. He cursed himself under his breath again for thinking like a damned fool.

Dandelion watched as Geralt stood up and abruptly left the room, confused. She ignored Jaskier calling her back for another tune, walking after the white-haired witcher before suddenly stopping in the hallway, uncertain. What right did she have to go after him like that? He wasn’t hers to worry about. She needed to get that into her head.

With a sigh, she turned back to the tavern, Jaskier’s lute traveling to every corner of the room as he started the next song without her. She sat at the bar, ordering a mug of ale. The bartender opened her mouth as if to make a comment, then shut it, sliding the drink across the counter to the bard. She gulped down a third of it in one go, only parting from the glass for air.

She struggled with her emotions, tears welling up in her eyes, then anger taking over. Anger at herself for even allowing herself to develop feelings towards the obvious lone wolf.

“ I guess they call him the white wolf for good reason.” She muttered to herself with a bitter laugh, downing the rest of her drink with a forlorn feeling settling in her gut as the alcohol began to work its magic. She ordered another glass, running her hands through her hair in frustration before Jaskier sidled up in the seat beside her.

“Mind if I join you?” He asked, sensing her distress.

“Yes, yes I do.” She slurred, her face tearstained and her voice strained.

“Is this about Geralt?” Jaskier was straightforward with his question. He could see the chemistry between the bard and the witcher, even though the two of them were completely oblivious-or in denial. Any fool could see it.

“Wha? ‘Course not.” The bard stumbled over her words, spinning on her stool to face him and nearly falling off in the process. He steadied her by her biceps, letting go when she jerked away from him.

“I think it is.” He insisted as she turned back to the bar, slumping over the counter and resting her head in her arms.

“No, ‘s just about me being an idiot.” She mumbled.

“Look, why don’t we just get you to bed. I’m sure you’ll feel better i-” He tried to tug her off of the stool, scrambling back in surprise when she spun around to face him, narrowing her eyes at him.

“No.”

“I’m not leaving you here, you’re going to end up doing something stupid.”

“I’m not going.” She said stubbornly.

“I’ll get Geralt.” Jaskier threatened.

“I don’t care. Go get the big oaf. He’s probably busy with some other woman anyway.” Dandelion muttered, disappointment clear in her voice. She turned back to the bartender, ordering another drink. Jaskier left the room in a hurry.

It felt like minutes later-maybe hours, he wasn’t sure at this point-that he heard a knock at his door. He almost thought he was imagining it, until the knocking came again, louder this time, and more urgent. He cursed under his breath, crossing the room and opening the door.

“Fuck off bard.” At the sight of Jaskier, he slammed the door shut. Jaskier shoved his foot in the door though, hissing in pain at the strength of the door slam and glaring at the witcher.

“What do you want?” He growled.

“It’s Dandelion .” Geralt's heart skipped a beat at the mention of her name and he silently cursed himself.

“What about her?” He asked flatly, leaving the door hang open and walking back into the room. Jaskier took this as an invitation, quickly following him.

“She’s drunk.”

“And? How is that my problem?”

“I- I don’t know, it just is. I don’t want to deal with her! She won’t listen to me!” Jaskier pleaded.

“She’s an adult, she can take care of herself, Jaskier.”

“You know what happened last time she got drunk and we left her there.” He deadpanned. Geralt did; she had gotten herself into a nasty fight, earning a black eye and a busted lip.

He huffed in frustration, pushing past the bard. “Fine.”

Dandelion saw the witcher approach out of the corner of her eye as she chugged down her second mug of ale. She slumped over the bar with a groan, hiding her head in her arms.

"Dandelion." Geralt grunted, taking residence on the bar stool to her right where Jaskier had been not half an hour before.

"Geralt." She greeted him, her voice muffled by her arms. She didn't want him to see her tear-stained face.

"You're drunk." He said plainly.

"'s that obvious?"

