#I have finally drawn both Geralt AND a lute at long last

[rebrandedbard]

Oh hell yeah, you know I had to elevate this prompt.

#witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my art #my witcher art #doodles #technically this is like finished line art and some block shading but I'm putting it in my doodle tag #I have finally drawn both Geralt AND a lute at long last #a good geralt #i could cry

[leviosally]

Stay….he says. It’s what he always says, as though Jaskier was a small child or a particularly wayward puppy. He was neither of these things, obviously, but as he opens his mouth to protest for the umpteenth time, knowing full-well the argument is absolutely fruitless and completely self-indulgent he finds himself dispelled abruptly with the witcher’s second favorite silencing mechanism; piercing golden death glare. But, Jaskier was a man of principle, and arguing with Geralt was just that…a matter of principle.

Stay, Geralt whisper hisses over his shoulder, handing him Roach’s reins before sneaking ahead into an abandoned cave or shack or fog shrouded thicket or other such likely place, securing the area like some sort of overgrown, witchery body-guard. And while Geralt playing the big, bad protector did indeed have a rather charming ‘knight-in-shining-armor’ ring to it, Jaskier wasn’t completely useless.

Stay, he growls as he bandages Jaskier’s wounds, obtained more oft than not by merely tripping over his own feet, but that was hardly the point.

Stay, he says through gritted teeth, grabbing a fistful of Jaskier’s doublet and hauling him quickly behind the edge of a building before stepping out to put himself between Jaskier and this week’s angry lord, which sends a blush blooming in his cheeks for entirely different reasons. But, he had succeeded in out-foxing many a past dalliance long before Geralt came along and was well practiced at looking out for himself, thankyouverymuch.

Stay, Geralt orders before he takes off on a hunt, leaving Jaskier behind in camp or at an Inn, and no matter how he huffs and puffs and complains that if Geralt describes one more monster as ‘He was one-hundred feet tall with rolling orange eyes and rows and rows of bard-crushing teeth’, the witcher merely quirks a smile at him, golden eyes effectively rooting him to the spot once more as he swings up into the saddle and takes off into the growing twilight…and Jaskier absolutely does not swoon at that.

“Stay.” Geralt repeats even now, like a bloody mantra, and Jaskier barely looks up from where he’s scratching various rhymes and lyrics into his notebook with his tongue caught between his teeth.

*

Jaskier knows Geralt’s been gone too long as he strides up to the front of the tavern he’s playing in for his second set of the evening and the dim, corner table near the back remains steadfastly empty.

He knows Geralt’s been gone far too long as he gathers his coin and tucks away his lute, turning toward the stair leading up to their room with a worrying twist in his gut.

He knows something must be absolutely wrong as the hour turns later and later, pushing well into the realm of the wee morning with still no Geralt. So, he makes like any good friend, and builds himself up with reassurances that Geralt’s condition that he ‘stay’ surely came with provisos like ‘In the event of a Griffin evisceration, send help…particularly a devastatingly handsome bard with eyes the color of the bluest sky, and lips as sweet as cherry pie…strong enough to bench an ox and hands I wish would wrap my c—’ Okay, okay perhaps the last part was a bit wishful, but a bard could dream. More importantly, Geralt could be in trouble, and that certainly wouldn’t do…for a variety of reasons.

With one dagger tucked safely in his boot and another hidden away inside his doublet, he grabs his cloak and sets off into the night. The mayor who had contracted Geralt in the first place was understandably disgruntled, brushing his valet aside as Jaskier’s incessant hammering of the door, practically fit to break it in, finally yields results. Jaskier draws himself up importantly, waving aside the poor man’s outrage at the late night interrruption and proceeds to interrogate him about the location of the latest big bad Wyvern Geralt has been commissioned to dispatch. After talking the poor mayor hoarse, and apologizing again for the late hour, he bows his way off the front stoop and heads off in the direction of the mayor’s half-lucid gesturing, hoping against hope that he’s made the right choice.

There’s surely no better recipe for worry than walking alone down a dark forest path in the middle of the night by one’s self, fretting in equal measure about A. whether he’s made the right decision about venturing out in the first place; he had seen Geralt in action before, and knew the witcher was more than capable of taking care of himself. He flushed richly just thinking about how Geralt’s muscles rippled and flexed in the midst of a battle, effectively obliterating any wonder of why there was even a fight in the first place upon more than one occasion, and B. Hoping against hope that Geralt wasn’t actually seriously hurt, and that the hunt was just taking longer than normal because Wyverns were, by all accounts, very flighty and unpredictable beasts…with rolling orange eyes and rows and rows of bard-crushing teeth…bloody hell.

It takes Jaskier a surprisingly shorter amount of time to find Geralt than he thought it would, which was both a blessing and a curse as the witcher lay propped against a boulder breathing raggedly with a hand pressed over what appeared, even at a distance, to be a rather sizeable gash across his lower abdomen.

“Geralt!” Jaskier gasps aloud, closing the remaining distance between them at a desperate stumble.

“Jaskier…” Geralt breathes, drawing a slow, pained breath, “I told you to…”

“…I know, I know…stay” Jaskier shoots back, skidding onto his knees at Geralt’s side and examining the wound. It’s deep, judging by the blood that’s seeping slowly over Geralt’s fingers, and Jaskier swallows thickly, forcing himself to keep a cool head as he turns instead to rummage in his pack. He withdraws a bottle of alcohol (definitely not the drinking kind) and yanks the cork out with his teeth.

“Right now, I need you to stay…stay still unless you want me to suture your elbow to your crotch.” He manages to muster a small, encouraging smile as Geralt’s eyes flicker to his, before emptying the bottle over the wound, eliciting a sharp hiss from the witcher that makes Jaskier’s chest clench. He squeezes his eyes shut in a tight grimace as Geralt swears aloud, but he pushes it desperately aside, holding a small needle and thread up to his eyes. Jasier can see Geralt’s jaw clench and unclench in his periphery as he sets the point of the needle to the witkcher’s flesh. He can feel that piercing golden gaze on his face as he closes the wound, nimble fingers making quick work of the suturing and trying not concentrate on the way Geralt’s chest shudders with each stitch.

*

Stay, Jaskier whispers, helping him up on to Roach before climbing up in front and clicking the mare to a brisk walk so as not to disturb Geralt’s wounds.

Stay, Jaskier says reassuringly, lowering Geralt onto the bed and squeezing his hand just briefly before crossing the room to retrieve bandages.

Stay, he says, trying on his best imitation of Geralt’s glare before disappearing downstairs to retrieve food and Geralt’s favorite drink just so he can see the rare but nonetheless genuine smile Geralt reserved for the things he holds dearest in life (Ale, Roach and…well perhaps Jaskier ranked in there somewhere even if Geralt wasn’t exactly forthcoming…)

“…and now you’re going to stay here and rest…and let me take care of you…” He croons reassuringly, sitting upon the edge of the bed and reaching up hesitantly to brush a stray strand of silver off of Geralt’s face as the witcher levels him an un-readable look.

No sooner were the words out of his mouth, than Jaskier’s suddenly leaping from the bed as though burned, a wide-eyed look of comprehension dawning on his face as he darts across the room to his bag, wherein he knew resided an old dictionary. Ignoring Geralt’s grunts of surprise that chase over his retreating shoulder, his fingers flip madly through the pages until he finds the one he’s looking for:

Stay; /sta/ To remain in a specified state or position. To delay harm or risk or hurt. To prevent the threat of danger, harm, or loss. Often to impose the protection or safe-guarding of something valuable.

With an effort, Jaskier un-sticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth and swallows the lump in his throat, a somewhat guilty sensation writhing in his chest….

…Geralt had been taking care of him all this time.

‘Safe-guarding something valuable’ loops on repeat in his head as he closes the old book and slides it back into his bag before rising slowly and turning back toward the bed. He finds Geralt’s inquisitive golden gaze, the hard lines of his brow drawn in a question, and Jaskier finds himself fumbling for the right words.

“Y’know, just…thought of a word for a song..” He murmurs, waving a hand dismissively when Geralt simply continues to stare at him with a look that is equal parts concern as though he had suddenly taken ill and something else that he could only describe as indifference…which Geralt could hardly be condemned for, as impulsively diving for his notebook was something Jaskier was indeed prone to doing, and often.

“You can uh…you should take the bed and I’ll kip on the floor here….” He produces awkwardly but Geralt’s penetrating gaze doesn’t falter.

Suddenly there’s a hand on his forearm as Geralt’s fingers close tentatively around it;

“Stay.” Geralt says in a low whisper.

#my writing #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #the witcher fandom #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fanfiction #fluff #needed something soft #soft geraskier #soft boy hours #they love each other #geralt’s love language

[officerjennie]

You'll Never Be Too Much

CW: ED adjacent thoughts, weight gain thought of negatively (by Eskel), spiraling thoughts, weight gain spoken of positively (by Jaskier), tummy kisses, scar kisses, stretch mark kisses, brief mentions of witchers not eating well on the path, soft!Eskel, hurt/comfort. Starts out rough but ends up Soft. WC: 7.6k+ Rating: T Prompt: Tickling Summary: Eskel injured himself at the start of the winter and ended up resting throughout it, and when it's time to meet up with Jaskier in the spring he fears he will be unattractive to him. But Jaskier is determined to do his best to show Eskel just how beautiful he is when he's soft and healthy.

Dedicated to @all-hail-the-witcher who kept yelling at me to stop hurting Eskel. And a special thanks to @lindianaj0nes for betaing for me <3

It was a mistake coming here.

Eskel rode Scorpion through the small town streets, apprehension tensing through his body until he was just one knot of it, his eyes unable to look further than the stones straight ahead of where his horse took him, unable to look up and see the faces around him.

Sometime the fall before, when the trees were all but bare and the scent of rotting leaves was thick in the air, Jaskier had shooed him home. It had made his heart ache though he knew Jaskier’s decision had not been one made of emotion - no matter how difficult that might be to believe. Jaskier, following logic instead of his heart or cock, but the regret and the worry and the love had been so clear on his face that not even Eskel could deny it.

Jaskier was many things, but an outright liar was not one of them. And there was so much proof to his love that, after almost seven years, Eskel was finally comfortable and confident enough to relax into it.

But that had been before the winter, and dread sat rotten in his gut as he rode slowly towards their agreed upon meeting place.

