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moonlights-inkwell · 4 years

Text

Someone You’re Not.

Summary: You know so much about him, but really you know nothing. You don’t even know his real name.

Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 5,947

A/N: I mentioned how Jaskier told the reader his real name in my last fic and then decided I just had to write this. I guess this is a series now.

Warnings: Drinking, Canon compliant violence, smut, unprotected sex.

For the amount of time you and the pretty bard spent together, you could safely say you knew very little about him. Well, very little might be an exaggeration. Jaskier is exceptionally open and spends so much time talking, and usually about himself, that it would be impossible to not pick up a thing or two. You know in all certainty that his favourite colour is periwinkle, that he spent a good few years studying in Oxenfurt Academy, and how immediately when you decide to stay in an inn or tavern he needs to have a bath with a very specific lavender oil. You know the way he fingers the frets of his lute even when he doesn't play, just to have something to do with his hands, how he brightens up at even the most minute of praise and how his smile makes you swear he cannot be human because human men can't possibly be this beautiful. You know the feeling of his lips against yours and his hand on yours, but you really know nothing at all. No idea of where he grew up, if he has siblings. You don't even know his name.

It seems slightly sinister when I think of it like that, you consider as you swirl your tankard of ale, sat across from the centre of the tavern floor where he's singing for the clientele songs of Geralt's success in slaying a selkiemore not two hours before. The drunken celebration of the town people, clapping and shouting a familiar chorus of Toss A Coin To Your Witcher over Jaskier's new song, feels worlds apart from the comfortable quiet of the table you share with the white haired man- connected with these grinning locals but only through the bard's song and proximity. He's beaming, eyes glittering, and mouth turned up in the widest smile as he drinks up the praise and adulation. He looks like a child in front of a baker's shop and always does as he performs, your own lips turn up in an appreciative smile as you watch him bound around like an overly excited puppy, plucking the strings of his lute. After travelling together for... you don’t even know how long- time is almost an incomprehensible concept while traveling with the Witcher- and being in your relationship as of two winters ago, you don't even know what his given name is. Something about that strikes you as unfair. Stage Names are all well and good for Bards, needing something that can be cried out easily by an adoring audience like the one in front of you now but he’s more than just a bard to you. No matter where you go, he always charms anyone who listens to him sing. It makes sense. When you met him, working in a tiny tavern in a tiny town not far from Toussaint, you fell in love as soon as you heard him sing. Were anyone ever to ask about your first meeting you would have claimed that you felt his grip on your heart intensify when you saw him smile. Gave up on a job, friends, a life to blindly follow him in his travels with his Witcher friend, all for the sake of that smile, that voice, those eyes. Like a siren, he sang his song and into his hold came your heart. It sounds oh so very romantic- as Jaskier has said time and time again when trying to put the “tale of our love" to music- but it’s not quite true. His voice was beautiful, his eyes wild, his voice like a call to the wild, but that wasn’t what made you leave everything behind; you left because of how sweetly he spoke to you after his show, ignored the rest of the tavern to sit at the bar talking avidly to you until long after you should have closed, and how beautiful his personality was. It sounds far more romantic to say it was love at first sight, first song, than love at first conversation, love at first offer of freedom.

No matter the venue, you watch him pour his soul out into his performances and sustain himself on the praise it earns him, be it these little pubs or wedding banquets. He's like a fae or a puppy, the way he can just lap up positivity and turn it, alchemy like, into song and show. You assume the only person who hasn't fallen in love with the Bard's songs is the person he spends most of his time singing about. The Witcher is never impressed, preferring the quiet of his meditation over the hustle and bustle of a lively performance. You don't entirely blame him. Jaskier is a joy to watch performing, and his voice is like nothing you’ve known in your life; but you travel with him, and Geralt has travelled with him long before you entered their traveling party, it takes the wonder out of him sometimes, when reminded that the same man singing was only this morning composing an annoying little ditty about how Geralt smelled and needed to bathe and how you ought to smile more. Geralt makes a noise of annoyance at all the noise, and you attempt to hide your enjoyment by taking a deep gulp of your beer, only to gag and cringe at the taste. It’s disgusting.

Ale always tastes vile, always has and always will. In your younger years you drank it with friends without complaint so as not to be laughed at, though your male friends had always laughed anyway. Having worked in a tavern meant that it was the convenient to drink and serve during the busiest working hours, in spite of how disgusting it is to you. Even now, you find yourself drinking it to keep up an appearance of stoicism to impress Geralt, determined not to have him believe you delicate and useless in contracts, but even now you couldn’t make yourself like it, or even find it tolerable. If your white-haired companion notices the way your face scrunches up after taking a swig, he says nothing. In your disgust at your drink, you hadn't noticed that the songs have ended and the crowd quieted down, until you feel the press of lips against the curvature of your neck and your bard settling himself beside you, which only serves to draw a shocked squeak from you. He smiles at you with a playful wink, resting his lute on the table,

“Well, what did the two of you think of my triumphant performance?” He asks proudly, which results in a noncommittal grunt from Geralt. He’s never been much of a conversationalist, and never has much time for the songs either, so you find yourself filling in the silence with your own enthusiastic praise.

“It was fantastic. You know it was fantastic, Jask.” You coo to him, resting your cheek on his shoulder and watching his chest puff up with pride. “Especially seeing as you only wrote it today.” In return for the compliment, the Bard presses a kiss into your hair. You pull back and smile proudly, resting a hand on his thigh as you take another swig of the beer. The look on your face must have been undeniable as you find Jaskier gently prying it from your hand after noticing your grimace,

“Gods, Dear Heart. Don't dare drink that, it tastes of piss.” He says playfully, leaning in close to gently wipe the ale that had sloshed over your bottom lip in the sudden movement. Dear Heart. As much as you've never been one to use aliases or fake names, Jaskier uses pet names so often they might as well be your true name.

Dear Heart, Dove, Love, My Breath, Darling Muse, My Moon and Stars; you lose track of the number of sweet names he uses for you. They’re always romantic and lyrical, the kind of terms that would sound stilted coming from anyone but him. He says them like they’re meaningful, and had taken time to construct, even more so than the time it took your parents to name you. At first you had worried that he used them because he's forgotten your name, but you know that it’s just his way. He pairs them with sweet kisses to the back of your hand, or a hand at your hip, using your true name only when annoyed or worried. He likes titles. He still calls Geralt by every pseudonym he can think of much to the ire of the other man.

“If it gets me drunk then it's fine.” You reply quickly, cheeks flushed at the feeling of his calloused thumb against the sensitive skin of your mouth, trying not to breathe in deeply and to fight off the urge to brush your tongue across the pad. No matter how many times he touches you, however chaste the contact is, you find yourself blushing like the first time. With a melodramatic gasp, the bard pulls back his thumb to stare at you like you had grown a second head.

“You do understand you're supposed to enjoy what you’re drinking, not just what it does to you, right?” He says, as if he's the authority on drinking, his tone of voice telling you that there's nothing you can say to dissuade him. “I’ll fetch you some of the wine I like. I can promise it tastes better than that.” And with that he smiles and pushes the thumb into his mouth, cringing as the beer touches his tongue. “Gods, I was right. You stay there, don’t touch that, I’ll be back.”

Geralt rolls his eyes at Jaskier's proclamation and grunts for your attention before he gestures towards the door, got to his feet and walked off to bed. Despite what Jaskier's song would have the people believe, it had not been as easy a fight as either of you had anticipated. Geralt had been slammed into the river bank so many times you thought he would have broken a bone or more, and a rapid movement had seen you sent crashing into a tree and less than useless for an hour or two. He's had a spree of bad luck as of late. You almost feel bad that he has to see you and Jaskier interact with each other like this since his latest tryst with Yennifer ended as poorly as it ever does. The Witcher’s absence sees you return to your earlier thoughts about the Bard's name, or your lack of knowledge of his real name. It shouldn’t matter, and truly it doesn't matter to you, but as you watch him try and navigate his way through the crowd of people around the bar, you find yourself trying to think of what his real name could be. He's no Erik, and certainly you can’t imagine him as an Aleksander or Kacper, but you can't quite imagine a name for him but Jaskier. It suits him. Dandelion’s are bright, beautiful and misunderstood, and so is he. Were you honest with yourself, you have no idea why he's here with you. If his accent and clothes weren’t already loaded with coin and privilege, him saying things like ‘you should enjoy what you drink' just solidifies in your mind that he doesn't belong with you and Geralt. Enjoying what you drink means affording a drink that tastes so good it justifies paying for it, and you can barely justify paying for even ale when it gets you drunk. He's like a rare and beautiful songbird, sweet sounding and brightly coloured and strange to find lingering in places where they don’t belong, like with a Witcher and a girl with such little self-preservation that she'll fight monsters, such as yourself. The sight of Your Dandelion returning to the table with two jugs of wine removes every thought from your mind entirely.

“Here, Dear Heart. You'll like the taste much more, I swear.” He says with a wide grin, still riding on the high of his triumphant performance, pockets full of coin and head filled with applause. He looks beautiful like this. The two jugs are placed in the space between your hands and his, surrounded on one side by his lute. He reaches out timidly and rests the tips of his fingers on your palm, which lets you slide your palm under his and squeeze it gently. You sip the wine without a second thought and he, in turn, takes a deep gulp. It tastes of tart cherries, cloves and how Jaskier's lips taste when he kisses you in the midnight hours, you find yourself smiling as you pull it away from your mouth, the deep red staining your mouth. He’s right. You do like the taste.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I told you as much, Dove. It’s delicious, the night is young, and we have coin. So drink.”

/////////

Once the two of you have reached a delicious sort of drunkenness that can only come with the coins from a successful contract, performance, and spending them on more than five jugs of the sweetest tasting wine you have ever drank, you find yourself pressed against the door on the inside of the room you're sharing with your Dandelion. His lips, chapped but soft, are pressed against your own, tongue dipping into your mouth as if still seeking out any wine that might linger still, making your fingers curl into the blue satin of his doublet and your tongue to timidly lap at his. Nights like this, where you aren’t sleeping in the open or five feet away from Geralt and Roach, are rarer than you would like but the scarcity makes you treasure them more. They feel like a gift. Nights where the two of you can just take time with one another, not just steal quick moments of pleasure when you can be sure you're alone. You wouldn’t give up this life for anything on the continent but if you could sleep in a real building more often you would do it in a heartbeat, just for moments like this, where a knee slots between your own and his lips dart down from your own to the hollow of your throat, to suck bruises the colour of wine against your skin, drawing desperate sighs from kiss swollen lips. Your hips rut against his knee to try to relieve the pressure and wetness gathering between your legs, and a warm hand rests on your hip, guiding you to move quicker still.

“You’re so beautiful.” Even in moments like this, he can’t keep himself from talking. At this point, it must be a universal constant: the sun will rise each morning, fish live in water, ale tastes disgusting, and Jaskier is still talking. Warm breath fans against your skin as he speaks, as much to himself as to you. “So beautiful like this, Dear Heart. Blooming. Like a flower. You are fucking beautiful.” His tone is reverent and makes your heart ache for him to take from you, anything and everything he needs. He makes you feel so much more than what you are, and in return you groan weakly and pull his head back by his hair to slam your lips into his once more. He mutters something against your mouth that sounds a little like your name, then pries you from the door and against his chest, knee still between your thighs, and begins to stumble blindly towards the bed. Fingers splay across your chest, somewhere between groping at your chest and trying to undo the lacing keeping it tied together, in return you push the doublet off of him and let it fall to the floor without a thought. It’s easy to forget how well built your bard is when he spends so much time around Geralt, but now with a hand pressed against firm muscle beneath a thick thatch of hair you’re reminded that he is so much more than someone pretty with a lute. The brunette pulls back from you with a heavy sigh which turns to a throaty chuckle as you chase after his mouth to continue the kiss. When your eyes finally open to see why he isn’t kissing you, you catch sight of blown out pupils, with only a thin ring of ocean blue surrounding it, roaming along your face and body hungrily.

“Jask,” Your voice comes out a pathetic whine, which makes him chuckle once more, deft fingers tugging your chemise over your head only to then bunch it up and toss away from you, like prolonged contact would make it catch fire.

“Yes, Dear Heart...” He replies quickly, voice husky and verging on a growl.

“I want you...”

“And you have me.” He cradles a hand against his chest for a second or two, before pulling you closer once more, turning and pushing you onto the bed. “And I have you. And will for as long as you’ll have me.” As long as you’ll have me. He says it every time you’re intimate, anything from him simply pressing his fingers inside of you to bedding each other, it's only as long as you’ll have him. I'd have you till the day I die, you think to yourself as you land on the mattress, I’ll want you till the day I die.

“Then have me.”

The smirk he gives you is feral as he climbs over you, knees sinking into the blanket on either side of your hips, lips pressing into your neck once more then travelling downwards. Without your chemise to keep you warm, the blushed flesh of your nipples hardened in the cold air which hadn't gone unnoticed by your lover, who slides his hands to your chest once more to gently massage your mounds while mouthing down the valley between them and towards your trousers.

“Oh, Muse, do not worry.” He says reassuringly, pulling his hands back from your skin to the fabric at your waist. “I’ll have you. And Gods, how you'll sing for me.”

////////

Like all nights that involve Jaskier, drinking, and privacy, you find yourself held down against the soft mattress; one of his hands cradling your cheek, while skilled fingers pump in-and-out of you at an almost agonisingly quick pace. Slick, wet, slapping sounds echo through the room, coupled with reassuring coos from him and your own gasps and sighs. The candle, dimly lit and resting on the table closest to the bed, gave out just enough light for you to stare adoringly up at him- cast in golden light like a god amongst men. He was right. Sing for him, you did, moaning loudly into his mouth as he kisses you sweetly. It's the bard in him, that sees him treat your body like an instrument to encourage noises from, your moans the tune and his sweet nothings the lyrics. Its the most beautiful song of his, you can't help but think, one that you would gladly sing every day for the rest of your lives, a song that’s lyrics consist of a call and response between the two of you,

“Yes, Dear Heart. Sing for me, my girl.” Or “Sweet thing, you’re so bloody gorgeous.” Which is followed by your own faltering mutters of,

“Jask... there. Oh. I'll...” and “Dandelion... please. Please.”