"More than. Come on." Grabbing her by her shoulders, he hauled her out of her seat despite her muttered protests.

"No, I'm not done." She protested, pulling against his grip. He just shook his head, towing her out into the hallway.

"Don't make me stay with Jaskier, he snores." She complained, slouched over his arm that supported her by her shoulders. He froze, realizing she didn't have a room. Looking down at her, he saw he'd head slumped forward, nearly passed out. He towed her over to Jaskier's room-right across the hallway from his-and began pounding insistently on the door.

"Go away!" The bard shouted. "She's all yours!" He could hear the grin in the bard's voice, and he scowled.

"Fuck." He grunted, hauling her across the hall to his room and clumsily kicking the door closed behind him. Dumping her rather unceremoniously onto the mattress, he immediately fetched his water canteen. By this time, the female bard had curled into a ball on one side of his bed, fast asleep. He sighed, debating if he should wake her or not, until she made the decision for him. She raised her head tiredly, blinking at him with glassy eyes.

"Here." He thrusted the canteen to her, and she took it, looking confused until she tilted it back and the cool water ran down her throat. She pulled back with a cough, gagging.

"You drank too fast."

"Someone cares?" She teased boldly, her throat still scratchy. The alcohol in her system gave her a new kind of bravery.

He grunted in response and she frowned. She had wanted a better reaction than that.

"Why'd you come back to the bar?" She asked.

He groaned in annoyance, pulling up a chair beside the bed and settling into it as she waited impatiently. "For you."

"Like I'd believe that." She snorted. "No pretty ladies?"

"What?"

"I said, no pretty women?? No one catch your eye?"

"Nope." He replied shortly.

"Come *onnn. You can tell me."

"Jaskier told me you were drunk, so I came to get you."

"I don't believe it, I can see it in your eyes." She insisted, leaning forward and dramatically locking eyes with him. "You're so smitten. But for who…" She trailed off, raising her eyebrows, encouraging him to spill his guts to her.

And spill them he did.

"You. Alright? Happy?" Geralt bit out, his tone sounding sharper than he had intended.

"Me?" She looked taken aback.

"Give it some time, alright? I just need to reign it in. I know you don't-" She leaned forward the rest of the way, cutting him off with an impulsive, forceful kiss. Her lips tasted of the strong ale she had gotten drunk off of earlier.

"What if I don't want you to reign it in?" She asked quietly.

"You're drunk." He muttered, pushing her away. His heart was about to beat out of his chest.

"That doesn't mean I don't know what I'm talking about." She argued, but she didn't press it. She sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples and groaning as her head began to pound. "I'll take the couch." She mumbled to no one in particular, staggering around the dividing wall. He listened as she flopped onto the couch, and as she shifted around. He listened until her breathing evened out before daring to move from the chair. Quietly getting into the bed, he laid there, feeling as if he had just ruined everything.

Dandelion was gone from the room entirely before he awoke. He found her in the dining area of the tavern, at a table in the corner by herself with a forlorn look on her face. He ignored the way his heart clenched painfully in his chest, walking by the table and grunting out a "We're leaving" as he passed, not trusting his voice. Jaskier waited outside by Roach. Iris nodded, looking up to see the witcher was already out the door. She sighed uncomfortably, almost considering staying behind.

Finally pushing that thought away, she left her payment on the table and followed in Geralt's footsteps out the door, finding him loading their things onto Roach. He barely spared her a glance, afraid of his eyes revealing too much.

It was after that night at the tavern, that Geralt had absolutely no clue how to approach her; especially after what he had admitted to. They set out on the road again, and she was oddly quiet as she fell into step beside Jaskier, only nodding along to what he said, and occasionally responding shortly when he prompted her to.

"What's going on?" Jaskier asked her, hesitant to touch on the subject, but his nosy nature allowed him to leave it no longer.

"Nothing." She muttered.

"Come on, I'm your friend, your fellow poet! You can tell me."