It was a nothing town in the middle of a nothing country, named but nothing to that name. They’d chosen it because of its location more than anything else. Nestled nicely an equidistance between both Kaer Morhen and Oxenfurt, in an area that wasn’t too keen on driving away witchers, not really known for much monster nuisance or trouble. It was a bit dull and boring for the both of them but when it came to spring meetings dull and boring was nice, a pleasant if brief respite from the world they’d be flinging themselves into shortly.

Jaskier would be there at the inn, waiting for him. As he always was. Singing the crowd into a joyous lot, using a rickety table as his stage, his bright colors splashed against the dull and dark of the rest of the world - and Eskel would be joining him soon, slipping into a booth in the corner to see how long it took for Jaskier to notice he’d shown up, because if the way his bard’s face lit up upon noticing him couldn’t convince him of his love then nothing else ever could.

But this year, this spring, he feared the lust might not follow.

Eskel shifted, feeling his shirt too tight against his skin, and when he looked up at last the inn was far too close. But he’d come this far, and he’d made the mistake of skipping one of their meetings before. Not entirely on purpose, but it hadn’t stopped Jaskier from hunting him down and giving him several pieces of his mind. For several months.

And the songs that followed felt like they’d never end.

The inn had a dingy stable built right next to it, one with only a few stalls and one single, rather sleepy stable boy who always had hay sticking out from his dirty blonde hair. Eskel slipped him a few extra coins after settling Scorpion in, nodding as the boy settled back onto his bucket, coins shoved into his pockets before he rested back against the wood and pulled the hat back over his eyes.

He could already hear his singing. One of Geralt’s songs, a grand tale that was more hyperbole than anything else - anyone who knew Geralt would know Jaskier was embellishing but no one in the inn had probably laid eyes on him before. Or, if they had, they only knew the gruff exterior and the character that Jaskier spun with his words.

It was enough to distract him momentarily from his worries. He entered the inn and slipped easily past the crowd, not drawing more than a pair or two of eyes his way, the barkeep sliding him a tankard without even bothering to demand payment up front. Eskel’s face was a memorable one, and he was good for his coin; there were some benefits to returning every spring and fall.

Jaskier had not changed much since he last saw him, Eskel noted as he slid into a booth (not the same one as the last time, never the same one. That would have ruined their game). His hair was a bit longer, curls a bit wilder from the length, looking as if he’d recently run his hands through them a few too many times. Doublet open, chemise white and almost see-through and far too visible to be decent, black curls begging for fingers to run through them. He was wearing red and Eskel colored at the sight, eyes slipping away as Jaskier drew the crowd into a roar of laughter at his raunchy lyrics.

Not a single bit of Jaskier’s performance was ever unplanned, and his clothes were part of his every day performance. There was a reason he wore red.

Eskel managed to get through a few tankards of ale as he waited, eventually going back to watching him play, letting himself let go enough to be drawn into the music. It was a bit too loud, a bit too much for his liking, but for Jaskier he could put up with it. The crowd, the noise, the scraping of wooden chairs against the floor and the slamming of cups down on the tables. All of it could be tuned down if he tried hard enough, focused hard enough on something else, and that something else was how expertly Jaskier’s long fingers worked the strings on his lute, how he poured every emotion into every lyric and word, and how he could see those cornflower eyes scan the crowd every once in a while looking for a matching splash of red.

When Jaskier finally spotted him, it was enough to make Eskel’s heart flutter. His words did not stumble, his fingers did not stutter, but his eyes found him and blew wide. From across the room Eskel watched as his pupils grew, drinking in the sight of him, eyes flickering as if to sear the memory of him into his mind. His lips drew upwards in a smile he couldn’t hold back nor could he ever fake - Jaskier’s grin, his true and joyous grin, was lopsided and silly, not thought through and perfected like the rest of his performance and Eskel adored it all the more for it. Treasured each moment it was sent his way as he did just then, forgetting his worries as he heard the lilt of excitement weave into his bard’s music.

Jaskier didn’t even attempt to make it through another song, bowing out quickly and hopping off of his table even quicker, the crowd nearly forgotten as his grin spread and his feet brought him straight to his waiting witcher.

“And here I thought you’d forgotten me,” he teased, though the hurt that once edged into those words was long gone. Didn’t stop Eskel from thinking he was a little shit for bringing it up still, after all of those years, but Eskel had grown up around little shits and knew how to deal with them. Mostly.

“Hard to forget someone like you.” Eskel winked just to hear Jaskier laugh, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest - and the movement reminded him of why he’d sat with his back to the wall, table in-between him and Jaskier’s makeshift stage, the worries and fears coming crashing down on him as he made to tug his shirt back into place.

Jaskier didn’t seem to notice, not yet. Too busy shaking his head fondly and chattering away, holding onto his lute strap with one hand while the other gestured and flourished through the air, spinning his fingers as he spun the tale of his journey there. Eskel caught a good bit of it, whisps of familiar words as Jaskier joined him at the table, his bard pressing a leg against Eskel’s as he went on about how one fork in the road had nearly been his downfall when his turn had been blocked.

“It was luck and Melitele’s blessing alone that got me here,” he concluded, dramatically heaving a sigh as he fluttered his eyelashes, looking up through them in the way that usually had Eskel’s insides melting. “We must truly be meant to be, dearheart, if not even the most formidable of foes can keep us apart.”

“A fallen tree and a couple of bandits aren’t that dangerous,” he pointed out, keeping at least one hand in his lap and hoping the position was normal. How was it that he usually sat? Did he usually have his hands on the table? Arms across his chest? Nothing like trying to act inconspicuous to make one realize they knew so little about their own behavior, and Eskel felt disdain at not knowing how to act like himself.

“You feeling alright, love?”

Eskel could have cursed himself, doubly so because he didn’t know what had given him away. But Jaskier’s lips had turned down, his eyes searching his face for any hint of something, one of his hands reaching out to hold Eskel’s where it had been resting on the table.

“I’m fine,” he lied, the words heavy on his tongue. Heavy like the fears that had turned into stones in his gut, heavy like every step had been on the way here. Heavy like him. “Just a bit tired. Traveling down a perilous mountain is a bit more exhausting than some formidable trees.”

The teasing worked at least. Distracted Jaskier enough for his nose to scrunch up cutely, for the frown to disappear from his face. But it was only a delay of the inevitable as Jaskier leaned towards him, bringing his hand up to brush his lips against the back of his knuckles, the tender touch followed by a few soft kisses to his fingers.

“I’ve already got us a room. Upstairs, window overlooking the stable, just like you like. Always best to leave the crowd wanting so why don’t we retire early tonight?”

“It’s not anywhere near night,” Eskel said, the correction in place of the irrational words he wished to say. ‘Let’s stay down here’, he wanted to suggest. ‘We can eat and drink and stay here, on opposite sides of the table. We can stay here all night and all through tomorrow and don’t look at me, I don’t want to see your face fall in disappointment’.

His hand tugged at the end of his shirt, trying to hide the soft skin that refused to stay contained. But Jaskier intertwined their fingers so sweetly, his voice like honey, lips so soft where they ran across his own rough skin.

“I’ve missed you,” he admitted, voice full of all the nights they’d spent far, far away from each other. “So what if it’s not night; maybe I’d rather spend the day in your arms than around all these drunken fools.”

“You’re sappier than a maple,” Eskel accused, his cheeks dusted pink, but they both knew Eskel didn’t hold it against him - just as they both knew Jaskier would get what he wanted.

It meant standing up, however, and Eskel was not looking forward to that. But he let himself get tugged up, making sure to not let Jaskier feel the weight of him, pushing himself up instead of reveling in the strength in those deceptively slender looking arms. Jaskier laced their fingers together the moment they were both standing and Eskel counted his blessings as Jaskier led the way, eyes elsewhere and ahead of them, his bard quiet for once as he led them past the bar and up the stairs, halfway down the hall on the left, their door not even locked much to Eskel’s chagrin.

“Not worried your bags will be pilfered through?”

“I was in a hurry,” Jaskier pouted, dropping Eskel’s hand and making a show of locking the door behind them, tossing the key onto a table that looked a little out of place with no chairs to be seen. “Now, on the bed, mister. I’ve walked a long road and sang my throat raw countless nights to reach you, and I’m not wasting another moment outside of those arms!”

Eskel hesitated. He hated that he did, with his back to Jaskier as he heard him gently placing his lute on the same table he’d carelessly tossed the keys onto - and it occurred to him that Jaskier had probably requested it specifically for that purpose, using his exceptional charm to get his way as usual, and the coin toss had landed on success rather than backfiring in his face as it sometimes was wont to do.

He shifted his weight, feeling the pull of the muscles he’d fucked up in his leg at the start of the winter. Not even the start of it; on his journey up the mountain, too cocky for his own good, not taking care with his steps and leading to a nearly fatal fall that had left him limping and dragging himself the rest of the way home.

If he’d been human - if he’d still been human - it would have been a permanent injury. As it was his own stubbornness had made it worse over the winter, and it was one he could still feel a few months later. One that had cost him.

He should be grateful he’d survived, and he was grateful of it, but as he stared at the bed he was supposed to climb in he wondered if it really would’ve been all that bad to skip their meeting until fall. Skip the few months they’d get together now, the nights he could spend in Jaskier’s arms, for a chance to work past the rough winter and resemble more of himself before Jaskier caught sight of him again.

It wouldn’t do to stand there in the middle of the room any longer. He started towards the bed a bit too quickly, almost forgetting to take off his armor and boots as he went, the rest of his pack having been left to Scorpion to defend with his viscous bite and deadly kicking aim.

Eskel was under the covers before Jaskier was even ready to turn towards the bed, his bard ever slow with getting ready for even the simplest of things despite how he rushed and shooed others on. The doublet had been folded neatly and moved around until he deemed a place suitable enough to stash it away, his boots aligned neatly near the door while Eskel’s had been kicked off towards the wall. Jaskier scratched his hair as he sighed, his shoulders sagging, the performance melting away and leaving a disaster of a man that Eskel could not love more if he tried.

The sheets sussed together as Jaskier crawled into them as if he’d never felt a more comfortable bed, not stopping until his nose was nuzzling into Eskel’s chest, legs tangling themselves in Eskel’s as his hands, to Eskel’s growing horror, quickly found their way under the back of his shirt to circle around him and tug him close. But not as close as they used to be able to be, not with his stomach in the way, pushing Jaskier away as Jaskier’s cold fingers leeched the heat from him.