The two fingers inside you curl and rub against that spot that makes your gasp grow louder still, a hand suddenly grasping his forearm tightly to anchor yourself once more. Buried to the start of his signet ring, he grins, twists his fingers once and then pulls them out of you. Glistening digits are pulled up to his mouth and sucked on while he maintains eye contact with you, rocking backwards to rest on his knees. He's spent an hour with his mouth and fingers working your cunt to orgasm over, and over, and over again, yet the simple sight of him sucking your essence from his fingers is enough to make you flush, as if struck with the perversion of the situation all at once. Darkened eyes, framed by darker lashes rake down your body hungrily, such a hunger that any insecurity you might have felt about being so exposed is gone at once.

“You taste so sweet.” It makes you sound like a pie or tart to be spoken about like that, but you can’t help but be flattered. He says it every time he works you to completion on his tongue, and while you argued the first time or two, you've grown to believe him. Or so you say, just so you can avoid his emphatic lectures about your beauty and how he would kill or die for you to see yourself as he does. The wine has made you brave, though, letting you question him

“I... I do?” There is an unmistakable quiver in your voice that turns Jaskier's grin wolfish. You'd almost be afraid of the look he gives you were it not for the softness in his eyes. You know his answer. It’s always the same. The swipe of his index finger across the sensitive skin of your slit, circling your clit once, twice, before pulling back and pushing it into his mouth with a loud moan, almost certainly for your benefit. He’s a performer by nature and by trade, and the level of confidence he exudes as he smirks down at you is comparable only to the confidence he has when he sings. Moving down to cage you to the bed, nose touching nose, lips near touching, his member rubs against the wetness gathering at your thighs making you gasp, feeling like you’re being touched too much and too little all at once.

“I’ve never tasted anything so sweet in my entire life.” He sounds so sincere. You know that words are his occupation, and that he’s had many lovers before you, but he speaks with such a sincerity that makes you feel like the only person to have ever existed in his eyes. It’s enough to make your throat tighten and eyes well with overly sentimental tears, so you quickly shut your eyes and press your lips against his, tongue tracing the seam of his mouth, until it opens and your tongue dips within. He tastes of sweet cherry wine, something that can only be described as Jaskier and some thing you can only assume is the taste of yourself. You should feel ashamed, a voice in the back of your mind says weakly, at such a wanton display, licking your own taste from the mouth of a lover who's taken to holding you with such a gentleness you'd swear you were made of glass, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Lustful acts behind closed doors is hardly the end of the world and Jaskier isn’t one to judge, especially if the appreciative noises he’s making into your mouth is anything to go by, and if description of what happens find itself in his next song then even still you won’t care, save for the blush it'll bring to your face and the wink that will inevitably come as he sings. It won’t be the first time. Adjusting your legs to better accommodate him between them, his member rubs against your slit, but he keeps his touch chaste, holding your face gently before breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against yours.

“May I?” It’s obvious what he means, but still you tilt your head as if oblivious.

“May you what?” The playful tone of voice brings from him a near exasperated sigh, coupled with the softest smile you can imagine. He doesn't need to ask, never does, especially when he's had you crying out for him for hours now, but he does and always does. It’s sweet that he wants to ensure that you always want it, but you love teasing him.

“Please may I make love to you, Dear Heart?” The candle flickers as he says that, and for a brief second, you're dipped into pitch blackness, before the light returns once more. Make love. It’s such a pretty term, so much sweeter than calling it fucking, makes you feel loved- even if he’s never said that he does. Cheeks tinged a deep red, you nod quickly.

“Please do.” The earnest desire in your voice is hard to hide sober, so you don't even attempt it drunk, instead opting to dedicate yourself to more fruitful pursuits like wrapping a hand around his cock and rubbing up the length quickly. The gasp that slips from his lips is musical and makes you smile, but it slips as his hand rises to grab your wrist, stilling the movement and pinning it gently to the bed.

“As much as I love you doing that, if you keep it up, I won't be able to last.” Your heart swells a little with pride, and your mouth turns up in a small smug smirk. You understand all at once why he smirks at your moans.

“I don’t recall saying I want you to last.” Your voice is little more than a whisper, making his eyes narrow into cat-like slits.

“I want to make you cum on my cock. And I don’t see a way of doing that if I don’t last.” He nips at your ear, then presses a kiss to the space behind it as he pushes into you. No matter how many times he beds you, it feels like the first... especially after multiple climaxes. He's thick. You moan loudly into his mouth as he pushes himself to the hilt inside of you, and the earlier stimulation makes him feel bigger still, every inch and vein feeling massive. It’s hard to articulate how good he makes you feel in this moment, filling you and brushing his nose against the curve of your jaw, so you moan out incoherently.

He's leaned over you, with hair far beyond tousled and hanging over his face, pupils blown out so wide you can barely make out the thin blue ring around them, and lips made plump and pink from kissing. He's beautiful, almost painfully so, covered in a thin sheen of sweat which reflected the flickering candlelight. You don’t feel worthy of the attention he lavishes on you, but it's not something you would have ever vocalised, for fear of one of his long, verbose rants about how much he adores you, loves you most ardently.

“Jaskier-" You moan softly into his mouth as he kisses you chastely, which causes the corners of his lips to turn up into a satisfied smile. He always smiles like that when you moan, proud like each noise is a medal or triumph. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you tell yourself you should be embarrassed by how vocal you’re being, but you also know you would make a million noises just to make him smile. You couldn’t have been silent if you tried anyway.

“Julian.” He replies, hips bucking back slightly only to push back into you. What? Julian? Your eyes widen then narrow in confusion, the combination of that and the pleasure of the thrust causes you to let out a moan, tinged with confusion. He chuckles once more, but less self-assured this time. He seems to have realised that saying a name that isn’t yours, while inside you, was not likely to go down well. “It’s my name. My... name.” He becomes shy for a second, leaning back onto his knees so that he’s no longer draped over you with his body, member pulled out until only the tip remained inside of you. You push yourself up onto your elbows, staring up at him, his face childish looking in a sort of guilt you've never seen before. “I was... I was hoping you could-"

“Julian.” You cut him off, reaching out to brush your fingers across his chest and threading through the shag on his chest. Julian. Your mind replays the name over and over again, and it's wonderful. A real name. It suits him, but it’s not Jaskier. It's not the name you know him by. Julian is a real name for a real man who would have real responsibilities, not a beautiful foppish bard who follows adventures and travels around the continent without a second thought like your Dandelion. “Julian, Jaskier, Dear Heart, Dandelion, Buttercup... It’s all the same to me.” It isn't though. Maybe to him it is, but you’re struck by how... insecure he looks now. Jaskier is never insecure, occasionally cruel and more often than not jealous, but insecure? Not your Jaskier.

Somewhere in your mind, back, far beyond the thought of sex and satisfaction that is taking you over, you think about those names that you call him. Dear Heart, Dandelion, Buttercup, Jaskier. All of them are the same wild, beautiful, charming man. This Julian, still beautiful and charming, is afraid; you don’t like that look on him. You like his stupid, over-excited grin, and so you lean up and peck his lips.

“It's all the same to me, Julian.” You repeat with a soothing smile. “As long as you’re mine, I really don’t mind what I call you.”

Ocean-blue eyes light up with a bright grin, and with a drunken laugh he pins you down once more, face buried in the crook of your neck at the same time that his hips snapped against yours, which draws a loud moan of each other’s names in unison.

“Oh, Dear Heart.” Jaskier, Julian, whispers sweetly against your skin and you swear in that moment that had he asked you to pull down the moon and the stars, you would have immediately done it.

“Julian.” You moan out, clinging onto his back as his thrusts continue at a near brutal pace.

“My Dearest...” He moans, mouthing at your collar and throat, one hand holding your thigh to his hip and the other holding onto your hand like someone will steal you away from him at any moment. The changed position makes you feel fuller still, each and every thrust bringing stars to your vision until, with a shaking gasp, you feel yourself overwhelmed by the oh so familiar feeling of your own completion washing over you once more. Julian, no Jaskier, continues his frenzied pumping into you, talented fingers working at your sensitive pearl, just on the right side of painfully pleasant. Any thought you had had even a second beforehand melded into an incoherent mess of the same few words,

“Good. Oh fuck, Jask. So fucking good.” Then, while your mind was overtaken by the lust and wine, you whine out a weak, “Julian.”

At that he stills, with a painful sounding whimper, and you feel the sensation of warm release flooding into your cunt. Eyes snapping open, you catch the sight of him leaning over you once more. For a moment of silence, a reprieve from the moans, gasps and wet slap of skin on skin that had filled the air, he remains leaned over you, forehead pressed to your collarbone before dropping down and collapsing on top of you. Absentmindedly, you reach up to card your fingers through his damp hair. He has so much fucking hair, you consider lazily and smile.

“You'll be the death of me, Dear Heart.” It’s muffled, and a little hard to make out, but you hear him clear as day; it makes you smile, the image of him dying mid shag. He peaks up at you from beneath those long eyelashes and repeats it, peppering kisses along the goose-pimpled flesh of your chest and the top of your breasts, making you giggle. It was a bad idea to laugh, as it encourages him in his journey of kisses, hands moving up to tickle you while using his body weight to hold you in place.

“Gods, Dandelion. Get off of me.” You cackle, trying to buck him off without much luck. “You weigh a tonne!”

“Are you calling me fat, Darling?” He sounds incredulous and insulted, but the wide grin on his face proves that he’s anything but. Rising slowly, he rests over you on one elbow and cups your cheek, pulling you into a sweet but deep kiss while he delicately pulls himself from within you. The loss makes you whimper under your breath, eyes slipping shut once more, and Jaskier breaks the kiss momentarily to watch transfixed for a second as some of his seed drips from you. You blush under his gaze, as you always do when he looks at you in this way. Skilful fingers scoop up some of his own seed, mixed with your essence, and push it back inside you, the sensation drawing a loud moan from you once more. Mouths pressing together once more, the mattress dips beside you, and you pull back once more to smile,

“I cannot believe you just called me fat.”

“I would never!”

“I weigh a tonne? That’s what you said.” His tone is matter of fact and you lean in and press a playful kiss to the tip of his nose.

“A tonne of muscle and talent?” You offer, and he smirks, grasping you by the hips and all but flinging you on your side.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, my love. Now sleep.” He says with a sigh and swats playfully at your bottom, pulling the sheets around the two of you. He never makes demands of you, so his light comments like sleep carries far more weight than they should. The blanket, combined with him curling himself around you, head between your shoulders, makes it too warm for you to fall immediately asleep; but you find yourself drifting into the warm, incomprehensible space between sleep and awake.

“Julian, eh?” Your voice is little more than a croak, yet it’s enough to make him huff out a short laugh with a squeeze of your hip.

“Yes. Julian. Julian Alfred Pankratz. I. I thought you should know.” His confidence has faltered once more and instinctively you place a hand atop of his and squeeze it. “...I realised earlier I hadn't told you.”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz.” You repeat, testing how the name feels in your mouth. “I like it.” He nods tiredly, and you curl up into a ball, rolling onto your side to let him take his usual sleeping position, forehead between your shoulders. “...but I like Jaskier more.”

“Same here.” He mutters tiredly and presses a kiss to your spine. “But if anyone is to call me that, I'd rather it be you.”

“...thank you, Jaskier.”

“For what, Dear Heart?” He asks and lifts his head, resting his jaw on your shoulder.

“Telling me? Letting me know?” In this tired headspace you're finding it harder and harder to keep any thoughts out of your mouth. “I don’t know. I appreciate you telling me more about you. You’re just so... private. I worry I barely even know you sometimes.” Voice dipping into a near whisper, sleep begins to overtake you, eyes slipping shut.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know, My Muse.” He whispers, the last thing you hear before falling asleep. Once you're asleep, he smiles, pressing a kiss behind your ear before returning his head to your back, “Anything you want to know from my past. My future is already yours; you may as well have what I was as well as what I might be.” Your rhythmic breathing causes his eyes to droop once more. “...I love you.” Before that confession can give him reason for concern, sleep engulfs him, bringing him to dreams of your future together.

#jaskier x reader #Jaskier imagine #jaskier x y/n #jaskier x you #Jaskier smut #witcher smut

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jasxier · 4 years

Text

“Like Old Times”

So, it’s on, guys! The first part is mostly me trying to get the hang of the whole writing thing. Hopefully the next parts will be better. Summary: After parting ways with his travel companion and spending three years on the road travelling alone, Geralt has a late night visitor. PART I

"You came back." Came a low whisper from behind him. Jaskier recognized the voice, he would recognize it in pitch black, he would recognize it among million other voices, it was the sound of long night babbling about nothing and everything, the sound that would kept him out of trouble, the sound of comforting after getting in said trouble.

And, oh boy, he was. He was in trouble. If the word also means being in love with your friend, then he had brought a calamity upon himself.

He turned on his heels, the floor creaked under his feet and the sound echoed within the walls and in his ears and back again. The door of the candle lit room was open and the outline of a (oh so very) familiar shape was standing under the frame.

A particularly low hum was emerging from the first floor of the inn. The few remaining patrons were probably still discussing about the Witcher who, a few minutes earlier, had kicked the front door open, covered in blood and snowflakes and something unidentified, two very scary looking swords hanging from a leather strap attached on his back, armor almost ripped in pieces, interrupting their nightly ritual consisting mostly of drowning their anxieties and sorrows in cheap beer. Unbothered by their stares and judging murmurs, the Witcher had climbed the stairs leading to the rented rooms, navigating effortlessly through the dark aisle, opened the door to his chamber only to find it occupied.