"It's nothing, okay?" She didn't mean to snap at the bard, who now wore the expression of a kicked puppy. "I'm sorry I just- I'm sorry." She mumbled, falling even further behind him; an indication that the conversation was over. The bard sighed.

Dandelion trailed behind the witcher and the bard, feeling nauseous and her head pounding in a painful hangover. Her body ached when she realized they would be traveling a long way that day. With her head hung and eyes trained on the ground, she barely realized when they had stopped, almost colliding with Jaskier. She raised her head, squeezing her eyes shut when her head pounded from the sudden light.

"We're stopping here." She frowned. They were supposed to make it to the next village by nightfall, and they still had plenty of daylight left. But she didn't question the witcher's decision, nodding slightly in response. She was just grateful for the chance to rest, her aching body desperate to lie down.

She unloaded her sleeping bag from Roach, flinching when her fingers brushed Geralt's as he tried to help her. His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second, and she saw no hostility. With a sudden bout of bravery, she laid her sleeping bag beside his as she always did, before volunteering to fetch wood and kindling for their fire. Jaskier stepped in, volunteering instead and immediately setting off before anyone had the chance to argue. Now left alone with the witcher, she stood awkwardly, shuffling her feet away from him.

"Wait." He said, making her raise her head at the emotion in his voice. She swallowed thickly.

"Did you mean it?" She asked quietly. "Because I- I did."

The female bard found her feet rooted to the ground as the witcher stepped closer to her, giving her every opportunity to step away and decline his advance. But she did not. He carefully reached to cup her face, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone before leaning down and capturing her lips in a kiss. She immediately kissed back, only pulling away eventually for air.

"I meant it." He told her, his voice low and sincere. "I've never meant anything more in my entire life."

Bitter Water

The witcher and his bard watched from their table as Jaskier danced and sang his tune, trailing the final note out before leading into another song. Geralt couldn’t help but to roll his eyes as he recognized the song from the first note now. Thanks to Dandelion, the entire, foolish song now held a place in his cold heart. He watched a small smile grace her features as Jaskier played out the tune, humming along. The song held a dear place in her heart, too; it had been the first time she had ever sung in front of people she didn’t even know.

“When the humble bard, graced a ride along, with Geralt of Rivia, along came this song.” The witcher listened as she hummed along quietly, the smile on his face growing ever present.

“From when the white wolf fought a silver tongued devil, his army of elves, at his hooves they did revel.” The witcher found himself humming along quietly, and his eyes met the female bard’s, her smile breaking out into a grin.

“They came after me, with masterful deceit. Broke down my lute and, they kicked in my teeth. While the devil’s horns, minced our tender meat. And so cried the witcher, he can’t be bleat.” Geralt grinned back at her now, remembering the time she had first sung the song, and how she had changed the lyric up. It was a fond memory between the two of them.

“Toss a coin to your witcher, o valley of plenty, o’ valley of plenty.” Geralt cleared his throat, dipping his head down to his mug.

“You know,” He started. “This song has grown on me.”

Dandelion smiled. “It has, has it?”

The witcher nodded fondly. “It’s when I realized I love you.” The words that had been impossible for him to say before, tumbled out of his mouth easily now, as they did the past several months of their courtship. She reached across the table, taking his larger hand in hers and tenderly tracing the lines of his palm. He sighed, relaxing at the now familiar feeling. He had found himself relaxing more in the past few months than ever before in his life.

Their intimate moment was interrupted, however, by the obnoxious bard who came bounding up to them like a loyal dog, a grin on his face. “Dandelion! Join me!”

The female bard hesitated, before she smiled at him, nodding. “Sure. I’ll be right there!” She matched his enthusiasm, before turning back to the witcher at her side with a much wider smile on her face, her eyes gleaming.

She left her guitar, and stood beside Jaskier now. “May I?” She asked him, gesturing to his lute. He gave her a slightly confused look before nodding. Strumming the instrument experimentally, she began the tune, a nervous lump in her throat.