Jaskier hummed, and Eskel counted the seconds as they rolled over into a minute. Two. Three. He knew it would come eventually. The questions, the ‘why’s, the ‘what happened to you’ and the disappointed pursing of those pretty pink lips. He managed to wrap his arms loosely around Jaskier as he waited for it all to come. There was no doubt in his mind that Jaskier would love him no matter what - he’d proven that point time and time again - but love wasn’t the only thing that held them together, that kept them company at night, and it wasn’t something he’d struggled to find throughout his long life.

After all, his family loved him. Vesemir had raised him and they’d become closer after the sacking of the keep, feeling like family rather than what they’d been before. His brothers as well, no matter that they got under each other’s skin like no one else could. Eskel knew love, knew it well, it was no stranger to him - but Jaskier had brought so much along with it that Eskel couldn’t- he just couldn’t.

How many times had Jaskier run his hands all over him, over even his scars, over every part of him that he hid from the world in shame and Jaskier had called him beautiful. Every place Jaskier’s fingers had traveled so had his lips, brushing against him as if Eskel was a precious thing and not some mutated imitation of a human. And Eskel had gotten used to it, that tenderness, the way his heart would flutter and feel so full at every honeyed word of praise that would drip from Jaskier’s lips.

What must he think of him now? The strong arms that Jaskier had purred about the first time he’d pressed a palm into Eskel’s erection through his pants, the strength that used to have Jaskier fawning over him - it was covered, now, hidden under a thick layer of fat from all the nothing he’d done all winter.

“If you think much harder the neighbors will hear your thoughts.”

Eskel blinked out of the darkening spots of his mind. When he tilted his head down just enough to look at Jaskier he found his love frowning up at him, a bit of his lip worrying between his teeth, brow furrowed but only just.

Guilt tinged at the edge of the self-loathing that had been building a nice home in his chest, because that was a look he’d only ever seen once on Jaskier. It was concern, nervousness, and the way he so carefully held himself back instead of pushing all of the emotions to the forefront meant he was feeling something he wanted to hide.

Jaskier didn’t hide himself. Not unless he thought he wasn’t good enough, and that self-doubt was only reserved for those closest to his heart. And Eskel had made him doubt himself somehow, some way, and he had no right putting those feelings on him.

“I’m fine, Jask.” Those weren’t the words he meant. ‘It’s fine. Everything’s fine, everything’s alright’, he meant, and he soothed a hand in circles on Jaskier’s back, bringing him as close as his protruding stomach would allow.

“You’re not.” He could tell by the worrying of his bottom lip that those weren’t Jaskier’s words either, but Eskel wasn’t sure what doubts had wriggled their way into his mind and nor did he know the why’s.

Words weren’t his strong suit, and personal communication wasn’t Jaskier’s. But seven years they’d been together and Eskel wasn’t going to let his own shortcomings get in the way.

“Something the matter, songbird?”

Jaskier snorted lightly, but he nuzzled into his chest. A good sign.

“You’re the one who’s so tense. Stiff as a board, which is entirely unlike you. Are you hurt? Did something happen?”

‘What happened to you?’ Eskel swallowed against the thick lump in his throat, leaning his cheek against the top of Jaskier’s head and willing himself to relax.

“Not currently,” he admitted. His injury might still bug him but it wasn’t a pressing issue, didn’t even get in the way of him sparring or fighting anymore - not like it had all winter, after his damned brothers had noticed it, much to Eskel’s frustration. He’d tried to hide it and carry on like normal, but one misstep had caused his leg to give out under him, exasperating the injury and making his brothers and Vesemir infuriatingly stubborn over him resting and not doing a single task that might upset it further.

It had meant no sparring. No training of any sort. Just laying or sitting around or only doing the simplest of tasks while he got fat off of Vesemir’s home cooking, the muscles in his arms and legs softening from lack of use, and soon the definition that had been built on the path was nowhere to be seen. Eskel had never been more self-conscious about his body which was saying something given every waking moment someone found some way to remind him of what he looked like.

People were afraid of him. Of what he was, of what he could do. They saw his scars and the scent of fear always lingered, like they knew in the back of their mind they weren’t safe no matter how careful he was to make his presence known and not sneak up on anyone, how he kept his hands visible at all times, how he moved slowly and deliberately so they knew he meant them no harm.

He’d lived with all of that for so long, but none of it prepared him for this. For knowing he could have stopped this, could have kept himself in shape.

So, no, he was not hurt. His leg only cramped every now and then, the injury more or less healed, but Eskel was not fine and he wouldn’t be until-

The spiral was stopped with a kiss. Nothing lingering, nothing passionate, just a peck to his lips that brought him right back from wherever his mind had been trying to drag him to. And he was met with the softest expression he’d ever seen Jaskier wear, with fingers caressing his cheek, the sound of his love’s heartbeat a little faster than it should have been.

“Where were you going, dearheart?” His words were soft with emotion, the self-doubt nowhere to be seen anymore. A small blessing within whatever curse Eskel was winding around them, ruining their long awaited meeting with. “Don’t hide whatever it is from me. If you can, if you want, you know I’ll listen.”

Eskel wanted to laugh at that, because how could he hide it when not even his shirt could cover up his shame. But he didn’t. Instead he curled up tighter around his songbird, tucking Jaskier up under his chin once more so he didn’t have to see the concern on his face anymore.

Talk about it... would that do them any good? Would facing it head on, ripping off the bandaid, be any better than waiting for Jaskier to eventually say something? Maybe it would be. Maybe it would be worse. But Eskel was tired from the road, tired of second and third guessing whether he should have showed up at all, and when he was tired the small, small parts of him that dared to reach out for comfort had more sway in his thoughts and actions.

“It won’t take long to get rid of it.” Eskel murmured the words into his lover’s hair, as if hiding them could hide his shame. “Just a month or so at most. Then I’ll be back to normal.” He’d be better then. He could do it by then. Just...a month, maybe two, he could ask Jaskier for that much.

“Normal?” Jaskier tried to peek his head back up but Eskel held him too tightly, not wanting to face him, so Jaskier gave up with a sigh pressed into his collarbone alongside a few soft kisses. “So something is wrong then - I can’t help you if you don’t speak clearly, dearheart. What are you getting rid of? Are you ill- should we be seeking out a witch? A healer? Oh please don’t tell me I have to see Yen already, that is not how I want to start out my year.”

Bringing up that old rivalry was enough to draw a chuckle out of him, no matter how short lived the humor was - and no matter that Yennefer and Jaskier apparently got along just fine. Half of the time, anyway. Eskel did not envy Geralt any of that nonsense, though it had seemed to calm down significantly once Jaskier had switched his witcher hyperfocus onto Eskel.

The old rivalry aside... Eskel shifted around, a little uncomfortable that Jaskier was going to make him draw such blunt attention to his issue. That he was making him say it flat out instead of letting him talk around it. Bluntness was usually how Eskel dealt with his issues anyway, most of them at the very least, but when they were so personal he preferred to not and just...not bother anyone with them in the first place.

Bothering Jaskier with it was unavoidable, given that he hadn’t stayed away. That was something he was going to have to live with until he fixed it. The right diet might help him do that faster, a stricter training regime, he could do it, would do it.

But if Jaskier wanted blunt, wanted him to throw it out open and ugly between them, Eskel didn’t have the energy to keep talking in circles around him.

“I got fat.” As if to mock him, with his next deep breath he felt his stomach press against Jaskier, putting more distance between them as it pushed him away. And when Jaskier made some sort of gargled noise in his throat Eskel had to shut his eyes tight against it.

This was it. This was when Jaskier would tell him how he’d noticed the instant he’d seen Eskel from across the bar. How he’d seen his shirt straining to contain the lot of him back, how it had made him hesitant to touch him - maybe that’s why he’d rushed them off to the room, Eskel thought suddenly. Jaskier hadn’t wanted to be seen with him, hadn’t wanted to be embarrassed by him, and this was when he’d hear what he’d been dreading all along.

Jaskier would still love him, Eskel did not doubt that. But how could he still be attracted to him like this? How could he still trace his scars with calloused yet gentle fingers, murmur words of praise against a body that had hardly deserved it before and certainly didn’t now. It had been a stretch of anyone’s imagination to call Eskel beautiful but he’d wanted to believe it, but not even Jaskier, his beloved songbird who’d seen good in the darkest of places, seen the good in those who wanted nothing more than to shy away and hide from the world - not even he could look at him now and see-

“And?”

His thoughts stopped again, and Eskel had to circle back to that word. Circle back and puzzle on it, puzzle on the question, because he wasn’t sure why the question was posed in the first place. There was no ‘and’, it was...just that. It was what it was, and wasn’t...wasn’t that bad enough?

Jaskier didn’t wait for his answer. Or perhaps the minute Eskel took trying to catch up with what the question might mean was too long and he continued without one anyway. “What’s so wrong with gaining weight? We do it every winter. Lucky enough to, even, I’ve seen too many starving people begging for food during the worst of them.”

That… Eskel tucked Jaskier up closer before he had a chance to try to escape his lax arms, ignoring his grumbling when he did. It was true that they both tended to gain a few pounds over the winters. No matter if Jaskier went off to see his family (a very rare occurrence) or spent the time teaching at his old academy, he always came back with a nice layer of plush to him that Eskel loved to knead and feel. Hips softer, stomach making for a wonderful pillow, his thighs becoming squishable in a way that made Eskel want to bury himself between them.

And Eskel himself usually left home with a more rounded shape, but that was…

“That’s different.” It was nothing like this year, nothing like how he looked like now. No matter that he didn’t feel all that different, that perhaps it wasn’t that much more weight than the previous years, this time it was so much more.

Some thought reminded him that didn’t quite track, but the thought didn’t stick, tossed away because this time was different.

“How is it any different? Eskel just- your neck and chest are gorgeous, love, but can I please look at your face while I’m talking to you?”

Eskel relented, reluctantly letting up his hold so Jaskier could move back far enough to meet his eyes. At least he didn’t look as disgusted as he thought he might, his nose scrunched up in a way he’d always found rather cute, his lips pursed and promising him a tongue lashing if he wasn’t careful.

But his words weren’t harsh accusations when he continued, and his hands had yet to leave Eskel’s body. One came back up to stroke a thumb over his cheek as Jaskier spoke softly to him, his words filled with the wrong kind of wonder.

“What’s wrong, love? What’s different? Tell me.”

There had only ever been two people who could make him squirm under their gaze like that, and it was one of the main reasons Vesemir had had much better luck with him than any of the other wolf teachers. It was difficult to not listen, to bite back his tongue and not talk when leveled with that exact look and maybe it was a little concerning that Jaskier and Vesemir both shared that power over him.