"You came back" the Witcher repeated, his doubt visible, eyes wide as he was taking in the sight in front of him. It couldn't really be Jaskier. He was hallucinating, he was sure of it.

"Look at you." Jaskier let an almost desperate sigh and stepped closer to the Witcher, examining his ruined armor, looking for any sign of damage on the other man's skin. The sight never failed to make his heart pound in his chest and cold sweat break out on his face.

He haven't seen the Witcher in three years. He haven't listened to his barytone voice, a voice that could easily break every single bone of his body and Jaskier would be happy to endure the sweet suffering. But the feelings had remained the same as before. Feelings that Jaskier had tried to put into words, had tried to communicate them to his Witcher but his efforts were proven fruitless.

The Witcher let the man remove his armor, shredded piece by shredded piece landing on the floor as if it was hanging by a single strand of spider web. Soft ghostly fingertips hesitatingly touching the fabric of his shirt.

"Yeah, we need to remove that" Jaskier gestured at the shirt "and your trousers as well" he paused and laid his eyes on the Witcher's face with a smirk painted on his lips. He was avoiding the Witcher's eyes, he knew, he fucking knew that the moment he would let his own fall in the honey trap, like a bee longing for sweetness, it'd be the end of him.

Oh, to perish in honey. Suffocating. Sticking. Sinking.

Sinking.

He needed to focus. "Not to sound rude or anything but I knew you had arrived just by the smell" he chuckled "You need a fucking bath, Geralt" and Geralt nodded in agreement. He couldn't ignore the annoyingly pleasant feeling creeping in his lower abdomen after hearing his own name wrapped in glittering veil binded with satin colorful ribbons which was Jaskier's voice.

He was watching the younger man as he carried himself next to the window observing the snow falling quietly on the ground outside, flickering as the moonlight was caught on the white patches already forming on the street. A stillness filled the night as it always does when it's snowing.

Jaskier turned his back on the Witcher, granting him some privacy as he shucked off his clothes.

It was not that Jaskier hadn't see him naked before, he had, countless blessed times but that was before they had parted ways after that dreadful day on that dreadful mountain three years ago.

Geralt had thought he'll never see his friend again, not after the cruel words he had spat out on him. Words that were haunting him ever since, words that he wished he never have said.

But he had.

So why did he open the door to what he thought was an empty room, why did he settle in for a night he had thought would be one more lonely night to add to the ever growing pile of lonely nights he had spent after that day, only to find himself staring at his bard, at his friend, at his Jaskier.

Why was Jaskier back?

"I broke in, you know" Jaskier announced in a humorous tone and pride filled his lungs still looking out the window. He was proud. Proud that his heart was often the one making decisions, never paying attention to what his mind was yelling at it. Always a battle between the two. Always ending in pain and a heart shattered. But he was proud. Because his shattered heart was screaming louder than other carefully mended hearts. His heart was singing louder songs about heartbreak,

for the last three years.

"I can see that" came the reply from the Witcher who had somehow managed to get rid of his filthy clothes without losing sight of his late night visitor.

Jaskier had changed.

He still look fairly young, mind you. The youthfulness never seem to abandon the man. His hair was covering his temple, as it always did. It looked soft. The bard was always looking after himself. A delicate wave of strands was gently stroking his eyebrow. Eyes, ever so bright and blue, looking almost transparent under the dim light of the candles and the white snowy veil reflected on the glass beside him. A mixture that made his skin glowing like he had emerged from a dream, Geralt's dream.

But Jaskier had changed.

He looked tired. Well, more tired than Geralt was comfortable with. He didn't like the idea of Jaskier being tired, or Jaskier being sad, or Jaskier being different.

Geralt stepped towards the bathtub, Jaskier had been busy filling it up with warm water while the Witcher was out dealing with tonight's monster. He stepped in. The water had gone cold by now but he didn't mind.

"Hm, i was waiting for a biiit more enthusiasm, to be fairly honest" Jaskier crossed his arms above his chest "Are you not impressed?" he looked down at the Witcher who was now gratefully sunk into the water, rubbing the blood stains off his pale skin, letting the relaxing qualities of the water benefit his sore body.

Geralt paused as he lifted his head, finally locked eyes with his (now former) bard. Jaskier's toothy grin was there to remind him how much he had fucking missed him. He had missed his ever babbling, ever singing, ever playing that damn lute travelling companion. But he would never admit it to anyone, not even to himself.

"How the fuck did you find me, Jaskier?"

"Well, it was not an easy task, I must say" a hand was drawing abstract lines on the air as he continued talking "followed the traces - bloody traces mostly - of death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak" he paused, grin never leaving his face.

"Onion" Geralt corrected the bard smiling to himself. OH Gods, he missed this.

"Ahaa, no, Geralt! That's not how-" well it wasn't entirely a lie. "Truth is I asked around, gathered some information, you know, my acquaintances were more than willing to help me with that, I obviously don't mean that I had to use my charm in my favour, or seduce them to the point where I had access to their house and bedroom and private documents as long as other private -"

"Jaskier!" Geralt growled but Jaskier was sure he saw his lips curling in a smirk.

"Oh, right, sorry!" he tried his best to look innocent but that look had never worked on the Witcher and it didn't work now. "As I was saying" he approached the bathtub, kneeling in front of Geralt, arms resting folded on the sides of the tub "I had a hard time trying to get to you, old friend" his voice lowered.

"It didn't sound like you did" Geralt followed Jaskier's gaze as he tried to ignore the 'old friend' part . Is that what Geralt was to Jaskier now? It would only make sense after what happened between the two. But Geralt didn't want to believe it. He had gone to great lengths to find him, really, he had tried to reach him, he was getting close to him and every time Jaskier was slipping out of his grasp like a soap, a sweet scented soap, at the last moment.

Like he didn't want to be found. Like he was hiding. But no, he was standing right there, right beside him and Geralt would have sworn that he's dreaming.

But the cold water stung his skin was purely a proof that he wasn't. Jaskier was there.

Like old times. PART II

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #my fic #this is so embarassing for some reason #they haven't even got to the sweet stuff #why am i shy all of a sudden #that's not gonna work #gotta wait for ao3 t get its shit together

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lesdemonium · 4 years

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I’d Be the Choiceless Hope Chapter 8

Ship: Geraskier Word count: 23172 (total) Chapter: 8/16 Summary:

“Such a nice, beautiful sound,” the fae crooned. “If only he were this way always.”

Julian’s mother stood up. She claimed she was prepared to stop the fae, to protect her baby, but in Julian’s darkest moments he doubted this part of the story. His mother loved him, of that he had no doubt, but she had been young and weary, and even years later, she couldn’t quite get the twinge of exhaustion out of her eyes when she recalled Julian’s infancy. Even if she had been keen on protecting him, the fae was too close, too fast, too set on his plan.

“A gift, for the new mother,” the fae continued. He leaned a hand in to stroke Julian’s cheek. “I give you the gift of obedience.”

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier’s mother with Jaskier’s obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the “gift” became more of a curse.

Additional tags: AngstAngst with a Happy EndingHeavy AngstUnrequited LoveNot Actually Unrequited LoveAlternate Universe - Canon DivergenceCanon EraNot Canon CompliantCursed Jaskier | DandelionAlternate Universe - Ella Enchanted FusionCurse of ObedienceRape/Non-con ElementsImplied/Referenced Rape/Non-conJaskier | Dandelion Whump

read on ao3 - read chapter 1 on ao3

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“Geralt?” Jaskier asked.

The sun was still just barely beyond the horizon, still casting a light glow about the world as if it did not want to leave. It was late, and the days were long and warm, even the nights held their heat just a little, enough that Jaskier didn’t find himself shivering and pressing against Geralt’s body. Sometimes, he couldn’t even bear to cuddle up against Geralt. He could only sling an arm around Geralt’s waist, as they otherwise kept their distance, avoiding capturing too much heat when they were already uncomfortable.

Now, though, Jaskier was comfortable, with his doublet open and his shirt thin. Even Geralt seemed to have relaxed a bit, with his buttons largely undone and his shirt hanging open. Jaskier could look his fill, he knew now, and so he took in the sight greedily.

“Geralt,” he repeated, when the witcher didn’t respond.

“What, Jaskier?” Geralt answered, his eyes trained on the rabbit he was skinning.

“I need to go west.”

Geralt glanced up at Jaskier briefly, exasperation in his eyes, then he looked back down. “We are going west.”

It had been helpful, Geralt trying to make amends. He let Jaskier lead their travels, for once, though Jaskier could tell Geralt was growing tired of being so close to major cities. He grew nervous at how near they drew to Cintra. They had quarreled the other day about the direction they would go after finishing a contract. Geralt wanted to follow the river to the southeast; Jaskier wanted to go west. For once, Jaskier had won, though it was hardly a worthy victory. Geralt had been moody about it all day. Jaskier figured it was time for some honesty.

“More west. I need to--” He paused, swallowing in vain around the lump in his throat. “I need to go to Lettenhove.”

Geralt hummed and, satisfied with his rabbit, placed it on the spit over the fire. He was quiet for so long, Jaskier didn’t really know if he should be saying something. Was Geralt thinking it over? Should Jaskier explain more? He wasn’t sure, and this weird limbo was putting him even more on edge.

“Will you leave in the morning, then?” Geralt finally asked, and Jaskier let out the breath he wasn’t completely aware he had been holding.

“I was hoping, actually, that you would come with me.” Geralt raised an eyebrow at him, and opened his mouth, primed to argue, but Jaskier barreled on. “I know, cities aren’t much your thing unless there’s coin to be made. And Lettenhove isn’t exactly… large. So I imagine there isn’t much to be found in the way of… monsters to fight, and the like. But there is some business there that I really must take care of, and it would be exceedingly helpful if you were there with me.”

Jaskier sucked in a shuddering breath. It was embarrassing, really, his lung capacity was much better than that. He had absolutely gone on longer rambles before without being so breathless, but his anxiety built so much that he found himself almost gasping for breath once he finished. Geralt looked confused, watching Jaskier and his eyes dipping to Jaskier’s chest every so often. Could he hear the way Jaskier’s heart was hammering? Probably. Bollocks.

“You need a bodyguard again? That didn’t go so well for me the last time.” Geralt smirked as if it was a joke, but his eyes were guarded, as if he was truly concerned.

“Not… exactly. Well. Sort of. There are plenty of people I don’t want to run into, but my business isn't exactly… in the city. Around it, more. Please, Geralt. It won’t be like Cintra.” It could be far, far worse, but he would have to hope that wasn’t the case. Jaskier had nothing to lose, but Geralt had plenty. Jaskier wouldn't let that happen.

“What is your business?”

“It’s, ah. Well. It’s complicated, largely. It might take some time to explain, you know how it is, life, being complicated, you expect things to go one way and instead they go another--”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted, holding up his hand. “Tell me the truth.”

“Lettenhove was my home,” Jaskier answered, then took another shuddering breath. “I grew up there. I’m not excited to go back but I have to try to take care of something. It’s not political or familial, and you are, for once, dressed exactly as I will need you. But, you.” He chewed on his lip for a moment, considering. “You make me feel brave. And I’m very, very scared about what I need to do.”

Geralt considered him for a moment. “You don’t want to tell me what it is?”

Jaskier shook his head. “Not yet. I--Really, you don’t have to do anything. Just go with me, and I’ll handle the rest.” Jaskier stood, crossing the campsite until Geralt had a lapful of him. There was something poetic about the way Geralt easily accepted him, and wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s body without hesitation. Their eyes kept contact the whole time, and Jaskier took Geralt’s face in his hands. “Can you trust me? That it’s important? That I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t?”

Geralt blinked, slowly. “I don’t like this. I don’t like agreeing to something when I don’t know what it is I’m agreeing to.”

“I know.”

Geralt frowned and watched Jaskier. Jaskier lost himself in the warmth of Geralt’s amber eyes, while Geralt searched for some sort of hint in Jaskier’s face. There was none, Jaskier was sure, but Geralt sighed and touched their foreheads together all the same.

“I’ll go. For you.” Jaskier beamed at him, and Geralt looked warily back. “I feel as if I just signed a contract with a demon.”

“Not a demon, just me,” Jaskier answered, pressing a kiss to Geralt’s brow.

“Somehow, I feel as if that’s worse.”

Despite Geralt’s apprehension, they continued west. They took their time, and Geralt allowed Jaskier to pretend it was because they needed coin, not because he was stalling. It worked to their benefit, really, because after only a few cities, their pockets were full. Geralt could finally buff up his armor and replace Roach’s bridle. Jaskier bought a new doublet, after one of his had been so thoroughly doused with selkiemore guts that Jaskier knew it was beyond saving.

Eventually, they had to make it to Lettenhove. Jaskier felt their impending arrival creep in on him like a noose around his neck. Still, the anticipation was nothing compared to actually looking at the gates.

When he and Geralt came to the wall, Jaskier stopped short. He stopped so suddenly, it took Geralt a moment to realize Jaskier wasn’t following him and turn Roach around to face the bard. Jaskier just stared, and couldn’t will his feet to move forward.

Everything looked exactly as he remembered it, or what little he could see did. He had grown up here, knew the small city and its buildings so well he was sure he could navigate to his childhood home with his eyes closed. The taste of bile in his throat was familiar, too. He could see the bench where his father had made him sit all day, unaware that Jaskier couldn’t move, and he burned so badly he was sick for three days. There was the stable where comfortable, easy kissing with a stable hand turned into far too much, far before Jaskier was ready, but he couldn’t find the words to make it stop. If he went further in, he’d find the market, where once a girl had told Jaskier to take a necklace for her, had been delighted when he did, but the merchant caught him and threatened to cut off Jaskier’s hand. He got away with a welt instead.