“Oh-oh-oh. Oh-oh-oh.” Her voice wavered, and she stopped, stretching the tune out to allow her to collect herself.

“Oh fair and flighty love. My aerolite above, the only dove I see.” She sang, referencing his pet name for her and making his heart skip a beat in his chest.

“Could you love me more, if by the sun and moon I swore, that I would never flee?” Her eyes quickly met his before she closed them, unable to meet his gaze without her voice wavering. She had put the song together weeks now; everything she felt. Each line referencing something he had said to her, doubts he had expressed, doubts she felt, and things left unsaid.

“Well I still taste you on my lips, lovely bitter water.” In his trance, he remembered the time she had gotten injured on a job. He remembered when she drank down the healing potion, and how she had grimaced, saying it tasted like bitter water. He had kissed her then, nodding and agreeing.

“The terrible fire of old regret is honey on my tongue. And I know I shouldn’t love you. I know I shouldn’t love you.” Her eyes finally opened, meeting his in an intimate stare. At that moment, they were the only two in the room. “I know I shouldn’t love you; But I do.”

“I feel it in my soul, I feel the empty hole. The cup that can’t be filled. I feel it in my blood, in the fire and the flood.” She closed her eyes again, melting into the song. “The beast that can’t be killed.”

“Even now, you mark my steps. Lovely, bitter water. Oh the days of our delights, are poison in my veins.” She turned away from him, beginning to pace as she became one with the song, her body unconsciously swaying to the tune. The witcher, his back leaning against the wall, sat, once again entranced by her voice. She never failed to leave him breathless; in more ways than one.

“I know I shouldn’t love you. I know…” She trailed off, strumming the other bard’s lute and turning back to the witcher, a sad smile on her face.

“I am not a fool entire. No, I know what is coming.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “You’ll bury me beneath the trees I climbed when I was a child.” He remembered their first argument, while he had been digging the healing potion out his bag.

“You could have gotten yourself killed!” He had growled, his sharp golden eyes snapping up to meet hers.

“But I didn’t! I saved your ass!” She retorted, sitting up and swinging her legs over the bed in the tavern, even though the action caused her to grimace.

“I don’t care! I don’t want to have to bury you!” He burst out, unable to contain it anymore. “I love you, don’t you get that? I can’t lose you!” His voice wavered.

She immediately softened, a guilty frown forming on her face. “I’m sorry.” She apologized quietly. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, it’s my fault. You shouldn’t even be traveling with me.” Her eyes widened.

“Geralt, don’t even go there.” She said softly, sternly. He refused to meet her gaze, his eyes glued to the leather bag even though he wasn’t searching anymore. Gripping the hide in his fist, he sucked in a shaky breath. “Geralt.” He looked back up at her, eyes filled with pain.

“You don’t understand, it’s a curse. My entire life is a curse, and it spreads to those around me.” His voice was flat, but the bard could hear the strain behind it.

“Don’t say that.” She leaned forward to embrace him, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing deeply. “Don’t you ever say that.” She repeated fiercely.

He sucked in another breath, composing himself before pulling away from her and handing her the potion. She scrunched her nose up at it as she uncorked it, but downed it in one gulp anyway.

“It tastes like bitter water.” She grimaced. The witcher suddenly captured her in a kiss, swiping his tongue across her lips before pulling away and nodding.

“I agree.”

“I know I shouldn’t love you.” He was pulled out of the memory when her eyes met his once again, a bittersweet feeling spreading through him until it faded entirely, leaving nothing but love in its wake. He had never felt so…so- He couldn’t explain it. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I know I shouldn’t love you.” She strummed the lute, swaying to the song. He was just as entranced by her as the day he realized he was so helplessly in love. The pause was unbearable as she drew it out, maintaining eye contact with the witcher she loved so dearly.

“But I do.”

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