Eskel sighed. Refused to look up at Jaskier, fixing his gaze somewhere in the dark curls that peeked up over his loose chemise. Fidgeted and tried not to fidget and only ended up fidgeting more.

“I didn’t,” he started, then stalled, not sure how to put all of his shortcomings to words. But he had to at least try, lest that look turn to the worse disappointed one. “I could have done better. Didn’t do anything all winter, really, just…”

As he went along, it didn’t get any easier, though Jaskier’s fingers had started to rub a soothing pattern into his back. The ones resting on his cheek held him softly even over his scars, never flinching away, never twitching in annoyance. Jaskier just held him and waited patiently, as if he had all the time in the world for Eskel to chew out what was wrong and different.

“On the way up the mountain, I fucked up my leg. Couldn’t train. Couldn’t help.” It all tasted as bitter then as it had during the winter. Forcing his brothers to pick up his slack, not being anything but a burden on the lot of them. Even when he tried he’d only made things worse, pissing Lambert off and making Geralt grouse at him like he was some baby witcher who’d never even gone out on the path before. All he’d been able to do was laze around and grow fat, muscles flabby and losing their strength, he should have been better and he could get better- would get better, for all of them.

Jaskier brushed his lips lightly against his jaw, and Eskel couldn’t help but look at him then. The way his eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbones, the way sunlight lit up his features and made his skin glow. Gods but his songbird was beautiful; how could he possibly deserve him, now especially?

Those lips brushed all the way up to his own, pausing every so often to leave soft kisses in their wake, until Jaskier was kissing him. It was one Eskel slowly melted into, pressing back, soft and slow and lingering until his hand was tangling in soft brown curls as he gently nipped the lip Jaskier had been worrying between his teeth.

“Dearheart,” Jaskier murmured between their kisses, his cornflower blue eyes gentle as they met Eskel’s, “I’m not sure I understand. Can you help me try?”

Eskel would be willing to do anything if Jaskier requested it in that voice. All he could do was nod and continue to brush their lips together, breathing him in, letting their noses brush together as well just to feel the soft contact between them.

“Thank you, love.” And he meant it, Eskel could hear it in his tone, could feel it in the rhythm of his heartbeat. “Now, please, can we try this again? You’ll have to talk to me like I’m the single most oblivious person in the world just to make sure I follow every step of the way. Alright?”

Eskel did. He started with his fall, how it had fucked up his leg so badly that Scorpion was the only reason he was still alive. Continued on to how he tried to hide the injury - and did not miss the pinched look that promised him they’d be revisiting that little fact at a later date, but Jaskier, somewhat out of character, managed to bite his tongue and save the lecture for later - and how it had ended up making it worse. How he’d been refused to contribute in any fashion after that, burdening his family and growing fat off their food anyway, his injury preventing him from keeping up with himself until he got worse and worse from it.

At some point, the hand that had been soothing circles into his back moved, slowly coming forward until it rested on his stomach. Eskel tensed when it did, though he fought past the urge to bite off his words and stop speaking. But eventually it wasn’t up to him anyway, Jaskier gently cutting him off with another kiss, and then another, and another until Eskel was melting though he hadn’t even realized how tense he’d become.

“Okay. Alright. Now, I’m going to repeat what I believe you’re trying to say, but love,” Jaskier kissed him again a few times, then reached up to kiss his nose, and Eskel wasn’t sure why he was being so extra tender with him today. “I need you to know I don’t believe these things, and that I’m not teasing or judging you for them. Alright?”

Eskel managed to nod but his words were gone. All he wanted to do was sleep, perhaps roll over so his stomach wasn’t pressing into Jaskier - it was probably uncomfortable though Jaskier hadn’t tried to pull away from him quite yet.

“You think you’re fat, and you think that’s a bad thing.” Eskel tried to nod at that as well but Jaskier shook his head, kissing his nose again as his hand began to gently caress the front of Eskel’s stomach. “You think that you...that you were a burden on your family, and that- this is the part that I’m struggling with, Esk, I’m having to make some assumptions here but- you think you’re not...worthy? If you’re not thinner and more visibly muscular, is that it?”

Jaskier’s face was pinched up when he said that. It wasn’t an expression Eskel had an easy time reading. His own lips pursed, but that sounded about right. He wasn’t good like this and was only holding them all back.

But Jaskier shook his head, such concern written in the wrinkle of his brow that Eskel could only frown at his own thoughts. “Esk. Eskel, dearest, dearheart. Why would you ever think that?”

His words were gentle but they were breathed in a rough whisper, Jaskier’s fingers finding their way underneath the shirt that could barely hold back Eskel’s stomach. But instead of pinching or grabbing the fat they found they just gently soothed over his skin, rubbing circles there as they’d done so many times before. As if he wasn’t different now, as if it was normal.

“I’m not…” He struggled to find the words, licking his lips, not for the first time wishing he was better at talking about this, talking about himself. Sure, he would never be as bad as Geralt, but Eskel struggled and floundered so much when the attention was on him that he could never begrudge Geralt’s stunted emotions. “Jask, I’m just not… I’m not attractive like this.”

Jaskier gasped, and Eskel’s eyes snapped back up to his face to find so many emotions flickering across it that he couldn’t keep track of them all. “Eskel you- you take that back this instant! You are the single most handsome man I’ve come across on this whole continent and that’s saying something.”

Even with Jaskier being so earnest with his words, Eskel would never believe him about that. Though his heart wanted to believe that Jaskier believed it, or at least believed him to be attractive, handsome, beautiful, precious, all of the things Jaskier had pressed against his skin and whispered in his ear over the years they’d been together.

That hand continued to caress his stomach as if it wasn’t pushing them apart, the calloused fingers pushing through the hairs there. Rubbing, lightly brushing the back of his fingers against him, gently painting patterns onto his skin as if there was a picture there that only Jaskier could see. Eskel had wanted to move away from the touch, had wanted to flinch at it, hide his shame, shy away, but under the gentle affection he found himself relaxing. It soothed the ache in his chest until he couldn’t listen to his own thoughts anymore, focused in on what Jaskier was telling him.

“Esk, there’s nothing wrong with this.” His touch became just the slightest bit firmer, massaging his stomach as he brushed their noses together, his other hand still on Eskel’s cheek. “This is good, this is healthy, it’s not something bad or wrong.” Jaskier kissed the protest that was forming right off of Eskel’s lips, not letting his mind catch up and throw out how Jaskier was very wrong about that. “Eskel I would much much rather see you like this - healthy, soft, thick and sexy - versus when the path gets rough and you’ve not had anything to eat for a week.”

“Sexy?”

“We’ll get back to that.” Pink suddenly splattered Jaskier’s cheeks and his eyes flickered down to Eskel’s stomach, though Eskel made no move to hide it from view. “Look, just, this is good. I need you to hear that, know that. The soft protects your muscles, something I know you already know, but it’s a good thing. Dehydration, starvation, those are terrifying and very much not what I want my beloved witcher to deal with during the winter.

“Speaking of, what is so wrong with getting some rest for your injured leg, which you could barely stand on let alone walk and fight and train on.”

Ah. There it was. Eskel had the decency to at least blush when he shot Jaskier a grin, though it earned the tip of his nose a nip - the whole while Jaskier’s hand never once pausing where it was slowly massaging and caressing his stomach.

“Bloody witchers, the lot of you are ridiculous.”

“You love me,” Eskel teased, half just to hear him admit it.

And Jaskier did, without a single moment’s hesitation, without any regret to be heard in his voice, “I do, dearest. I do. Every single inch of you.” Eskel’s heart picked up as Jaskier kissed down his jawline, peppering kisses down his neck, stopping at his collarbone as his hand slipped from his cheek to follow him. The hand at his stomach was still tracing idle patterns, not caring if his skin was scarred or not, as if every single inch of skin there deserved the attention - no matter how much there was.

“I love you,” Jaskier whispered again, right over his heart, and Eskel’s breath caught in his throat.

Jaskier kissed down, down, down all the way to his stomach. Kissing his shirt on the way as if it wasn’t there, as if it was Eskel’s bare skin he was adoring with affection. And when he reached his stomach Eskel tried for a moment to suck it in, to make it appear smaller, but Jaskier was having none of it. He wrinkled his nose and scowled up at Eskel with a firm, “be nice to it, I love it,” and Eskel didn’t have it in himself to argue then.

Though Eskel was much stronger than Jaskier, he moved easily when Jaskier pushed him onto his back. His beloved songbird made himself cozy between his thighs as he gently caressed his stomach and sides, his nose brushing just above his naval before his lips joined in. And Eskel had to blink the tears away because Jaskier continued on. Peppered him with kiss after kiss, tracing the stretch marks that stood against his tanned skin, showing him over and over without poetic songs or honeyed words that he was loved. That this part of him was loved.

Kisses on his soft skin wherever Jaskier could reach. Gentle fingers caressing and tracing patterns. Eskel almost squirmed over it all, just the side of too much, but he wanted it. Wanted to feel loved, wanted to be loved, to deserve all of this. Though he didn’t believe he did, he wanted desperately, reaching out a hand to grasp one of Jaskier’s and hold onto him tightly.

“Jask.” It sounded like a request, though he wasn’t sure what he was asking for. Jaskier continued on kissing him, stopping to press his lips against a rather nasty burn scar on his side, kissing all the way up and pushing his shirt out of the way as he went. He made sure to love every scar he passed along the way, knowing each by heart though he knew so few of the stories - Eskel kept most of his past to himself, much to Jaskier’s usual chagrin, but today was not a day for pressed questions.

Eventually, Jaskier worked the shirt off entirely, throwing it off to the side and kissing Eskel’s lips once firmly before going back to his chest. He laid mostly against him, showering his softened chest with love and affection..

Careful with his grip, Eskel held him tight. Blinked away some of the more stubborn tears as Jaskier kissed soft words onto him, murmurs that etched their way onto his heart, and Eskel knew without a doubt that he would never forget this day no matter how long he might live.

But there were some doubts wriggling around in his head that he couldn’t quite shake. Instead of letting them fester, instead of letting them spiral out of control, Eskel held onto Jaskier tight, and with a small voice he reached out to him.

“Is it too much?”

Jaskier pressed a kiss right over his heart, blue eyes fluttering as he looked up at him, a look of sheer adoration that was just for him clear on that pretty face. “Is what too much, love?”

It took all that he was not to fidget or look away. “Me. My stomach. My- well, just me.”