He hadn’t known, then, how to get himself out of those situations. How to avoid them entirely. Coming to Lettenhove should have felt welcoming, a walk down memory lane, a reminder of his power as a viscount and the fearlessness of childhood. Instead, he felt just as small and powerless and weak as he had when he stole away in the middle of the night.

Geralt must have seen something on Jaskier’s face, because he dismounted Roach. Jaskier watched him wearily as Geralt approached him.

“Okay?” Geralt asked, and held out his hand.

Jaskier took it, automatically, and huffed out a breath before nodding. “Okay,” he repeated. Together, they walked into Lettenhove.

Stepping into the city proper felt as if Jaskier was stepping into his own memory. Very little had changed, though Jaskier recognized few of the people he passed. It made sense; Jaskier hadn’t spent too much time outside of his family’s estate, and those he had known would be much older now. They had changed, much like Jaskier had changed.

Jaskier tried to convince Geralt they could camp rather than finding an inn, but Geralt would not agree to it. It was an interesting change of circumstances--Jaskier had been convinced that his suggestion would be accepted with open arms. Geralt seemed to be particularly cautious about this endeavor, though. Jaskier still hadn’t told him what his business was, and the lack of information was grating on Geralt. Tonight, though. Tonight he would tell Geralt everything. And tomorrow, they would find Lazuli.

Very few of Jaskier’s plans seemed to work out the way he expected them to. He was purchasing a room at the inn--one as far away from his family’s estate as Jaskier could find--when it all went to hell.

“Julian! Julian, is that you?”

Jaskier immediately tensed, and he tried not to turn, not to react, but the voice came with a hand that landed between his shoulder blades. The woman leaned against the counter, and when she saw Jaskier’s face her own lit up.

“I knew it had to be you! Julian, what are you doing here? It’s been so long!”

Jaskier managed a smile, though he imagined it looked more like a grimace, and turned to face the woman. She was average height, with blonde hair, and gorgeous blue eyes that Jaskier was big enough to admit rivalled even his own.

“Essi?” he asked, and allowed himself to take in his sister.

She had been a child when Jaskier left, no more than ten. And, truly, he was delighted to see her, as he had always gotten along with Essi, but he didn’t like what she represented. He had hoped to make it through this particular quest without leaning heavily on the ugly nostalgia present in this town. Destiny seemed to have other ideas for him.

Still, he embraced his sister, because what else was he to do? He hadn’t seen Essi in decades.

“You aren’t planning on getting a room here, are you? Oh, Julian, don’t be ridiculous. Stay the night at the estate. You and your…” her eyes flickered over Jaskier’s shoulder to land on Geralt, “friend.”

Jaskier grit his teeth and nodded. He didn’t have much of a choice now. He had forgotten the easy way commands slipped from the tongues of his family. If Jaskier wasn’t careful, he’d find himself a prisoner again.

“Geralt, this is my sister, Essi,” he said, turning and gesturing broadly for them to make their introductions. “Essi, this is Geralt of Rivia--”

“The witcher, I know. We’ve heard your songs.” Something was tight in her expression, but Jaskier couldn't begin to know what it was. There had been a time when Jaskier could practically read the minds of all his family. He was sure that skill was long gone. “Come, let’s go.”

Jaskier glanced helplessly back at Geralt as his legs put him in step beside Essi. Geralt hesitated a moment, but ultimately ended up following them. At least until they passed the stables.

“Jaskier,” Geralt started, gesturing at them while Jaskier tried to slow his steps. “Roach.”

“Yes! Yes. Essi. Essi, dear,” Jaskier said, tapping her on the shoulder. His concern over Roach was the reason for his somewhat frantic voice. Definitely. “You see, Geralt has a horse, we must stable her.”

Essi waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes. Go. Get the horse. I’ll wait here.”

Jaskier nodded, turning on his heel immediately in a way that he wasn’t sure if the curse had prompted it, or his own desire to have a moment alone with Geralt. Geralt seemed to have the same idea, because as soon as he and Jaskier were in the stable, he tugged Jaskier behind a post, out of Essi’s view.

“Jaskier, what the fuck is going on? We’re staying with your family now? In your estate ? I didn’t even know you had family here, still.” Geralt looked lost and confused, and about ready to burst. Jaskier could relate.

“It… seems we are. I’m so sorry, Geralt. We’ll leave tomorrow morning. I wouldn’t have--it wasn’t my intention--I mean. I told you we should have just camped. I had hoped no one would recognize me and we’d be able to just… pop in and out, but. Rules. And. Some such.”

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. “What have you gotten us into?” he asked.

Jaskier smoothed his hands down Geralt’s arms, trying to soothe him. It wasn’t effective in soothing either one of them. “I’m sorry. And… I’m sorry for how much you are probably going to hate tonight. We have to… toe some lines. I am a noble, after all; my father is a Count. I am not, however, completely sold on the idea of being perfectly respectable, just respectable enough to not get us killed. You have my permission to be as terse as you’d like. You shouldn’t argue with anyone, however. Especially not my father.” He took Geralt’s face in his hands, and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry. I tried to avoid this.”

“Jaskier!” Essi called. She had always been rather impatient, and apparently the years had not squashed this. “Do you have the horse, yet? It’s time to leave!”

Jaskier shot Geralt one more apologetic look, then motioned toward Roach. Geralt sighed and nodded, taking Roach by the reigns and leading her back out to Essi. As they returned to Jaskier’s sister, the pit in Jaskier’s stomach grew, his dread powerful enough now to make him feel ill.

They made idle conversation as they walked. Largely, it was Essi speaking, telling them all about the changes they had made to the estate, how Jaskier would “hardly recognize it, now!” Jaskier highly doubted that, but he smiled charmingly at her all the same. Geralt stayed behind them, and Jaskier longed to be able to touch him; maybe that would calm his pounding heart. As it was, though, Essi insisted on looping her hands through Jaskier’s arm, almost as if she expected him to bolt away at any moment. If she hadn’t already commanded him to stay the night, he probably would have.

A quick getaway was foiled when Roach was led away to the stable by a stablehand, anyway.

The estate was just as grandiose as Jaskier remembered it. Though Jaskier maintained his taste for the finer things in life, something about the grandeur in front of him was obscene. It didn't matter how beautiful, how towering, how grand this house was; it was a prison just the same. Jaskier did not care for the ghosts that passed through him as he entered the doorway.

“Here, I’ll announce to father that you’ve returned. You will join us for dinner! Until then, you remember where your room is? I’ll call a--Martyn, show the witcher to his room?” Essi said, turning to a servant in the entryway.

“No, no. Martyn, don’t trouble yourself. Geralt will stay with me. We’ll only be here a night, no need to prepare a whole other room,” Jaskier added, speaking quickly to try to get some control back.

Essi’s frown was deep. “Jaskier, really, it’s no trouble. It wouldn’t be--”

“I really must insist,” Jaskier interrupted, his smile tight. “Thank you for your hospitality. We will see you for dinner. Now, we’ve been traveling, and really must clean ourselves up if we’re to be polite, presentable company.”

Essi scrunched her nose up, grinning mischievously as she patted Jaskier’s shoulder. “Yes, I see you have a layer of grime about you. My, how you’ve changed! Mother never would have let you get yourself this dirty. She must be rolling over in her grave.”

Jaskier’s smile turned pained and his heart seized at the mention of his mother. “Hopefully only a gentle turn,” he agreed, then pulled away with a quick, if overdone, bow. “Martyn, a bath would be delightful, if you would?”

Jaskier could not get Geralt to their room fast enough. Once he had tugged Geralt inside, he closed the door behind him, pressing his back against the solid wood and just breathing for a few moments. When his eyes opened again, Geralt was staring at him. Jaskier tried to shrug off his gaze.

“We ought to--”

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier let his shoulders slump and he crossed the room and sat heavily on the mattress. Just as soft as he remembered. There was nothing quite like the feeling of returning to your own bed. Geralt did not follow him, only turned to continue staring at Jaskier and, really, he was quite finished with the scrutiny.

“What, Geralt? Just say whatever it is you need to say,” Jaskier snapped, throwing himself back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling.

“ What is going on?” Geralt asked after a moment’s hesitation. He sounded just a tad more gentle, more concerned. Jaskier could hear him moving, coming to the bed and taking a seat beside Jaskier, though his movements were slow. Ah, so Jaskier was a spooked animal, now.

“We’re staying in my family’s home. We’re having dinner with them tonight. That was my younger sister. I would have thought you had kept up with all that.” Jaskier flung his arm over his face, covering his eyes.

“You don’t want to be here. Why? Why didn’t you say no?”

“Oh, if only I could,” Jaskier answered, letting out a humorless laugh.

They sat there for a moment, in silence, before the bed shifted. Jaskier assumed Geralt was getting up, but instead he moved closer. Jaskier’s arm was pulled away and he blinked up to find Geralt hovering over him. Now that his face was uncovered, Geralt cupped Jaskier’s jaw with feather-light fingers. It was so soft, so tender, that Jaskier wanted to weep.

“Jaskier. Talk to me,” Geralt pleaded, and he looked so, so lost.

“I want to. I really do. I don’t know how to begin to tell you about me and my family and all that’s… here. I don’t… like being here. I suppose that’s obvious.” He huffed out another humorless laugh. “I ran away when I was young, to Oxenfurt. They knew I was there and let me go, forgot about me, which is probably the kindest thing they ever did for me. I didn’t want to ever come back.”

“So why did we?”

Jaskier tried not to let his heart flutter at Geralt’s casual use of we . It didn’t mean anything, he reminded himself. Geralt was only referring to the present, the fact that Jaskier had dragged him along on this endeavor, and nothing more. If he kept reminding himself, maybe he could steel his heart against the inevitability of Geralt leaving once this whole task was over. Because Jaskier knew he would leave. Probably to lick his wounds of betrayal, because Jaskier couldn’t be honest with him.

“I told you. I have business here,” Jaskier answered, turning his head away and brushing Geralt’s fingers off his jaw in the process.

There was a knock at the door and a moment later, Martyn entered with the water. Jaskier sat up, wrapping his arms around his legs, and perched his chin atop his knees to watch as the tub was filled. Once Martyn left, Jaskier stood, discarding his clothes on his way to the tub without much fanfare, though before he stepped into the water he turned to look at Geralt expectantly.

Geralt hesitated, only a moment, then rose and followed Jaskier to the tub. His clothes and armor littered the floor much like Jaskier’s did, and when he climbed in beside Jaskier, his arms wound around Jaskier’s body and pulled him close. They kissed until they were both breathless and only then did they pull away to find a comfortable place to rest. Jaskier let himself be backed up against Geralt’s chest, melted into the security that was his witcher’s arms, allowing the comfort Geralt provided as he teased his fingers through Jaskier’s hair.

“Someday, you will need to be honest with me,” Geralt mumbled into Jaskier’s ear. “You’re the only one I’ve ever been honest with,” Jaskier answered, and the half-truth--the lie-- felt bitter on his tongue.

read chapter 9

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fanfic #my writing

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buttercup-of-kaer-morhen · 4 years

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Of Thorns and Buttercups

~Ch 4/?~

(Beauty and the Beast AU, Kiiiinda. It has definite elements of the original story cause I’m a sap for Fairytale AUs. I hope you enjoy. Also shout out to @sophiakuso1 for being my beta. Here you can find Beginning or Previous) I asked my beta for help writing this chapter's summary and she gave me "Jaskier has an ADHD day". Thank you my dear. Very helpful. Or Jaskier tries to help figure out how to break a curse with nothing to go on while Geralt is nowhere to be found.

Primary Tags: Beast! Geralt, Belle! Jaskier, Memory Alteration Via Curse, It really only affects Jaskier right now Also on AO3!

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“Does this mean I can stay?” Jaskier called after the retreating beast. The only response he got was a door closing in his face, metaphorically speaking seeing as he was a few dozen yards away from it, which was as good as a yes in his books. All in all though, the situation had worked out remarkably well. He wasn’t dead or likely to be maimed and the Beast had the bard’s company to keep him entertained now that it was apparent Jaskier couldn’t leave. It was a win-win as far as he was concerned and, seeing that there was no one else in the present company, he could continue to occupy the room he had chosen last evening. Which reminded him, he was only mostly dressed and still standing dumbly at the edge of the garden with all his things in his arms. Right. Well, as lovely as the crisp winter air was this fine… dawn, he’d rather be inside where it was a little cozier or at least fully dressed.

Hurrying back inside, he decided his first few tasks should be to put his things back in his room and finish dressing, as well as tidy the room so as not to be rude. He may have been a surprise and maybe even an unwanted guest, but he wouldn’t be an unkempt one. Upon entering the room however, the hearth was lit, the curtains to the bed drawn, and the linens were made up neat and tidy. Which surprised Jaskier, but the beautifully tailored cornflower blue doublet with cutely embroidered little yellow buttercups, matching breeches, and a delicate white lace chemise completely baffled him. He couldn’t help the soft smile that played on his lips. For as gruff and cold as the beast was, it would seem he was awfully kind and sweet. Perhaps the sudden insistence on the bard’s departure had to do something with concern over his well being. Perhaps the curse? He had felt like he had been watched all night but the Beast wouldn’t have let him sleep soundly for as long as he had if his reaction from earlier was anything to go by.

Jaskier thought over several ideas about the curse as he got redressed in the new clothing but nothing settled right with him. He needed more details but he was now fully determined to help the gentle beast. Getting information out of his stoic companion may prove to be tough, however, so there was always the second option. Snooping! He was terribly good at it, almost as good as he was at fooling people into believing he was a bumbling buffoon before ripping the rug out from under them for his own personal gain. He may be foolhardy with a dislike of bodily harm but he was quick witted and silver tongued. Both were qualities that could prove useful now.

Once dressed, he was ready to go find answers. He briefly debated whether or not he should grab his lute, but the constant itch to play had dulled as the pain in his heart grew, so he left without it. Knowing where to start was rather tricky, however. The gardens were enchanted ,but obviously there was something going on in the keep as well. Then there was always the tail from the night prior that disappeared around a corner further down from his room. It couldn’t have been the Beast’s Jaskier thought. The pelts were different. His Beast’s pelt was white as lilies or fresh fallen snow while the tail had not been. It was silver like a moon lit lake with dapples of gray and black on the surface.

He decided a strange creature was always the way to go and if he got into trouble, he knew he could call for help. If the beast wanted him dead then he would have killed him already. Letting a monster or wild animal kill him seemed rather contrary to his actions. So, off he went down the hall. He looked high and low, squeezed through broken doors and under debris, as little as there was, but came up short. No magical looking artifacts, or sigils on the walls or floors, and certainly no other living beings to be seen. He couldn’t even find a measly journal or letter to boot. Just dust, old lavish rooms, and literature that was rather unextraordinary. He huffed as he scuffed the heel of his boot on the stone floor in disappointment, backtracking the way he had come. The Beast was also nowhere to be found which made his spirits drop further. The bard hoped he wouldn’t be avoided the entire time, it would be awfully lonely.

Deciding his next stop was the magical gardens, he picked himself up and bolstered his thoughts. The day was far from done, and there were still places to look and time to ingratiate himself with the other fellow. Now Jaskier realized that it may take a while to look through the grounds but he had underestimated just how big they were. The front was already large as it reached from the house to the treeline in a few dozen yards, but the garden around the back was almost maze-like and he wasn’t sure he could see the treeline from near the back entrance. The back also held a variety of flowers that hadn’t appeared in the front but there was no rhyme or reason to what was planted. Most nobility had an aesthetic they wished to achieve with a very particular color scheme, which the front gardens had, but which the back garden lacked completely. There were only fourteen flowers, as far as he could see, that bloomed all over the place. No others. No order. It all proved to be a very odd sight. Perhaps they had some kind of use or significance? Off hand he knew the blue hydrangea symbolized a frigid heart apologizing and the yellow Asphodel meant I’m sorry, which he may or may not have made use of, but he couldn’t remember the others off the top of his head. The only reason he bothered to learn the symbolism of botany, which was not a popular art across the continent but it did exist and was rather interesting, was because it was an aid to lend depth to his prose and lyrical tales… and it came in handy when trying to charm a person of higher status than he, but their magical or alchemical properties still eluded him. There wasn’t much need for that knowledge earlier in life, which he was regretting now. There were some books inside if he remembered correctly so he could gather a sample of each flower and see if any lady squirreled away a journal with writings of flowers which he could use to look them up. Thankfully, the canary yellow cloak he grabbed, which had rested conveniently by the entrance, had rather deep hidden pockets. So, away he went, carefully collecting flora for later use.

In the middle of the collecting specimens, a nasty little thistle caught his finger as he went to pluck it. A drop of scarlett welled up on his fingertip before he placed the finger in his mouth and used the other to pluck the offending sprig. The shock of the sudden pain was only matched by the surprise that nearly stilled his heart for a beat as he righted himself. To his right, a lynx with a pelt that shined like liquid silver stood just down the path leading into the garden maze. If that wasn’t a big sign screaming freaky magic or cursed creature, then Jaskier would eat his fucking lute. As strange magical things often did, it didn’t seem inclined to make things easy for him. It suddenly took off down the footpath away from him, and he was forced to inelegantly scramble after it. “W-wait!” He tried to call after the animal but it either didn’t understand or it elected to ignore him. He skidded around corners and stumbled over gravel to stay within eyesight of the fur ball of energy. It felt equivalent to the time he had tried to catch the wayward family cat of a countess he had been rather fond of at the time and had instead made a rather marvelous spectacle of himself. He had felt like he was finally getting some of the ground between them to shorten but in his excitement, his foot caught a patch of ice that sent him toppling over and by the time he scrambled to look up, the beautiful lynx was gone. A well of disappointment filled his ribs as he knelt there in the snow, trying to regain his breath. Why couldn’t he be of any use? The thought had something in his heart twisting in old pains. Would he really be of any help to the Beast or would he just be in the way like he was back home? There was another time in his life that he vaguely remembered of him trying, fruitlessly it would seem, to be of help but it was so muddled in his memory that he couldn’t fully recall.

Disheartened, Jaskier eventually got his feet under him and slowly picked his way out of the maze from the way he came with only damp, cold clothes to show for his efforts. With how heavy the snow fall was, he couldn’t even find any mark or indication of which ways he needed to turn to come back, if he so had the desire. In the spring, it might have been a lovely place to spend hours wandering through with a beloved or chase one another through in the way of a romantic overture, but now it just felt like a cold tedious exercise in futility. It was like if you were trying to navigate the cold heart of the one you knew would never choose you. At first you have hope but with every dead end, your heart breaks more, and you eventually have to give up because you’re cold, wet, and alone, with no one to hug you better. Sadly this seemed more common than not in life. The heart always yearns for something it could not have, so to soothe it, you settle for cheap thrills and single nights of sweet lies. Oh how terribly morose he had become in life and obviously these were observations that had nothing to do with him personally. So lost in his mournful rumination, he had not realized how late in the day it had gotten until he finally emerged from the maze. The sun was already past the middle of the sky and Jaskier wondered if he was just going daft or if the days and nights were also magical in how they passed. He doubted he could unravel the complex mysteries of every magical occurrence found in the place. Not that he wanted to, since he had already had his hands full with the curse. He pushed the thought away to question at a different time.

With low spirits, Jaskier trudged around the other side of the keep he had not taken earlier and stumbled upon a stable that looked to be in good condition. Curiosity once again pulled him forward and had him peeking inside. To his surprise, there was a lone beautiful chestnut mare, which brought a smile to his lips. Ducking in and closing out the cold behind him, he went to the horse's side. “Oh Roach!” He found himself happily exclaiming as he pet her neck which earned a soft whinny, only to stop short puzzled. Did he just call the lovely animal by a fish’s name? Why on earth would he… And now that he thought about it, how would he recognize this horse out of all the others he had seen or met in passing? He did not own a horse but still something about her pulled up memories that he couldn’t seem to reach out and touch, but which carried a fond feeling nonetheless. Perhaps she reminded him of another horse from his past that was connected to whoever he was currently having trouble remembering. If the way his heart strings tugged tighter at the thought was anything to go on, he assumed he guessed correctly. But why would he remember the horse instead of the human…? Unless the horse was the more pleasant of the two but he doubted it. Regardless, this could not be that horse. Just one that looked similar. “Oh my dear, I do truly apologize for calling you by another’s name.” He whispered as he continued his gentle stroking and slowly rested his forehead against her. The sweet thing huffed before leaning into him. Slowly he furled his arms around her neck lightly and hugged the wonderful companion who indulged him in his need of comfort. “My darling, I fear that I may not know what to do now… I’m not even sure if I can win over the dear beast of the keep…” He sighed woefully, his voice unusually small for how he was. The mare however seemed to be having none of his self pity as her head bobbed and she nickered reproachfully, but in what he assumed was an encouraging reproach. He huffed a short laugh and looked up at his new friend with a smile as he pet her neck in thanks. “You’re very right. I can’t give up after only the first day! I have plenty of time to figure things out and hopefully get the Beast to accept my help.” He said with new conviction, his spirits rising once again with the new encouragement. As a side thought, the bard never expected a beast would need a horse for any reason but perhaps it had gotten lost and was given a home here by the kind gentleman. It looked to be well taken care of though; clean stall, full fresh food, and blankets to keep away any chill that came with the fall of night. As Jaskier made his way to leave, he promised to visit again soon and he made a mental note to bring a treat of some kind as thanks.

Crossing the courtyard to the house reminded the bard of how his clothing was soggy, and his elbows and knees were stained from the fall. He felt guilty because the Beast had left the lovely garments out just for him and he had yet to thank him. Not wanting the embarrassment of running into the other in such a state and having to explain that he had already ruined the kind gift, he quickly made for his room to get changed. Once he was inside then he could breathe freely again. Safely in his own chamber, he draped the borrowed cloak over the chair belonging to the small desk in the corner beside the fireplace and turned to find his pack to rummage for something decent to put on. To his surprise however, an outfit of midnight blue fabric with silver trimming laid on the bed. The fabric was thick but soft to the touch, and had a lovely brocade pattern of astrological symbols on it and small pearls dotting it like stars in the pattern of constellations. The chimese was a soft, dove gray, there were new boots of black, buttery leather, and fleece stockings to pull the whole ensemble together. It was such a beautiful set and he felt a little choked up at the thought that the Beast was giving him such nice things. Perhaps there was an expectation he would wear it for dinner? That meant the Beast wanted to eat together! It had the bard all the more resolute in trying to help. It was nice to receive something though. Usually he was the one always trying to give gifts to buy even a fraction of attention from young ladies of higher breeding. The only gifts he ever got were coins, or food and drink in exchange for his performance, or the threat of injury for having chased away his woes with the wrong person in one night of lonely passion. Ah, there were those sullen thoughts again. Jaskier waved them away as he washed up a bit at the small wash basin in the room and folded the soiled garments, putting them to the side to deal with later, before slipping on the lovely new clothing. He checked himself in the mirror before heading for the discarded cloak again. Intent on unraveling their secrets, he drew the cuttings from the pockets and carefully, thankful for the fact that they were mostly intact. If there were none to be found though, he supposed he could always just put a bouquet together for the Beast. Perhaps the gentle fellow just adored those particular blooms. Perhaps that was why the flowers were everywhere. The thought had Jaskier chuckling. The great big beast hunched over the flowers in the spring as he gently tended to them. The bard wondered if he would be there come the next spring to witness it. It almost sounded idyllic. He could see himself in a simple life similar to that. A cottage by the sea, flowers filling the garden, and his loved one tending to the flowers as he played soft music. A silly dream for a hopeless romantic, he would admit, but everyone was allowed just one, weren’t they?

With a sigh, he looked at the arrangement in front of him. He had grabbed the devilish little thistle that had snagged him. It looked to be a zinnia, though he knew nothing about the flower. It was a purple cluster of flowers of some kind, and a pink flower that went from soft pastel at the tip of the mouse ear shaped petal to a darker pink near the base. His knowledge of flowers was lax compared to his other, finer artistic knowledge and lessons of etiquette but he thankfully had the ability to name some of the flowers. Oddly enough, he felt like he had some practise identifying and picking medicinal flowers but he once again came to a wall in his own memory. Realizing it wouldn’t work well to try looking up flowers he had no name for, he added a plant identification reference book to his list of texts to find. He hoped in the vast space there would at least be an equally vast library of some kind that would conveniently have what he was looking for. Leaving the florets carefully laid across his desk, he left the room once again for his next search. The rooms in this upper part of the wing were particularly useless once again, aside from the small pocket journal of The Language of a Gentle Heart: Secrets of Floral Arrangement which was most likely written and titled by a starry eyed lady who needed a hobby. He found it questionable at best, but upon closer inspection, it was revealed to be a compilation of notes which were cross referenced from other sources with the meaning of flowers. Then the second small journal was more like a manual which the writer entitled The Art and Language of Flora for the use of Assassination and Deception and found under a mattress, also dubios but eye catching regardless. There was also still no sign of habitation of any of the rooms, which meant the Beast really didn’t live in this wing, or he had not been to his room at all and was hiding somewhere in the castle. Both scenarios were equally as likely at that point. Deciding to check elsewhere, he debated if there was anything of actual use in the other, more decayed wing of the keep before figuring that it’d be his last place to check if he really could not find everything he needed in the lower rooms of the fortress.

On the lower level, Jaskier first found the kitchens all the way down past the dining room he had been in the night prior and down a set of stairs. The kitchen was obviously well used but maintained and cleaned. The kitchen led to packed larders and pantries, brimming with food which, astonishingly, all looked fresh and not in the slightest bit old. Giving up on the kitchen, he briefly ducked his head back into the dining room and found his memory was correct. It only held the partially set long dining table, the fireplace, and occasional bits of decoration to liven it up. Next to the dining room was a private cabinet for the men and a boudoir for the women. Why they had the need of two separate, gender specific rooms to let honored guests relax in was beyond him. The only mildly interesting things held within were a smattering of tapestries, trophies, and ceremonial/decorative armor pieces, as well as various apparatuses to toil away time with, such as looms and such. All of them were nice, but not so useful. Jaskier moved onto the final room on this side of the main staircase. All he wanted were books. Just give him books! The door had been stubbornly shut but he had managed to wiggle through the crack he had opened. Beyond the large opulent doors a great hall, or at least what was left of one, laid. The throne was overturned, tables were splintered heaps, and the tapestries and banners were sliced to ribbons, rendering the crest unidentifiable. It sent a chill down his back so he quickly departed from that venture.