“No, love.” Another kiss over his quickening heartbeat. “You’re perfect, you’d never be too much.”

“It didn’t fit anymore.”

“What didn’t?” Yet another, before Jaskier laid his ear against his chest, fingers tracing idle patterns into his side.

“My shirt.” Eskel turned his head to see it laying crumpled on the ground.

“We’ll buy a new one.” The fingers lightened their touch on his skin, and Eskel had to bite his lip as they traveled across his ribs.

“I don’t have the coin to waste on new clothes.”

“I do.”

The fingers at his side continued on running over his ribs, and finally Eskel couldn’t keep back the fidgeting, his mouth quirking into an unintentional grin at the ticklish feeling. All of which did not go unnoticed as he jostled Jaskier with his jerking. His songbird first looked up at him with momentary confusion before he understood what had happened, a mischievous grin spreading across his lips as his stalled fingers started to tap against Eskel’s skin.

“I’m sorry, love, but is there something wrong?”

Eskel rolled his eyes but snickered when Jaskier poked just the right spot between two of his ribs, unable to help himself. And Jaskier, having discovered after all this time that Eskel was ticklish, of course descended upon him, assaulting both of his sides until Eskel’s laughter was booming in the air around them.

He could have shoved him off. Could have tossed him off the bed or held his hands above his head. But instead Eskel allowed it until a different emotion prickled at the corners of his eyes, and then he flipped them, laying on Jaskier and nosing into the crook of his neck and just. Just laid there, the ends of laughter still keeping him light, his beloved songbird doing a horrible impression of pouting while snuggling him close and kissing his hair.

“I love you.” The words caught on a lump in his throat but Eskel meant them so much, closing his eyes and burrowing himself into his songbird. And Eskel believed Jaskier when he said “I love you too,” believed him with his whole heart.

One afternoon could not erase the thoughts that had clouded Eskel’s mind, but it was a good afternoon, and Eskel could not find a single regret over coming to Jaskier that spring. He could never regret not hiding from him, not hiding his softer stomach and softer thighs, because in that moment he knew that Jaskier found him beautiful and beloved all the same with or without them.

The rest could come later. The rest of his mental healing, but for now this was enough of a start, and Eskel reveled in the tender love Jaskier showered him in.

--

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

#jaskel #eskier #eskel x jaskier #jaskier x eskel #eskel/jaskier #jaskier/eskel #the witcher #fanfiction #mywriting #my summer bingo #someone please explain to me how i got this #-gestures vaguely at whole story- #out of TICKLING

[jaskiersvalley]

Ugh I love your fics so much 😍 I’ve read them all, most of them more than once, and I log on every day just to see if you’ve posted a new one 💕 They always make me so happy, especially the fluffy ones ❤️ You are a lovely writer and I adore you 🥰 Also, “oh what a hairy valley it is” makes me giggle every time I see it 😂 Thank you so much for blessing us with your wonderful writing 💗 I hope you are well and send you love and good vibes always 🤟🏻

This message has actually kept me writing more times that I can say. It’s been sat in my inbox for a good long while because I didn’t want to lose it. But it is only right that I say thank you in the only way a stranger on the internet can and write you something to express my gratitude to you, Nonnie.

Lambert’s Laws

If anyone had ever asked Vesemir who he credited with the successful survival of his wolves, he wouldn’t have taken credit. No, he would have said they’re alive because of each other. Right from a young age, Eskel and Geralt had looked out for Lambert and each other. Without them, Lambert wouldn’t have survived. Not that anyone was expecting him to live through the Trials but there he was, full of mutagens and bitterness. It was definitely the other two that pulled him through the worst of it and, to that day, still kept him going.

It had all started off when Geralt and Eskel got back from the Path and Lambert pestered them for stories. He was still reckless, struggling to meditate and snapping at anyone who even looked like a figure of authority. In a way, some things never changed but Vesemir had learned to navigate the prickly nature well enough over the decades. That was beside the point though. What was important was the parchment that was on Lambert’s wall, held up by a mysterious substance Vesemir didn’t want to ask about. Last he checked, there was no glue readily available for trainees to use so Lambert either stole some, made some or used something else. Vesemir wanted to think about exactly none of those options. The parchment held a list. It had started off with just one cardinal rule.

Lambert’s Law

Do not fuck a rock troll.

It was sensible advice, on one level, Vesemir approved of such a law. However, he couldn’t figure out how that had become a law that needed to be noted. When carefully probed over dinner, he watched as Eskel’s face went carefully blank while Lambert and Geralt snickered. It was the first time in his life Vesemir was disappointed in Eskel. And it was a use of witcher healing he never wanted to consider.

For a couple of years, that single sentence adorned Lambert’s bedroom wall. Then, another line was scrawled on.

Lambert’s Laws

Do not fuck a rock troll.

A sword’s pommel is for hands only.

Images of sword fighting with feet sprang to Vesemir’s mind when he saw that. When he dared broach the topic, Geralt was far to quick to reply.

“Yeah, sword fighting with feet, obviously.”

Lambert brayed nearby. “Or armpits, or backs of knees or- Hey Geralt, what else can you clench?”

Paling a little, Vesemir decided not to think about it. But, in the middle of the night when everyone else was asleep, he did try to hold a sword between his (clothed! He had respect for his sword.) butt cheeks. It was a miserable failure and he had to admire Geralt for being able to hold a sword up like that. As he mulled it over, his hand brushed suggestively over the pommel. Staring at it, Vesemir put it to the side, internal monologue a solid loop of “nope, nope, nope”.

Lambert’s Laws

Do not fuck a rock troll.

A sword’s pommel is for hands only.

Bards bust balls.

That last one was added by Jaskier the first winter they met. Nobody quite knew what had happened. But it involved a lot of howling (Lambert), aggressive lute strumming (Jaskier) and the application of copious amounts of snow to the crotch (Lambert. Rumour had it, he even had tears in his eyes.).

Three cardinal rules Lambert seemed to live by. It seemed to do the trick and even the other two appeared to take those laws to heart. Even if Eskel decided that just because a rock troll was a bad idea, fisstech and a succubus wasn’t (once again, Vesemir was disappointed in Eskel. But that was no longer a new feeling). It was all quiet until Aiden came along. He took one look at the list and burst out laughing.

“You’re missing a couple.”

Vesemir watched in despair as Aiden took Jaskier’s quill and gleefully began to write.

Lambert’s Laws

Do not fuck a rock troll.

A sword’s pommel is for hands only.

Bards bust balls.

Don’t eat griffin steak.

“Lambert, what happens when you eat griffin steak?”

The reply was a mumble and Aiden cupped a hand to his ear expectantly. Lambert rolled his eyes. “You get the shits. And you vomit. At the same time.”

If that had been it, Vesemir would have despaired, maybe given a few cookery tips over winter and left it at that. However, Aiden was far from done.

“That’s right, you get violently ill from both ends. Next law, collars for what?”

“Collars are for animals only.”

“That’s right pup,” Aiden beamed. “Unless you have someone to look after you and make sure it isn’t too tight.” That got scribbled on the sheet too.

Lambert’s Laws

Do not fuck a rock troll.

A sword’s pommel is for hands only.

Bards bust balls.

Don’t eat griffin steak.

Collars are for animals only.

By that point, Geralt, Eskel and Jaskier had also crowded by the door to watch Lambert’s humiliation. He had teased and annoyed enough over the decades about their mishaps, revenge was sweet.

“Pretty berries...?” Aiden prompted.

“Are not tasty berries.”

Eskel hid his guffaw into his elbow and Geralt forcefully patted him on the back. 

Lambert’s Laws

Do not fuck a rock troll.

A sword’s pommel is for hands only.

Bards bust balls.

Don’t eat griffin steak.

Collars are for animals only.

Pretty berries are not tasty berries.

Finally, Aiden seemed satisfied and he stepped back. However, Lambert was grinning as he took the quill.

“Hey Aiden.” Attention drawn, Lambert pulled a ball of twine from his pocket and showed Aiden before casually rolling it under the bed. Everyone watched as Aiden squeezed his eyes shut, body tense and trembling. Lambert smugly added the last law.

Lambert’s Laws

Do not fuck a rock troll.

A sword’s pommel is for hands only.

Bards bust balls.

Don’t eat griffin steak.

Collars are for animals only.

Pretty berries are not tasty berries.

Balls of twine are not prey.

The battle was lost and Aiden launched himself under the bed with a chirruping growl. That was quite enough and Vesemir sighed. It was just as well Kaer Morhen no longer created witchers. He had more important things to do than run after younglings. Like trying to make sure his three remaining idiots survived. Cooking lessons were definitely on the agenda for that winter.

#laiden #lambert #vesemir #aiden #eskel #geralt of rivia #jaskier #tldr: lambert lives by simple laws

[pillage-and-lute]

In All that I Have Done

Sad. I recommend listening to Arvo P ärt’s Spiegel im Spiegel while reading. Very, very sad, cannot stress this enough. Non-explicit major character death. (Happens of old age but still)

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More than forty years after the fall of Cintra one Professor Pankratz put down his pen. In the last ten years his hands had lost some of their surety, but his quill didn’t shake when he put it down. 

He ran one hand down his face. His beard had started going silver just after he’d adopted the style, but both it and his hair were now fully steel grey, with not even a hint of their former color. He adjusted his spectacles, tweaked the fashionable, but less than flamboyant hem of his doublet, and began to read what he’d written.

The last will and testament of Professor Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. 

I am writing this, sure and sound of mind, if not of body, in the event of my death. For many years I had a living, de facto will, that is, who ever found me dead by the roadside could loot my body for what they wished. As I got older and my body forced my errant heart to settle down I realized that this could no longer be the case. I fear I have put this off much too long, but happily, it seems I was not too late.

To my remaining family, my baby brother Alfons and his wife Iwona, I leave the rights to my songs and other works, and the royalties to them. Have fun. Alfons, Iwona is a beautiful woman and I would have wooed her, but that you were so in love I couldn’t bring myself to steal her away. I write this with a chuckle, Iwona my dear, because if you’ll remember we met first, and I introduced you to my brother only after you’d hit me in the head with a frying pan for flirting. 

I have also set up a trust, a portion of the royalties will be funneled into it for your son, Mikolaj, although he is a strapping young man who may never need it because he is a fine craftsman, as these spectacles he made me can attest. With luck he may spend it on marriage, should he ever woo that baker lad who made those charming blackberry tarts.

To the grandson of my friend Priscilla, Gaj. You have just been born and are a wonder beyond belief. Your parents are lovely people and you are lucky to have them. They should feel lucky to read this since I fear I shall be long dead before you learn your letters. However; there are times I wish I had fathered children. There are also times I remember what those who do go through and am thankful I did not, but you are a miracle. In the hope that you are given the very best of education, I have put in a word with the university. Should you choose, you will have the best schooling the Continent can offer, free of charge, with the compliments of Oxenfurt. Just, when you are someday a raging young student, sloppy drunk on a night out, think of me, if you can think at all. 

As I have of late stayed in quarters provided for me by the university and their gracious staff, I shall relinquish it all in return, as well as whatever items are held within not listed here. There shall be money in the vase by the fireplace for my funeral, as well as a generous tip for the maids, who have been wonderful and kind to an often forgetful and frail old man who is too much in his feelings.

My wardrobe I leave to whoever wants it, apart from my best blue doublet. (The sky blue one, which brings out my eyes) I should hope to be buried in it.

And finally, to my dearest and truest friend, Geralt of Rivia I leave a note, a song, and a gift.

Jaskier once again scrubbed his hand over his face. His study held a chill, despite the fine summer day, or perhaps it was just him. He got cold so easily these days. His breath rattled a little as he took a deep breath and hauled himself out of his comfortable chair. Melitele’s great gorgeous thighs, but his knees ached today. Jaskier paused at the mirror to tease his hair into place, advancing years never having divested him of his style. He flashed a wink into the mirror and shoveled a little coal into the small fireplace. 

He settled again at his desk, a different paper in hand, separate from the will, and began to look it over. This letter held none of the fine penmanship of the other, instead the letters were blocky and easy to read, better for the eyes that may have gained much in a mutation but skipped lightly over letters and switched them about.

My dear Geralt, it read. In all that I have done, I have had but one masterpiece. Critics may disagree on my greatest work, but I know it exactly, and have since the day of it’s birth. My opus was not Toss a Coin, or even the rehabilitation of yours- and all witchers- reputations. My masterpiece was my relationship with you, a wonderful and awful secret masterpiece of the heart, mind, and soul.

I know you do not dally about with words, but lest you misunderstand this last, most important of missives, we must discuss them. The word awful is now so said as to mean the same as terrible, but this cannot be true at all. Terrible is that which inspires terror or creates fear. Awful, or aweful, if you will, is to inspire awe. To be full of it. Sometimes that awe is fearful, sometimes reverential, perhaps a condemnation and sometimes a blessing. You, my friend, inspire awe. And in me you inspired something much greater than that. In all my years, which are so few compared to yours, nothing has so inspired love in me, as you. It has been my life’s greatest blessing.

When this letter comes to you, regardless of how it comes, it means I am gone from this world. I fear it shall indeed be soon, but I do not fear death. Weep not for me, my friend, instead let me bury in this parchment what there is left for me to say.

More than forty years ago I asked you to come away with me. All these decades later I still dream that you would, yet, I understand why you did not, and why you pushed me away. I offered you my heart that day, but it was the heart of a being you would watch wither away, as I’ll admit I have done. You could not be my forever, knowing that I cannot also be yours. There is no apology, no tears, no explanation needed there. 

Indeed, even for casting me away I need no words, and you have always had few to give, my friend. You didn’t keep me away for long, after all. I am like a magnet, drawn to you. Even now I feel your pull, like the tide to the gentle lady moon, but I cannot follow. 

After the mountain we met up again and again, our lives orbiting eachvother like planets, but we never clung so close as those first twenty years. That is the fault of Dame Time, a tricky mistress, as she collected her dues for twenty years of hard travel and ill care on my body.

I wish I could have given you more of my years. I find I am angry, and yet not so. At once, I could have had more time beside you, had somehow things been otherwise, but I know I had more time with you than might have been, perhaps more than I could reasonably expect. Someone, some goddess, or Life, Time, Destiny, or Fate, gave me enough time to finish the masterpiece that is my love for you, and that is enough.

You read here the ramblings of an old man, but I shall burden you with a few more sentences. 

You may recognize the case to which this letter is attached. Inside is my lute, as given to me by Filavandrel. I wish you to have it. I know you have never been musically inclined, but to me this instrument means so much more than music. This is the physical being of us, and all that may entail. I hope that you keep it, and treasure it how you will. If ever there comes such a person that you wish to play it, for whatever reason, gift it to them, but I beg you, tell them to whom it belonged, and how it came to belong to you. 

And finally, I leave you with a few unsung verses that I feel someone ought to read.

To the edge of the world May this letter be born That it comfort and heals you Although it brings you to mourn

I wrote every song And traveled along For my faith in a witcher and my friend before all

I hope you be blessed and continue your quest To be a friend of humanity As I go to rest

That's our epic tale My champion prevailed Defeated every villain And continues the tale

Toss a coin to my witcher, O valley of plenty...

love, Jaskier.

Professor Pankratz carefully rolled up the parchment and slipped inside a waterproofed tube, tying it with a blue ribbon that would likely only be lost in the parcel’s travels. He did it anyway, then he trailed his fingers over the finest instrument he’d ever played. Hand tremors meant it had sat silent for many months, but he plucked a few, slightly out of tune strings in a familiar tune. Then he put Filavandrel’s lute away, slipping the note in it’s packaging into the outer pocket of the case.

There was a funny feeling, he felt as he sat back in his large desk chair, to completing your greatest work, but he knew at least one being would remember it forever. He took off his spectacles and leaned back in his chair, the fire in the grate convincing him to doze. His eyes slid shut, and Jaskier greeted eternity with open arms.

#hurt no comfort #some closure though #tw major character death #post mountain #geraskier #you can read it as platonic #but he says the word love #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geralt of rivia #angst #sad #really really sad #i cried #why did I write this

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

For six months the Lady Elena has been the sole recipient of Jaskier's affections. It started as a distraction - they met at a party he attended with both Geralt and Yennefer - something to keep his mind off the fact that Geralt's heart, rough and closed-off as it is, was claimed by someone else. But Elena was bright and funny and she lavished praise on Jaskier and he was easily drawn in.

They've been sort of on-and-off since Jaskier and Geralt left Vattweir, but whenever they separate, Jaskier finds himself back beyond the mountains. And when they don't, Jaskier sings of her regularly, earning little praise and much grumbling from Geralt, but he doesn't care. For the first time since they met, Jaskier's attention isn't focused solely on Geralt and he thinks maybe if ever was to settle down and stay somewhere, it might be with Elena.

He sings of love and romance and tells Geralt he'll never love like this again - getting only grunts and hmms in response. But he is happy and more than that, he's happy that for once something has pulled him out of the slump he didn't realize he was in. His songs are cheery once more, not impeded by his unrequited feelings for Geralt. Not that those feelings aren’t still there every time Geralt smiles at him over the fire or presses a little closer on cold nights, but it doesn't hurt so much anymore.

But like most happiness in Jaskier's life, it doesn't last long.

He's been invited to sing at a banquet in Vattweir and since Geralt is with him at the time, he considers it a bonus that he finally gets to introduce them. Not that Geralt cares very much, but Jaskier does.

But things don't go quite as planned; as soon as Jaskier walks into the hall, he spots Elena and she's not alone. She's sat delicately in the lap of some nobleman Jaskier doesn't recognize and at first, he doesn't think much of it. When she leans in for a kiss, he reconsiders.

Jaskier’s heart sinks. They never specified that they wouldn't see other people, but he hasn't and he had hoped she hadn't either. Ah,well, he decides, simply a bump in the road - at least Geralt isn't with him to see the shock on his face. He can't imagine how he would react after hours of Jaskier going on about her being the one.

So he keeps this small detail to himself. Everything else is going as planned and he's sure to come out of this night with a heavy purse if nothing else. But Elena doesn't even acknowledge his presence - a difficult feat considering he's the main source of entertainment for the evening - and it doesn't take him long to figure out why. After his first set, there's an intermission and he seeks out Geralt, slipping in next to him at the table.

There's a toast. A speech. An engagement announcement - and engagement announcement for the Lady Elena and some noble or other that Jaskier’s never heard of. Well, he thinks, that would explain things.

He spends the remainder of the night wondering if he just over thought their relationship. Obviously, if she's now engaged to someone else and acting like he doesn't exist. Geralt asks after her, but Jaskier lies, tells him she didn't show up and he'll just have to wait to meet her later. Jaskier is used to heartbreak and for now, at least, he’d rather suffer this one alone.

Without their impending introduction, Geralt insists they leave early and for once, Jaskier agrees.

He never tells Geralt. Partially because he's embarrassed, but mostly because he knows Geralt will say something stupid like you'll find someone new in a couple of days. But Elena was special. He falls in love often and without intending to, but there are people he's found who strike a different sort of chord with him - Elena was one of them. Geralt is another. And maybe he won't find someone new because it's been over a decade that he's been searching for something to fill the Geralt-shaped hole in his heart and now he's lost that, too.

Now he's back to the beginning; in love with his best friend and unable to share that love because Geralt is an unfeeling mutant.

But he tries to keep up the charade for a little while. He still talks about Elana on occasion and when the longing becomes too much, he pulls himself from Geralt's side under the guise of visiting her. Mostly, he turns to the closest tavern and drinks unless someone will pay him to sing. It's not hard pretending still to be in love, the difficult part is hoping Geralt doesn't realize it's all a sham and all the lovely things Jaskier is saying are actually just about him.

But both the stories and the pretend visits start to dwindle over time and his relationship with Geralt slowly returns to what it had been prior to meeting her.

Only Geralt notices because of course he does and Jaskier is forced to lie every time he asks about her. And he asks more about her and Jaskier suspects he's trying to trip him up. But he feels better when Geralt sleeps closer at night or when he lets Jaskier sing them both to sleep on nights that are otherwise too quiet.

It takes five months for him to find out the truth and his response isn't anything Jaskier would have expected. They're outside of Oxenfurt, as far away from Elena and her new husband as Jaskier could hope to be. And yet, they're here, sitting at the edge of the river where Jaskier was hoping to enjoy the rest of his afternoon alone. Geralt is off killing some plant thing that's been killing people along the road and Jaskier had planned to sit and drink wine by the river, but he can't very well do that now.

So he returns to camp and sits and plays for Roach instead, singing songs of heartbreak and betrayal. She presses her nose to his head, ruffling his hair with heavy breaths and Jaskier smiles up at her.