Crossing to the other side of the stairs, he ventured on, undeterred by the lack of progress he had made so far. Starting at the far end again, he was surprised to find a servants passageway that led up and down. Going up, he found himself in his wing of the castle and huffed before heading back down. The pathway down looked dark and damp, which didn’t seem very appealing, but he was committed so he grabbed a nearby light source in the form of a candelabra and descended. It was as damp and uninviting as he expected, but he did find a small room in the dark undercroft, obscured slightly from view, which had him wondering whether that was intentional or not. Opening the aged door, he found a stillroom of sorts. Dried plants that looked like they were left and forgotten, hung neatly around the room. There were suspicious jars and vials Jaskier specifically did not touch, but more importantly there were hand drafted journals and reference texts on medicinal plants and alchemy. He grabbed The Botanist’s Companion to The Identification of Flora, and something that had no real title but inside was filled with alchemy and lists of ingredients with their common uses. Elated to find something hopefully useful, Jaskier headed back up with his bounty and used the servants passage to drop off the books on his desk before continuing his search of the lower rooms. He also replaced the candelabra in its rightful place, of course. Next to the secret stairs, there was a large bathing house where the tubs were stored, and hot water flowed into basins for collecting. He guessed the warm water was just another magical occurrence of the place. There was enough space in the place however to just set up a bathtub and designate the room as a place to clean up if he so wished to. It was definitely a place of interest for a later time, but practically useless to his current venture. There was then a solar specifically used by the private family to withdraw to, if Jaskier remembered correctly, but about as interesting as the boudoir or the private cabinet. With only two doors to go, Jaskier felt some anticipation even with how tired he was becoming from all the running earlier and the searching.The first of the two, to his absolute delight, was a grand music hall filled with instruments of all kinds and collections of scores he could plunder through at another time. There was even a massive harp of artistry far beyond any he had seen, that was hard to find today. Most wanted them portable for ease of use but this one sat squarely where it was. He had never played a harp like it and would mostly spend hours slowly easing his way through learning the beautiful piece but it looked majestic where it stood. He didn’t have the time to mess around though but he did swear he’d be back. The sound of a string being plucked in the empty room behind him as he turned to leave only hastened his exit. The final stop--at last--revealed a library. How he managed to not find this place sooner was beyond him. He was here now though, and that's what truly mattered. The one issue, however, was that the library was in fact intimidatingly expansive. Not only could someone not read all of these books in a lifetime but it was also a major fire hazard in the bards eyes.

Sighing in the face of his daunting task, Jaskier first tried to figure out if there was any kind of categorical system similar to what was back at the Oxenfurt College Library. To his luck, there was, but it was nothing like the complex system he had to learn. Whoever built and organized the library went with the simple method of organizing it by genre which made finding the reference texts all the easier. Although most scholars would sneer at such organization, Jaskier found it charming as he strolled through to find the reference texts and educational tutoring books for young nobles. Sifting through that section of shelves proved tedious but prolific. He found a wide range from books on the upbringing of a proper young lady to more academic texts on plants taught to young women and men alike. What he had been searching for however were books he had seen at Oxenfurt but never touched. The Herbarium and Antidotarium which were nestled amongst the rest of the books. All the books were handwritten and illustrated obviously, but these were beautiful in comparison to some.

Gathering the two books he found, he brought them back up to his rooms. It was a start, and a very good one at that. Sadly, he wasn’t able to find any nefarious magical looking grimoires, but he could get somewhere with this… Hopefully. He set the new books neatly down with the others on the desk, and was meaning to take a seat to get started, when two thudding knocks came at his door. They weren’t so hard as to be a furious pounding, but not gentle either, and it had him only the tiniest bit concerned. He went to the door after a moment of hesitation, intending to open it, when a familiarly rough voice called out. “Are you not going to eat, Bard?” Displeased confusion had Jaskier almost panicking just before he yanked the door open. Right! The beast had left the outfit as his intention to dine with Jaskier! He had been so busy searching that he had completely forgotten.

“Very kind of you to worry and come fetch me.” He responded, trying to flash his most charming ‘I totally didn’t forget plans’ smile up at the Beast.

The Beast grunted and shifted from one foot to the other, directing his gaze away. “...It was getting late. That’s all…”

“Not to worry, I was just on my way down. Got caught up with something, is all! It is nice to head down together though.” The smaller man smiled, enjoying the opportunity presented by the Beast to start a good friendship between them! He grabbed hold of the darling fellow’s arm and tugged him along to their awaiting dinner, not giving him a chance to reconsider after Jaskier’s unfortunately rude tardiness. By the heavens above him, he will break the ice between them.

Getting him there and seated was easy but as they sat at opposite ends of the ridiculously long table, Jaskier suddenly found it hard to find the words to start the conversation rolling. Who needed a table this long?! Dinner looked lovely, however, and he could easily use it as a way to fall into a comfortable food induced silence. However, yet another problem presented itself in the form of all the food being in the center of said ridiculously long table and the lack of servants. Jaskier considered options of how to fix this dilemma when the food suddenly started coming to him, or at least the dishes with the food did. Jaskier may or may not have yelped but in a very dignified manner if he did say so himself. He would admit it was not on the list of his finer moments, but it did seem to get an amused snort out of the Beast, although his mask of stoicism was still firmly in place when Jaskier looked at him. Nevertheless, the amusement still danced in the other’s gem-like eyes, and Jaskier almost wanted to clap happily at the small victory, but was smart enough to refrain. “Everything’s enchanted.” A deep rumble pulled Jaskier out of his mental victory celebration.

“What?” He questioned dumbly. Good job. Real smooth, he internally berated himself, holding back a blush.

“All the furnishings… They’re enchanted.” The Beast clarified again, as if he were speaking to a child, but twitch of his brow belied the amusement of the fact that Jaskier had somehow not noticed.

“Oh...Oh!” Jaskier processed the information before sighing in relief. “I am very glad to know this place isn’t haunted or filled with things trying to frighten me to death.” He joked but the thought had crossed his mind originally. “Why… Why didn’t they just move in front of me? Why only when I wasn’t watching?” He couldn’t help but ask the question out of interest.

The Beast shrugged. “Maybe the enchantment has some weird rules when it comes to people not affected by the curse… Or they could be shy, although they’re not technically alive. They move like puppets with no strings…” The grumbled explanation was a little stilted and clumsy, but endearing in a way. It was almost as if the other was unused to speaking to anyone. The thought alone made the bard pity the Beast. The idea of ghostly puppeted furniture was still not very comforting though.

“... Hmmm, unsettling but I suppose it’s good to know. Thank you Beast.” The comment had the other’s shoulders sagging a bit, and Jaskier immediately knew he somehow misstepped. After mentally slapping himself, he tried to salvage things quickly. “Thank you by the way.” He flashed a shy smile but this only elicited a noncommittal hum while the Beast continued to look anywhere but at Jaskier. “For the, um, clothes… It was kind of you.”

The Beast silently seemed to either ignore the words or chose not to comment as he began piling food onto his plate. Well, Jaskier supposed that was his way of dismissing the conversation, so the bard followed his example and began to serve himself. Eating, contrary to what Jaskier had thought before, left them mostly in a stilted silence. Although the Beast was large and disproportionate to the size of the cutlery, he managed to eat cleanly, but with no grace. Many people, Jaskier knew, would have been utterly scandalized by the situation, but he found himself thinking it was charming in a weird way. The bard thought he may have a second chance to reignite the conversation once they finished eating but, to his dismay, the Beast finished before him and promptly left. Now alone, Jaskier berated himself for fucking up. He felt the silence weigh in on him, the comfortable warm feeling that came with the other’s company at the beginning now abruptly gone. It left him feeling woefully abandoned to be honest. Not very hungry suddenly, Jaskier elected to retire early for the evening.

Back in his chambers, he tried to start his work. The first step being to identify the ones he was unable to, obviously. The pink mousy petaled ones turned out to be cyclamens while the cluster of purple florets were hyacinth after a bit of searching. Somehow, looking at the deep purple of the hyacinth made his already uneasy stomach, from how dinner ended, turn. He frowned, remembering the violet eyes of a witch who, although beautiful, only inspired what felt like terribly negative feelings blooming in his chest. He sighed, pushing back in his chair and crossing his legs at the ankle. If he had to guess, it might have been jealousy that took root. It was an unkind feeling and he knew she had done nothing really to inspire such feelings, at least as far as in his mind, but his chest felt otherwise. He remembered the terrible first meeting and the barbs and jabs from early in their acquaintance but he also remembered the playful insulting and occasional companionable chats when they crossed paths later down the line of their affiliation. Then something happened and it only left a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn’t for the life of him remember the details. He realized it wasn’t jealousy then but a moment of recognition of the fact that he would never be enough while she was. He wasn’t the one wanted, and it left him rather empty and tired from trying so hard. He sighed again as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back. He was too tired from everything that happened earlier and the low humor he now found himself in wasn’t conducive to work, so he shut the book he had been using and set everything aside so he could ready himself for sleep. He stripped of the handsome garments and folded them carefully into a dresser for another day. He chose out a large black tunic from his pack that seemed too large to be his, but put it on because it soothed him in a way he couldn’t fully understand. Nonetheless, he appreciated it. He drew the drapes closed and settled in for the night, feeling cold even with all of the blankets. The night was deep and long, but Jaskier tried to sleep away the dour thoughts and unease in his heart.

#geraskier #Witcher #the witcher #witcher netflix #fanfic #geralt x jaskier #gerlion #Beauty and the Beast AU #beast!geralt #Buttercup's Writings

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takurospirit · 6 years

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how i’m playing witcher 3 (at least, this go-around) (long post)

right, as promised, and if only for my own amusement and to help kill time before i head off to work today...

How takurospirit is playing Witcher 3 (at least this go-around) in the nerdiest way imaginable by god or man, in a very long post, with pictures to make the thing hopefully go a lot faster.

WARNING: The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt spoilers ahead!

i’m attempting to impart order into chaos: take an open-world game, where quests and missions can be done in--relatively--whatever order the player wishes to do them, and trying to figure out a logical way of doing the missions and quests that would be “logical” for Geralt, the character you’re controlling, to do them in. i’m also, a little bit, trying to perform certain choices that i didn’t do my first playthrough, or that i wasn’t aware that i could make.

first, i needed to find a list of all the missions and quests in the game. and i did!

Nexusmods member TiVa85 created this checklist [PDF] of all available side missions, main quests, treasure hunts, witcher contracts, and missable events. they also put in all Gwent cards, and other minutae.

the important things for me in my mission was: that complete list of all missions, and also a suggested completion order. this was a good first place to start.

see that un-colored column? that is TiVa85′s suggested order. but i quickly found that they were doing a bit of a powergaming playthrough (where you as the player know the story, and what needs to be done to make your character the most powerful it can be at all times). i was attempting to play a more logical playthrough, where Geralt would start/complete quests and events in a more logicial way (he’s in a town, needs money, or needs to kill time to start/finish another quest, so let’s see what’s on the notice board... stuff like that).

the first six missions of the game, with no spoilers. i’ve done some heavy mods to the spreadsheet, as you can see. i colored the header row, and bolded the main quests, for easier navigation. i also color-coded any Contract, Event, Race, and Witcher gear Treasure Hunt quests/missions to provide some visual quick-sorting. (i’ve thought about actually further color-coding all quests from each separate region, but i think that’s taking things too far. i may do a color for all the main quests though, just to make sure they pop out a little bit more.)

as you can also see, i’ve put in both Order Started and Order Completed columns, which make sorting easier (especially when i lose track of where both numbers are at any one time), and to (hopefully) make it easier after i’ve completed this playthrough to figure out a better order for the next time.

i’ve been keeping detailed notes of each quest/mission. i’ve been underlining each important item that i’m picking up (and maybe i should be bolding them as well?) and making them appear in small caps to differentiate them from the wall of text that surrounds them. the column on the left is (mostly) TiVa85′s own notes, which i’ve cleaned up and made stylistically consistent with my own. these two columns may end up being merged in the future, or i may use the left column for specific timeline or critical notes, to be read before doing the quest itself.

this is another addition i’ve made, and one of the most challenging. for the most part, this game does a really good job of keeping time flowing in a normal, linear manner. however, there are certain missions that must occur at a certain time of the day (just after dark, midnight, morning, etc.). this makes it difficult at times to see just when the events of the mission are occurring.

i have a couple of examples. in the quest Now or Never, you must help Triss create a safe path through the sewers of Novigrad to help the mages in the town escape persecution from the priests of the Eternal Fire. here are my notes for that mission:

i went back to Triss’ house evening 57 (around 1730), and in the sewers, after fighting the katakan battle, time in the game jumped back four hours, from almost 0400 to just before midnight. i think this is because, in the game, you are designed to meet up with Dijkstra at the docks shortly after midnight, so the game makes sure that happens. so i just decided to treat it as part of the same night, for continuity purposes, and then made the note to the left that i should make sure to got to Triss’s house a couple of hours early in the day, to make sure that everything lined up better, or prevent the game from maybe having to do the time-jump in the first place.

another instance of a time-jump i’ve found in during the side quest The Last Wish. i searched the shipwrecks with Yen to find evidence of the sunken ship in the early afternoon of day 67. after finding one half of the seal that Yen needed, she transported herself and Geralt to a mountaintop. suddenly the time was 0700. now, every other time you take a portal in the game, the time dilation is null; no time seems to pass in the portal. so either this portal took Yen and Geralt ~14 hours to travel through (so that this is now the morning of day 68) or time jumped back to the morning of day 67. i ended up deciding to mediate before searching the other half of the ship to bring the time back up to where it was when we left the sea, and treated these events as happening in the same day (so for my note-taking, the portal became instantaneous again).

so, some factoids, so far into this playthrough:

i’ve started 188 missions/quests, and completed 152. (there are four mission/quests that have become superfluous because of choices i’ve made in game)

i’m currently on in-game day 68 from the start of the prologue (Geralt dreaming of Yennefer and Ciri at Kaer Morhen, and the Wild Hunt attacking).

it took seven days to do all the missions/quests in White Orchard.

adding on a day of travel (support in-game) Geralt arrived in Vizima for his appearance with Emperor Ehmyr day 9.

adding on a day of travel, searching for Ciri in Velen started day 10 and ended day 35.

searching for Ciri in Novigrad started night 35 and ended early morning 63.

adding on travel time, arrived in Skellige day 64. (the pirates attack the ship off the coast of Ard Skellig midnight 63/64, and Geralt awakes on the beach evening 64.)

the last mission i’ve completed is The Last Wish, evening 68.

i’m currently in Skellige, tasked with traveling back to Crow’s Perch to pick up Uma (the Ugliest Man Alive), or to continue to do tasks in Skellige. i’m not quite sure what Geralt would do next. surely he would look to get back to Crow’s Perch as quickly as possible, but does that mean racing to find the first boat going to the mainland? or does that mean completing a few missions/quests/contracts in Skellige to (realistically) raise money for the trip, and to rest up/repair armor/create new? part of the questions i’ve been asking myself during the playthrough.

this is the difference between a powergaming run or a logical run: i as the player, having played this game before, know that at the moment Ciri is safe and sound on the Isle of Mists, and off of the Wild Hunt’s radar at the moment. so i know i can do whatever i want right now, and make myself even more powerful that i am now. but a logical playthrough means creating a thought proccess for the character(s) you’re controlling.

as of right now (i’m taking tonight off to watch Critical Role) i’m thinking that Geralt will want to at least deal with Morkvarg the Werewolf before he heads back to the mainland, and logically, he’ll want to try to return to Larvik to report back to Morkvarg’s friend what occurred. then would it be too terrible if he checked the local notice board to see if there was quick and easy money to be made? i don’t think so. then from there, i would imagine Geralt would want to return to Ard Skellig, and sail from the main harbor. so there’s that.

i think this post is long enough, but there’s still stuff i want to talk about, so now i’m thinking there’ll be a part 2! that hopefully won’t take me a whole week to write...

#my posts #my writing #old man yells at cloud #the witcher #video games

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who-even-needs-marbles · 4 years

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Just breathe, you idiot, chapter 5

AO3 link

Summary: It has been a long day. Geralt and Jaskier got kicked out of town, and one idiot just needed to wake Geralt up in the middle of the night, barely being able to take a single breath.

The consequences of very unsafe binding featering one idiotic bard

The mage's house was a bit tidier than last night. The empty bottles were put on one big pile in the corner instead of discarded around the house, and that was pretty much it. The house was still a mess and the stench from days and nights drinking alone still hung in the room and the pile of books seemed to have grown bigger.

‘Okay master witcher, let’s finish this quickly so I can get back to my daily routine. What’s your problem. The price will be fair.’

‘I need information about the body transformations in Aretuza.’

‘How the fuck am I supposed to know anything about that? I didn’t went there, I’m a druids mage you idiot. I am unlike those witches fertile.’

‘You know something at least.’

‘Fine, from what I’ve heard it’s part of the process of making the students infertile. While they do that they can change the appearance of their subjects. And they have a no outsiders policy, so you can’t have it.’

‘It’s not for me.’

‘Yeah, I don’t care. Anything else?’

‘I need to contact another mage. Directly.’

‘I have a megascope, if they have one I can contact them. What’s their name?’

‘Yennefer of Vengerberg.’ He knew it was probably gonna be hard to convince her but her trusted her so much, he knew that she would do it right if he could convince her. He just didn’t trust anyone else when it comes to important matters like this.

‘I need you to write down your name first, so that if you run off I can make them arrest you.’

He pulled out a piece of paper. It said Alexander of Lyria, healer. It had a lot of names under it and it seemed to be something administrative. The filled in his name under the last one and turned to the mage.

‘Alexander of Lyria?

‘That’s my name. I have nothing to do with Lyria anymore, that shithole.’ He spat at the floor while saying that.

‘Hm. Geralt of Rivia.’

‘Good. It’s upstairs, follow me.’

It was tough navigating through the piles of clothes, books and bottles. It truly was a wonder this man seemed to live here alone. It the mess got really bad the moment they went up the first pair of stairs but the attic seemed to be cleaned up.

‘The attic isn’t such a mess.’

‘Yeah, this is where I do magic. People could die if I'm not careful.’

‘Reassuring.’

‘Don’t, just don’t. I’ll do my magic and you need to step back, if it goes wrong you could be ripped to pieces. Don’t move, don’t speak until I tell you to. Got it?’

‘I do.’

‘Repeat it. What do you need to do?’

‘I'm not a child, Alexander, I don't need to repeat anything.’ And even Geralt knew that megascopes weren’t that dangerous, and definitely not if you only used them to talk.

‘You do, or I’ll won’t do this.’

‘For a mage you don’t seem to be keen on magic. Fine, I won’t move, won’t talk until you tell me to do so.’

‘Good enough. Now stand by the wall next to the door. So if something might occur you can run, if they guards find out I’m fucked.’

He didn’t say anything after that. He went to the door and stood against the wall, watching how this mage was fiddling with the crystals. He readjusted everything twice before stepping back and turning to Geralt.

‘I need to read your mind about her, I need to know who I’m summoning.’

‘Can't I just tell you about her?’ He asked with an angry undertone.

‘No, I won’t look at anything else. Just make sure she’s the only thing you’re thinking about.’

‘You better not.’

‘That’s all in your hands. I will only read the thoughts on the surface, now think about Yennefer.’

So he tried his best to only think of her: Yennefer of Vengerburg, Lilac and goosberries, black hair, violet eyes. Met when I hurt my best friend, Jaskier. He was hurt and he still is hurt only now he-

‘Witcher! I do not care about your friend right now. But fine, that’s enough information.’

‘How much did you see?’ He needed to know, he might not care about himself, but if people find out about Jaskier’s past they might be a real bitch about it. He never really got why people would do it, he was just a man like any other man. His body just didn’t do the right thing. And if something is wrong with your body you should fix it, not try to hide it from everyone and hurting yourself in the process. Everyone deserves to be comfortable in their own body, especially Jaskier. And he definitely didn’t deserve to get attacked by stupid people.

‘Not much. I know enough about Yennefer and I know that you care an awful lot about this “friend” of yours.’ He said while making airaquotes. ‘Nothing more nothing less. Stopped you before you told me too much.’

‘Hm.’

‘Now stay put and-’

‘Don't move or talk unless you say so. I know you’re bitter and awfully worried about doing your job but aren’t you overreacting.’ Apparently hat was the wrong thing to say, the mage seemed furious. He stepped closer until they were face to face, well they would be face to face if the mage wasn’t an entire head shorter than the witcher, but he did stood awfully close. He could see all of the tension in his facial muscles and how he was ready to spit in his face if proved necessary.

‘I have my reasons.’ A bit of spit flew from his lips ‘Now shut your fucking mouth.’ He turned away and took a few deep breaths. After a while of either consentrating or calming down he said something in elven before a blue-ish bubble appeared. It took a while before it seemed to focus but when it did he recognised some of Yennefer’s stuff, but she was still nowhere to be seen. He looked over at the mage who seemed to be relieved, still angry, but relieved that everything went well, so he kept waiting. After a while he heard something on the other side.

‘And who is this? I don’t recognize your magic and- Geralt!’ She was wearing black and white as always, and he was sure she also smelled like lilac and gooseberries, as always.

‘Yennefer. Alexander is it okay for us to talk alone?’

‘Fine, but I'll be right outside and you better let nothing happen.’

‘I won’t, thank you.’ He went outside and closed the door. He heard him lean against a wall before Yennefer spoke again.

‘So you managed to find the bitterest mage on the continent. Didn’t expect anything else from you. But I’m sure you have your reasons to contact me like this, so speak up.’

‘I need your help.’

‘Figured as much, what did you do this time? After that I'll see what I can do.’

‘It’s not for me, I want to help Jaskier.’

‘Geralt you’re gonna have to tell me more, and you better have a good reason for it. Me and the bard aren’t exactly friends.’

He couldn't get himself to speak. Jaskier never even told him, and he trusts him with his life. The only reason he knew was because he woke up while Jaskier could barely breathe. He never choose to tell him, he just got caught. He felt like he was about to spill the biggest secret on the world when the owner of it was trying to do everything to keep it a mystery. He thought he was completely ready to do it but he wasn’t ready to betray him like that. Sadly knowing Yennefer she’d probably never let this go, he just has to find a subtle way of telling it. He knew Yennefer wouldn't care about it at all and still treat him like a piece of shit so it would probably be fine. But it still felt wrong.

‘Come on speak up, I can’t read your mind from here.’

‘You know I don't like that.’

‘Yes, and I can't do it right now. So stop wasting my time and tell me, I have a feeling what this is about and you’re either gonna confirm or deny it right now.’

‘What do you know?’ He snarled at her.

‘No need to get angry, but I'll only tell if you talk first. We might not be the best of friends but I won’t spill secrets. Now speak up before I run out of patience.’

He felt like this was it. No way back after it. Now be subtle Geralt. ‘His chest is.. abnormal.’ He still didn’t want to spill his secrets to anyone, and he was pretty sure the other mage was still listening. Yennefer’s words obviously didn’t help but he did trust her with his life. He knew that she wouldn't hurt him on purpose so she definitely wouldn't hurt Jaskier. ‘I know about your body transformation and thought, that, well,’ He let out a sight. ‘Maybe you could help him.’

‘How do you know?’ She was trying to hide the fact that she was angry now, or at least protective of her own secrets.

‘Saw your left shoulder a little above the right with the djinn’s business. The rest was just connecting the dots.’

‘Fine,’ She was so bitter about it ‘just don’t tell this to anyone. And I know about his chest, surprised it took you so long. Had to make sure he didn’t die remember? Lungs and ribs are a pretty big part of breathing, so I checked it. I was surprised by it but it wasn’t my business, so I did for what I would get paid. Which was making sure he didn’t die, not digging around in his secrets.’

Of course she wouldn't admit that she wanted to capture the djinn, not even after all this time, but he had more important matters on his mind right now.‘Yen, can you help him?

She seemed to think about it for a while. ‘Possibly, yes. I just can’t do it for free.’

‘Just like that?’ He really didn’t expect things to be this easy. ‘You and Jaskier aren’t exactly great friends.’

‘Yes. And I’ll lower the price just because it’s you.’ It really couldn't be that easy.

‘Yennefer I know would never help someone she doesn’t like.’

‘It’s a bit more complicated than that Geralt, I pity the man. Yes even I care about people so don’t give me that look.’

This was all wrong. Yennefer who used to scream that she wanted everything was now saying she’d just help Jaskier, and all that she asked for was something to make sure she can pay the materials. Something was off and it couldn't be that she’d just help him without some sick twist to it. He of course hoped there wasn’t, but this was still Yennefer.

‘Not about your womb?’

‘Geralt even I know you can’t just steal someone's womb, besides it’s very much possible I need it for the spell. Also I need him to agree on it too, I don’t know if he knows you're doing this but don’t make it a surprise. It’s probably gonna cost him his fertility.’

‘It won’t speed up his aging or something right?’ It was the one thing he worried about, they talked about it last night and he only now realized it has always been in the back of his head since. And removing organs couldn’t be extremely good for the body.

‘No. If he wants I can even prolong his life, make him age as slow as a witcher, I could even teach him how to do magic to make him immortal but do you really want to do that to him? He has always lived as a human and for one to suddenly become immortal..it would mean watching everyone die, except for you and me. And you’re already old for a witcher, so he’ll probably have to watch you too.’

‘Tell him that yourself, and I assure you he’ll give his permission to do so.’

‘You, Geralt, are selfish. But fine, as long as he agrees I agree. And I of course get paid reasonably. I need to pay for food and supplies too Geralt, so I can’t do it for free, not even for you.’

‘I know, where do we meet you?’

‘I don’t have the supplies to do that kind of magic here, only place I can think of is Aretuza. And I was not planning on going back there.’

‘Kaer morhen?’

‘Possibly, but that is pretty far away, I can portal there, but since I’m assuming you’re coming too, you will just ride on horseback just to avoid another portal.’

‘Good point. Any other ideas?’

‘I just need the right stuff, Kaer Morhen is the best option. How long will it take you to get there?’

‘A week, maybe longer. Let’s say two.’

‘Good, see you then, hopefully for the both of you I won’t change my mind. If you do let me know, I don’t want to show up there with all my stuff and not see you. If you don’t, see you in two weeks if he agrees, goodbye Geralt.’

‘Goodbye, Yennefer.’ She left when he finished that sentence, the crystals didn’t light up anymore and he would see her again in a week, or so he hoped. He still had to pay the mage, and tell Jaskier about it before they set out. How hard could it be?

‘Geralt?’ He heard the mage say while coming in. ‘All done?

'...'

'pay up.’ He never thought he’d see the bitterest mage on the continent ask him if the conversation was done before fallingback into his usual routine of being an asshole. Something was off even Geralt could see that.

‘You’re act is falling, Alexander.’

‘It’s none of your business, pay up and leave please.’ His voice cracked when he said leave, something happened with him while he was talking with Yennefer, but he didn’t want to care about him, he had more important matters on his mind. And yet he didn’t leave, he just watched at the man who was so bitter all of this time, and now he just seemed hurt. ‘You going to say anything? Look today was a tough day for me, and you made sure of that, I-’

‘No.’ He said, he was done with his act. ’I gave you a job for today, and it wasn’t that hard. I gave you an income for you to drink away whatever’s left of you. So stop. acting. like that.’

‘You reminded me of someone, and I don’t like it one bit. Now pay up and go before I call the guards.’

‘You’ll get in more trouble than me.’

‘I just can’t find the room to care anymore.’

He paid him and he left. It wasn’t any of his business, he barely knew the man. He didn’t ask for his help so he stopped meddling in his business and he left. Back to Jaskier.

Fuck

He needed to talk with him. He told his secret to her without his consent. He really was an idiot he knew that, but hopefully Jaskier will look past that and just think about how he’ll finally be able to take his shirt off- no just live his day to day life without hurting his own ribs and at least not get angry about it. Even if he did he technically didn’t tell her she already knew it, it wasn’t within Jaskier’s knowledge but she still did know before he told her so he would have absolutely no right to be angry.

Luckily for him the walk to the inn wasn’t too long and he didn’t have loads of more time to dwell onto it. He never adjusted his pace and he walked into the inn. He didn’t see Jaskier yet so he started walking towards their room. He was stopped by the innkeeper greeting him.