"At least I've got you," he says and just as he does there's a loud crack from behind. He turns to see Geralt with what looks - maybe - like the head of some giant mutated flower over his shoulder. Or maybe a snake, he's not quite sure.

Geralt drops it on the ground and crosses over to sit on the log across from Jaskier, carefully removing his armour.

"What happened to songwriting by the river?"

"Ah, well, the river was already... occupied."

"That's never stopped you before."

"Yes but-" well, it's been five months, maybe he should just be frank with him "-you see Elena was down by the river with her new... husband." Geralt's head lifts at that, his face worryingly neutral as he meets Jaskier's eyes.

"Husband?"

"Er, well... yes. It seems she was finished with me only she never bothered to tell me that." Jaskier has been avoiding looking at Geralt, afraid to see the betrayal in his eyes for lying to him for so long, but when it does it's not betrayal he sees burning there. It's anger.

"I'm sorry," he starts, "I meant to tell you, but I just-"

"Why would she do that?" Oh.

"I suspect she didn't care all that much."

Geralt's eyes narrow and Jaskier isn't quite sure what to make of that. He can feel the anger coming off of him, but it isn't directed at him and he's not quite sure what to do with that. People don't get angry on his behalf, they get angry at him.

Jaskier tries to calm him down, but Geralt is fuming and Jaskier's never seen him this angry before and for the first time in their friendship, he's almost a little afraid of him. But Geralt would never hurt him and the anger is probably more to do with lingering elixirs from the hunt, so when Geralt gets up and stomps around the camp, Jakier lets him. And then, when his pacing and irritability starts to wear thin, Jaskier sits him down and promises that it isn't all that bad, not really, and he rubs his shoulders and runs patient fingers through his hair. And Geralt relaxes.

But he's different after that. Not in big ways, but he makes a point of keeping himself between Jaskier and anything that could hurt him. He sleeps closer when they camp in the open air, practically right on top of him - not that Jaskier is complaining - and he's defensive in a way Jaskier hasn't seen him before.

Jaskier is used to hecklers - no one can please everyone - but Geralt has taken to shutting them down with a single look, glowering at them from his seat until they're silent. Some leave, some are braver and just return to their drink, but none speak up again. Jaskier revels in this newfound attention and struggles not to find ways in which to provoke it.

It all comes to a head one night when they've stopped to eat and Jaskier is singing. He's distracted and doesn't notice at first when the couple walks in, but they sit down right next to him and it becomes hard not to notice. Elena is as beautiful as always, but her husband - Jaskier assumes that who he is, but he barely recalls the man from the banquet that night - has a sneer plastered on his face. Perhaps he knows who Jaskier is, though Elena doesn't show any sign of it.

Fine, he thinks, let her be like that. The next song he plays is his most romantic ballad, one very thinly disguised as having been written about a princess when in reality, it was written about Geralt.

As soon as he finishes, he picks his lute case up and crosses to sit back with Geralt. He knows they have to leave now, which is a shame since he never even finished his drink earlier, but he doesn't want to start something in the middle of the tavern. They were hoping to find a room for the night and Jaskier doesn't want to spend another night in a row on rocky, uneven ground.

"Shall we go?" he asks and Geralt casts a look between him and his unfinished drink. He doesn't respond before a loud, overly enthusiastic laugh fills the air. Geralt looks up with a scowl. Jaskier sighs.

He doesn’t know how he recognizes Elena, but there's an instant change in his demeanour. He goes rigid, staring directly at the corner of the room where she and her husband are seated and Jaskier can feel the rage radiating off of him.

"Geralt," he whispers, "let's just go, it's not that big a deal anyway-"

"She hurt you," he seethes and through the well of emotions swelling in his chest, Jaskier decides not to point out that Geralt has also hurt him in the past. It distracts him long enough that he doesn't realize Geralt is standing until he's nearly pushed out of the way.

He knows Geralt wouldn’t hurt them, especially for something so trivial, but he's so desperately trying to keep the peace. And if he's honest, he'd rather just forget about the whole Elena thing altogether. He thinks quickly, pressing himself up against Geralt's chest and it works, for a moment at least. Geralt looks down at him and something in his expression makes Jaskier's heart beat a little quicker and this is very much not the time for that.

But then Geralt moves to brush past and Jaskier's mind goes blank. He's been in danger - actual life threatening danger - before and Geralt has never been this defensive, protective, of him. So Jaskier acts without thinking. Working off the very slimmest chance that his suspicions could be correct, he pulls Geralt back to him and kisses him.

He stuns even himself and for a split second he's afraid Geralt might be upset with him, but Geralt drops back into his seat with a thud, pulling Jaskier into his lap. He takes Jaskier's face in his hands and kisses him fiercely.

Geralt kisses like a man who's been denied for years and all Jaskier can do is let himself be led. Geralt brings him close so their chests are pressed together and Jaskier can hear the way his heart thuds in his chest. It's highly unusual and if he wasn't being kissed stupid right now, he might be worried about it.

As reality settles around him, Jaskier slides his hands up Geralt's arms reverently, easing the rage and adrenaline out of him. And Geralt visibly relaxes under him, sinking back against the wall and relaxing his hold on Jaskier. Geralt loops his arms around Jaskier's lower back, but even calm and quiet, he doesn't let go. He just kisses him softer, more deliberately and Jaskier happily takes everything he's offering. Geralt is never this soft when he's insincere and this is maybe the worst time to talk about it, but he understands that this anger and rage were about more than just defending a friend.

When Geralt's tongue slides against his own, Jaskier lets out a little whine, shifting further into Geralt's lap. For that, he gets drawn closer and Geralt's hands slide up his back. Vaguely, Jaskier is aware that people are watching and regularly, he might worry about what people thought of him, but right now he couldn't care less. Right now Geralt is kissing him and he's solid and real and he feels so good around him.

Geralt pulls him right up against him and his cock, thick and hard in his trousers, presses up under Jaskier's, pulling a soft moan from his lips. As if pulled from a reverie, Geralt breaks the kiss, panting heavily as he looks into Jaskier's eyes. He doesn't say anything, but Jaskier hears the unspoken words and he nods, giving his consent freely.

A rush of adrenaline flows through him as Geralt hoists him up to his feet and presses a hand to his chest, guiding him backward. Jaskier is blind, trusting Geralt not to let him run into anything and he knows they're creating somewhat of a spectacle, but he loves it. Part of him wishes Elena would see him and regret the way things went between them, but right now with Geralt's cock pressing into his hip, Jaskier couldn't' be happier about the way things turned out.

Geralt directs him toward the door and Jaskier regrets not having paid for a room when they had the chance. He stumbles out the door and Geralt carries him down the stairs to keep him from tripping. After that, Jaskier finds himself pressed up against every vertical surface between the inn and wherever Geralt is taking him.

The sky is darkening but it's still light enough that anyone walking past could see them, but Geralt finds a small patch of trees right on the edge of town and apparently it's just what he's looking for.

Geralt sets his things down, but keeps Jaskier in his arms, sitting himself down in turn. As soon as Jaskier can touch the ground again, it becomes a race to get each other out of their clothes, grabbing and pulling until Geralt finally stops him, kisses him and tugs his shirt up over his head while he's distracted. Jaskier huffs at him, but he manages to get a hand fisted in his shirt and kisses back, temporarily distracted from his mission of undressing him.

Geralt moves under him, around him and Jaskier just hums and goes along with it, unbuttoning as many of Geralt's buttons as he can reach before shoving the shirt up over his head. He doesn't even mind when Geralt gets him out of his trousers and the Witcher is still mostly dressed. He doesn't mind because Geralt holds him close and kisses him like he doesn't think he'll get another chance. Jaskier continually proves that he will.

He kisses him hard, touches his face, rocks his hips against him even when the ties of Geralt's trousers are too rough against his swollen cock. He wants to prove to Geralt that this is more than just an attempt to distract him. And when Geralt pauses, just briefly to pull back and look at him, Jaskier thinks he knows.

Geralt reaches down, pushing Jaskier back and quickly unlacing the ties of his trousers. He shoves them down just low enough to expose his cock and hauls Jaskier back up over him, shifting under him so his cock rests against Jaskier's ass. He's quick and efficient, if not impatient and Jaskier shuts his eyes for a moment as Geralt's touch overwhelms him. He rolls his hips again, pushing back against Geralt's cock and grinding against him.

Geralt leans to one side, keeping a hand on Jaskier's hip to hold him steady as he turns. Jaskier leans back over him and Geralt kisses him as he rummages through his belongings. When he finds what he's looking for - a small half-empty bottle of oil - he pushes Jaskier back upright. His grip on Jaskier doesn't loosen, but he moves his arm up pushing his fingers into the hair at the back of his neck. His free hand moves, popping the cork on the oil and Jaskier groans in anticipation, rutting shamelessly against Geralt's stomach.

When Geralt's slick fingers press against him, Jaskier drops his chin against his chest, breathing Geralt's name into his night. When he slips into him, Jaskier's eyes flutter shut and he braces himself on Geralt's chest, looking down at him. Geralt shifts under him, readjusting himself and when he presses his cock against him, he meets Jaskier's eyes.

Everything slows to a stop as Geralt sinks into him and for a second Jaskier thinks it's going to end. Geralt was caught up in the moment and sometimes sex is just sex, but then Geralt smiles at him, slides a hand into his hair and pulls him into a firm kiss. Jaskier's eyes drop shut and he winds his arms around Gealt's neck and presses himself back onto his cock as Geralt wraps him in his arms again, pulling him close.

Jaskier's used to the finer things in life; silk sheets, warm beds, but out here in the forest in Geralt's lap he's never felt so loved. He doesn't want to say anything to spoil the moment, but the words are there, bubbling up in his chest and no amount of convincing or persuasion is going to stop him from feeling them. He presses his face into Geralt's neck, breathing the words into his skin instead.

When Jaskier comes, he stifles his moans into Geralt's skin as he rolls his hips against Geralt's slick stomach. Geralt follows a moment later, catching Jaskier's lips in a rough kiss as he continues thrusting into him.

When he stills, Jaskier rolls off of him, exhausted and still reeling. His chest heaves as he remembers how to breathe properly and next to him, Geralt is also panting, eyes shut and lips just barely parted. Jaskier feels like he should say something, but he doesn't know what. That was incredible? Thanks for the fuck? Are we gonna do this again?

"I'm sorry," Geralt breathes and Jaskier turns to look at him. That didn't even make it to the list of possibilities.