‘Witcher!’

‘Never caught your name.’

‘Rhona. You are judging from the bard’s songs the white wolf, Geralt of Rivia.’ He was almost fond of much that idiot sung about him. ‘Speaking of him, he wasn’t too happy with your departure. Came here at breakfast and told me about everything. I’m generally not interested in other’s stories but in this one you were being a real asshole. So you might wanna go and explain yourself to him.’

‘I was just about to do that, thank you Rhona.’

‘Sure. Also he told me how much of an idiot you were so I’m going to say it straight to your face. He cares about you loads, don’t throw it away.’

‘I know, thank you.’

‘Good. Now go explain yourself to him.’

‘As said before, that was the plan Rhona.’

‘Just making sure. Good luck.’

He nodded at her as he left. He went up the stairs and he found himself looking at all the decorations, they were Skellige. In hindsight he did hear a little bit of an accent when speaking with Rhona but she did a good job at masking it. The decorations were subtle, no big purple banner with a boat on it, just some stuff that was unique to Skellige. Some plates and other kitchen wear and some weaponry. The combination of tableware and weapons was surprisingly nice to look at. He thought that it probably had to do with the warriors have a home too or some shit. Or maybe it was just the colours, he didn’t know, it was still nice to look at. The plates were nicely decorated with bright colours to show the Skellige pride and the weaponry was-

‘Geralt, even I can see that you’re stalling.’

Jaskier just stood leaning against the doorframe a few meters away. His arms and legs were crossed and his eyes were looking directly at Geralt. To his great surprise he didn’t seem angry at all, just curious.

‘Fine don’t say anything about the stalling then. You definitely were if that’s what you were going to say.’ He wasn’t. He was a witcher, a fearless creature who definitely didn’t stall on talking to his good friend. ‘I'm not angry if that’s what you're wondering. I will be if you don’t get over here and explain yourself right now, but we’re fine for now. So-’ He stood up and made some gestures telling him to come in. ‘Come in and fucking explain yourself.’

Even Geralt knew the not being angry was a lie. He maybe wasn’t angry about him leaving but he was probably angry about the fact that he never explained a thing. And he had the right to be, he was being an asshole about it. He just really hoped he’d understand once he told everything. He walked in the room and everything besides the smell was still the same. He could still faintly smell some sweat but mostly it smelt like Jaskier’s oils. It was nice. He sat on one of the chairs by the table while Jaskier stood next to it with his hands on his hips.

‘Well?’ He asked.

‘Well..’ He repeated while he let the memories of how it all started come back.

#trans!jaskier #trans!jaskier fic #Geraskier fic #Geraskier #yennefer of vengerberg #Geralt of Rivia #Jaskier #my writing

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lesdemonium · 4 years

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Into Nightfall (chapter 3)

Rating: M Words (so far): 11,209 Chapter: 3/? Summary:

Nilfgaardian insurgents do not want the treaty between Cintra and Nilfgaard to take place, so Geralt, a witcher bodyguard-for-hire, is reluctantly hired to escort Princess Cirilla across the continent to expedite the signing of the treaty. What should have been an easy-enough contract keeps getting more and more difficult, though, especially when Geralt is forced to ask for help from those he has wronged in the past. Calanthe tapped her fingernails on the thick, solid wood of the arm rest, thinking hard. Geralt could see her mouth moving in a silent conversation as she considered her options, and then she stood, a decision made. “Fine, Witcher. I remain skeptical at best of the intelligence you have brought me. But I accept the terms of your wager. You will attend the banquet tonight as a guest and tell no one of your true intentions. And in the morning, when I am right, you will leave Cintra and never return. Do we have a deal?” Calanthe strode forward, holding out her hand to Geralt. chapter summary: Jaskier still managed to make Geralt sound just as heroic and brave as he always had, but Geralt couldn’t help but notice they were dulled, somehow. It took a few stories for Geralt to realize that the words lacked all of the adoration Jaskier usually filled them with. They felt empty, somehow, which in turn left Geralt feeling much the same. chapter 1 on tumblr | on ao3

Geralt was pretty sure they ended up exactly where they had made camp the night before. That was only at his insistence that they keep going to at least land south of the Cintran castle, because they had to waste time to hunt after none of them had a meal at the tavern.

Traveling with Jaskier was strange. Elements of it were familiar, like the endless chatter that after a while started to feel relaxing. Even the familiarity of it had a hard edge, however; Jaskier would not talk to him. Twice Jaskier had told Ciri a story and Geralt corrected him, only for Jaskier to barrel on as if Geralt had not spoken. At first, he wondered if he had only thought it, rather than said it outloud (when he traveled alone, sometimes his thoughts felt like words he had spoken), but the way Ciri turned to him both times reminded him that, no, he had said something. Jaskier had ignored him.

After the second time, Geralt took the hint, but it didn’t hurt any less. He didn’t correct Jaskier further.

Jaskier and Ciri got along like a house on fire, though. A few times, Geralt and Yennefer shared a look of relief as Jaskier startled a laugh out of the princess. Ciri pressed Jaskier for story after story, starting with her mother and father--Geralt noticed that Jaskier left out how much Ciri’s grandmother played a role in her father’s almost-death--then moving on to his travels. Often, of course, Geralt came up. Jaskier still managed to make Geralt sound just as heroic and brave as he always had, but Geralt couldn’t help but notice they were dulled, somehow. It took a few stories for Geralt to realize that the words lacked all of the adoration Jaskier usually filled them with. They felt empty, somehow, which in turn left Geralt feeling much the same.

If anyone else noticed the change, however, no one said anything. Ciri hitched herself to every word of Jaskier’s, and leaned in so close she was soon holding fast to Jaskier’s arm to keep herself upright. Jaskier basked in the attention, though he often cast the light back on Ciri, giving her space to tell her own stories. Though she did not have the same skill with language as Jaskier did--her stories had a bit of a meandering quality, with entirely too many set-up details--she did have a talent for turning even the most banal stories into an adventure. Geralt even found himself hiding small smiles at her tales of trouble-making. In another life, in a few more years, she would have made an animated traveling companion.

Even Yennefer joined in from time to time, and though Jaskier tensed whenever she spoke up, he did not cut her off as he did Geralt. He did not share his space with her as freely as he did Ciri; rather, he handed Ciri’s attention to her as if it was a precious thing he was safe-guarding, and just barely trusted Yennefer with. If it bothered Yennefer, she did not show it. Then again, she wasn’t in the habit of giving a rat’s arse what anyone thought about her, and she certainly wasn’t going to start now.

By the time they finally settled to make camp, Geralt had to admit he was relieved. He could lead the party back south in his sleep, and setting up camp at least was slightly more demanding of his consciousness, allowing him to drown out the sounds of Jaskier and Ciri talking without him.

Geralt had barely started untacking Roach, though, when Yennefer touched his shoulder. “Let’s talk,” she said softly.

Geralt held back a sigh, but allowed her to lead him away from the bard and the princess. They didn’t go far--Geralt did still need to keep an eye on Ciri, after all--but they went far enough to avoid human ears overhearing. Once they stopped, Geralt raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“I’m leaving,” Yennefer started, and though Geralt wasn’t surprised in the slightest, it still filled him with dread. At least having Yennefer around provided a bit more of a buffer. “It’s no secret that this isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, and let’s face it, you and Jaskier have more than got this under control. My presence only sets Jaskier more on edge.”

“Seems he’s going to be on edge either way,” Geralt grunted.

“Work on that,” Yennefer admonished, crossing her arms. “I’d suggest you start doing more to fix this, or you all will have a very long few weeks ahead of you, if today is any indication.” Ah. So she had noticed. Geralt bristled slightly at this--hadn’t he been trying to extend peace offerings all morning before he finally gave in? “Jaskier almost refused me. And you cannot afford to lose him with this particular assignment. If for no other reason than Ciri will never forgive you. So be a man and fix it.”

Geralt huffed. “How exactly do you expect me to do that if he won’t talk to me?”

“I’m sure you can figure it out. You traveled together for years; surely you know some way to get back in your bard’s favor.” Her hand waved dispassionately, and she turned back toward the others.

“Yen.”

She waited, but didn’t face him.

“What if I can’t?” Gods, he almost wished he was having this conversation with anyone else. Yennefer was important to him, there was no doubt about that. But she wasn’t exactly… touchy-feely. Geralt didn’t think he was touchy-feely, then his voice had to come out sounding so wrecked.

Jaskier would have been a good person to talk to about this. It was too bad that was out of the question.

“You will,” came Yennefer’s reply, and she walked back off to the camp with finality.

Geralt took his time returning to the campsite. He brought back firewood, as if that was what had held him up, but really he just didn’t want to see Jaskier’s face when Yennefer said she was leaving. Jaskier had never cared for Yen, that was for certain, but apparently in his hierarchy Geralt had officially found a spot below her. He couldn’t imagine Jaskier was glad to see her go, only to be left with Ciri and Geralt.

By the time he came back, Yennefer was making her goodbyes. Her arms were around Ciri and she was stroking her hair and whispering something Geralt could only catch snippets of, though it seemed to be a warning about traveling with “idiotic men.” They pulled away from each other presumably after Yennefer finished her counseling, and Yennefer turned to Jaskier. Their goodbye was far more awkward. After a moment of just staring at each other, they both nodded.

Geralt snorted at this exchange and everyone turned their attention back to him. “Thanks for the help, Yen,” Geralt said, setting to work on building the fire.

Yennefer trailed her fingers over his shoulders as she walked by. It was unnecessary--this side of the campsite was no better for summoning a portal than the other one, but Geralt appreciated the small goodbye all the same.

“Try not to need me too much,” Yennefer said, before disappearing on the other side.

The camp was silent long after Yennefer left, aside from the soft noises of Geralt setting up and Jaskier quietly strumming his lute. Just barely hearing a tune being played was strange--usually Jaskier would play however loudly he was feeling, even when faced with an admonishment from Geralt about alerting any possible beasts to their location. Geralt found he had missed the sound, and longed for Jaskier to play louder, almost enough to ask for it. Almost.

“Now we go to Nilfgaard?” Ciri asked, though her voice lacked the tone changes to indicate a question. Maybe she didn’t actually care to know the answer, and only wanted it to stop being so quiet.

Geralt hummed and, with all his tasks finished (even a few that he probably didn’t need to do right at that moment, like repacking the saddlebags) sat down across the fire from Ciri and Jaskier. “Yes. No more errands north.”

Jaskier looked up at this, his eyebrows furrowing as he first regarded Geralt, then Ciri. It was a quick gesture, and then he was curled back over his lute, working his way through a soft melody.

“You two traveled together. For how long?”

Now Jaskier’s fingers hesitated over the strings. Geralt could sympathize. If they were moving into a conversation about Geralt and Jaskier, this was going to become extremely tricky for Jaskier to navigate without acknowledging Geralt. To not reply would only raise more questions.

“A long, long time, princess,” Jaskier finally mumbled.

“And how long has it been since you’ve seen each other?”

“About a year,” Geralt answered this time, and now Jaskier looked up at him. From the grimace on his face, Geralt was pretty sure Jaskier was thinking about their last argument, and this time Geralt broke eye contact first.

“Why?”

Nosy girl, Geralt thought bitterly, but he couldn’t actually fault Ciri. Clearly something had happened, and now Ciri was stuck between the two of them. If Jaskier was going to continue acting like this the entire time they traveled together, Geralt had half a mind to leave him in the next town. Without Yennefer, they would be able to slip by far more undetected, anyway, so they didn’t exactly need him anymore. Even if Yennefer seemed to think that Jaskier was important to the success of his job, Geralt didn’t necessarily agree. Geralt had been bodyguarding royals for longer than Jaskier had even been alive. He knew how to do this.

Then again, even while Jaskier was being a shit all day and Geralt felt as if he was on his last bit of patience with the bard, he couldn’t deny that he felt, overall, calmer. As the day had worn on, a knot of tension in his chest had been slowly loosening, only to be replaced with a new one. He wanted… what did he want? Something. He wanted something here to be different. More familiar, and less of this uncharted territory, where nothing he did could cause a reaction in the bard. More adoration in his stories again. The ability to sit next to Jaskier and touch him or tease him, and expect that Jaskier would not only accept it, but throw it back onto him.

Geralt realized, belatedly, that there was an awkward silence hanging over them. He only realized when Jaskier stood up, just barely catching his lute, and stalked off in the dark. Geralt watched his retreating form, wondering if he should go after him, before realizing that, no, he couldn’t go after the bard. If he did, he would be leaving Ciri alone. Jaskier could handle himself.

“I hurt him,” Geralt finally answered, his voice low as he looked back at the fire. “It’s late. We have a long day tomorrow. You should rest.”

Jaskier didn’t come back for an hour. Geralt was starting to worry if he would come back at all; maybe Yennefer leaving had spurned him into action to leave himself, deciding that whatever Yennefer had said to convince him simply hadn’t been enough to put up with Geralt. Geralt didn’t relax until he heard familiar footsteps coming back to camp.

“Welcome back,” Geralt whispered, and apparently startled Jaskier, because his steps faltered for a moment before continuing on to his own bedroll.

The only sound for a long time was Ciri’s deep breaths and the soft mumbling she let out every so often in her sleep. Geralt, the tension in his body finally settled to something more manageable now that Jaskier had returned, laid down on his bedroll. He had only just begun to think about sleep when Jaskier finally spoke.

“When I warm up to you tomorrow, don’t mistake that for forgiveness.” Jaskier’s words were flat, emotionless. Geralt wondered, absently, how long he had to steel himself and practice to sound that way. Or maybe it just came naturally to him now, where Geralt was concerned.

“I won’t,” Geralt answered. And this, at least, felt like something.

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