"What?" he asks, wondering if he's actually been fucked stupid or if there's something he's missing.

"I was angry, I got wrapped up in it."

"What were you angry about?"

"Elena-" Oh "- that she could hurt you like that and just... go on with her life. She had you and she just... found someone new."

"Oh," he says out loud.

"Why? Do you-"

Jaskier feels the word regret, unspoken and lingering between them and he shakes his head, turning to face Geralt. "No. I'll admit it was unexpected, but don't be sorry. And don't be angry on my behalf."

"Why shouldn't I?" Geralt growls, leaning up over him. Jaskier smiles, reaching up to brush his fingers along Geralt's cheekbones.

"I don't need them. I don't care anymore." He pauses, pulling Geralt's face low enough to kiss him again. "Although, if you're going to get all protective like this every time, I might-"

"Don't even think about it." Jaskier grins, looping his arms around Geralt's neck and pressing his fingers into his hair.

"Okay."

They fall into a comfortable silence, just the sounds of their breath mingling in the evening air, then Geralt’s voice, just above a whisper. “Are you alright?”

“I’m not a child,” Jaskier huffs, amused. “I’ve has sex in the woods before, although I do generally prefer-”

“I mean about Elena.”

“I think that’s the kind of thing you’re supposed to ask before you fuck me,” Jaskier quips.

“Hmm.”

“I’m fine. It’s been months, I’ve had time to think about things.”

“And?”

“And I think if things had worked out between us, I would have missed you too much to stay with her.”

“I thought you loved her more than anyone.”

“Well,” Jaskier smiles, turning to brush his fingers through Geralt’s hair, “maybe not more than everyone.”

#idk how to tag this #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #first time #first kiss #posting bc i had a shitty day #and i want to feel productive #i'll put it on ao3 when it has a title #rex writes

[chasneedsamoustache]

A bard’s family reunion

It was already dark when Geralt, accompanied – as he had been for almost a month now – by the troubadour poet Jaskier, reached the inn that would serve as a welcome bed for the night. The pair had been on the road for long enough to be in need of a bed that was not made of branches and rocks and also, most certainly a hot bath, for they both stank.

The red-faced and ill-mannered innkeeper scowled at Geralt – almost a moment too long for the tired witcher before shrugging his shoulders and declaring there to be no room available. If it wasn't for the raucous in the adjoining room, which Geralt presumed to be the main area of the tavern, he may have argued with the man. Instead he lingered, assaulting the the innkeeper with his narrowed eyes, long enough for Jaskier – who had gotten fed up of waiting with the horses and paid a young child a penny to do the job for him – to enter.

At the sight of the bard with, as always, a lute on his back and for reasons that for once did not seem to the witcher to be about him or his mutated existence, the innkeeper suddenly lit up, snapped his fingers and proclaimed there to be a spare room as Jaskier was 'one of those lot'. Geralt took the key offered to him, caring not that the red-faced man was entirely mistaken as whatever was meant by 'that lot' could not apply to the bard who had not even heard of this town, let alone this inn.

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Jaskier whispered to Geralt once they had handed their mounts over to the stable boy. “I'm sure we're going to get ourselves into some sort of trouble.”

“As long as that trouble happens in the morning, after a good nights sleep, I am not going to begrudge a little nuisance.”

“Says you, dear witcher, when it was only upon my own entering the establishment that we were permitted a room and thus it is I who will be in trouble for falsely taking up residence in some other poor fools room!”

“Worry not until you are at least bathed and fed, Jaskier.” Geralt said wearily. “Fed being the priority right now, my stomach is an empty cavern and I fear a monster has taken residence there as it is growling rather loudly.”

The troubadour sighed and gave in, his own stomach empty, he agreed that at least they should eat before they were chucked out onto the street for being imposters.

They entered the main section of the inn, Geralt led but paused when greeted by a room packed to the rafters of merry makers, young and old and of a variety of wealth that the witcher had certainly not expected out here in the countryside. Jaskier appeared beside him, looking equally disheartened at the lack of available seating.

The crowd, bristling with excitement, seemed to be centred on a small area with a raised wooden platform that looked to be stage, although it was currently empty of whatever or rather whomever had drawn such a large gathering. Waves of excited whispers and louder giggles passed over the crowd, ignored entirely by the two men who were still scouring the room for even a small space on a crowded bench.

“Perhaps we ought to take a meal in our room.” Jaskier said, having to practically shout to be heard over the hubbub. Geralt turned to his friend with a frown that begged him to repeat himself. Despite being able to hear the bard clearly if he whispered in a hail storm, he had not being paying attention. “I say, pehaps-”

Jaskier stopped mid-sentence, his face turned pale and twitched it's way into a grimace, the likes of which Geralt had never seen on the bard before. Nose wrinkled, Jaskier turned on his heel and made for the exit, announcing that, under no circumstances, could he stay in this place a moment longer. He cried out when the witcher grabbed him by the shoulder, eager to remind him that this was the only warm bed within a days ride.

“You don't understand.” Hissed Jaskier, squirming free of the witcher's grip.

“It matters not how you have wronged-”

“This is worse, we must leave and quickly!”

“Julian!” Too late, Jaskier blanched again and fell back against Geralt in his usual dramatics – although Geralt was not entirely sure it had not been a genuine faint this time for his friend's face was ugly with sickness and fear before the fellow who had called his name, his real name.

“Julian what on earth are you being so ridiculous for?” He approached, dressed as eccentrically, perhaps more so, than the bard who had returned to an upright position. “Oh forgive me, I forgot you don't use that name in public. Jaskier, I'm so glad you've made it! Everyone will be excited, for they were determined you had not even received the numerous invitations sent to you the even more numerous places you have been sighted in recent months. Indeed I believe I have some money to collect as it was only I who placed a wager in favour of your attendance. I thought that innkeeper had given the room we had kept for you, just in case, away to some imposter! ”

“No.” Jaskier's voice was not much more than a wheeze. He looked from Geralt to the room, desperately looking for an escape, for the fellow was blocking his exit.“No.”

“I beg your pardon?” The fellow, who, had precisely the same cornflower blue eyes and chin, and, though his nose was a different shape entirely, could only be Jaskier's brother, perhaps cousin, but brother was much more likely, such was there resemblance in face and mannerism. Geralt found himself raising an eyebrow. “What on earth do you mean by no?”

“Wh-what do you mean by invitation? I received no such thing.” The witcher thought that perhaps he had, but since he squirrelled away any word from his family, which was always the very last thing Jaskier was willing to discuss, he presumed any invitation was lost in the pile of unopened letters the bard thought Geralt did not know about.

“Then this is a happy coincidence! Destiny! Wonderous are the gods who have brought you here on the day of our great reunion!”

“Reunion?” Geralt smiled unpleasantly and Jaskier glared equally as hideously at him.

“Yes friend! Do not worry, brother-mine, it matters not that as usual your manners are lacking, for this man needs no introduction. White hair, yellow eyes, two swords! He could only be Geralt of Rivia! The white wolf! The witcher! The source of all the ballads and such that have made my dear brother famous across these lands. A good friend I believe and thus a friend to us all and certainly welcome at our table for the festivities!

“To answer your question, good witcher, this week is a grand celebration, a reunion of now all of the siblings of Lettenhove, in honour of our good father's birthday, rest his soul. We have commandeered this fine tavern and indeed the town hall and will be playing every night from now until midsummer – Papa's actual birthday if you would believe it – where we shall host a mighty feast and concert!”

“And, if it's not too rude to ask, for my dear Jaskier has failed to inform me of any of his familial relations,” Another, even more hideous glare was earned for the most subtle of Geralt's sarcastic tones, known only to Jaskier for being sarcastic and taken entirely sincerely by anyone else. “How many siblings are you?”

“Fourteen, including Ju- ah Jaskier here and myself.” When Geralt coughed, choking on his own surprise, Jaskier himself stepped in.

“We do not, of course all have the same mother.” He said sneeringly, the sneer was directed at Geralt alone.

“Of course, can you imagine such a poor lady?”

“No, Papa was, as I am, quite the ladies man and a good deal of my siblings were born outside of wedlock. Once he did marry, he remained faithful, I might add, for I do not wish you to think poorly of the man.”

“No, though I do wonder if there is more of us out there.”

“By the gods, John, I hope not!” Jaskier shuddered, finally naming the man in front of him. “I shall explain, dear witcher, but first, brother-mine, I am in incredible need of a drink and whatever passes for food in a place such as this.”

“Certainly! Of course, how rude of me! Come this way!” John waved his hand, much in the same way as Jaskier did when he led Geralt, sweeping and extravagantly. The witcher wondered who learned the technique from who.

Once seated on possibly the most packed table, filled with not only platters of roast meats, steaming fish and an assortment of bread and vegetable dishes, ale tankards and dull goblets full of wine that Geralt immediately knew had corked long ago, but also with at least seven of Jaskier's siblings. Their faces a strange mixture of the bard's familiar features and some that were not nearly as familiar nor pleasant, yet suited each face well. All had the same cornflower blue eyes and all were fixed on either the witcher or his friend, who by all accounts was sulking.

Another sibling had drawn the attention of most of the crowd that filled the rest of the tavern, sitting on stage with a lute, she sung gracefully and played just as well as Jaskier himself. A few, mostly young women of varying levels of beauty, still had their eyes on the table at which Geralt now sat. Eyes on the handsome men there, Jaskier still apparently judged as the most beautiful as most now gazed longingly at him, despite the grimace on his face.

He ignored them all until his friend elbowed him gently, knowing a pretty face or two would soon improve his mood – which it did, tremendously, the bard's grin quickly returned to his face as his winks sent women swooning and blushing. Geralt himself was simply relishing in not being the centre of attention and disgust, there were far too many pleasant young men and indeed women at the table for anyone to notice him and his yellow eyes, let alone be disgusted by them. Save one girl, when Geralt met her gaze, she smiled and nodded faintly to him.

“And now, dear friend, I shall endeavour to explain my peculiar family.” Jaskier interrupted the exchange, now feeling merrier having quickly emptying two mugs of beer, a third in a hand he swung about to draw attention. “My Papa, Joshua Austin Pankratz, seventh Viscount of Lettenhove, like myself -”

“And your all of your siblings.” A woman who looked to be in her early thirties with the same soft curl as Jaskier in her auburn hair, holding a babe in one hand and a turkey leg in the other, interrupted. Geralt had the impression that this was not the first time she had had to remind Jaskier to include more than just himself.

“Yes, like myself and all of my wonderful siblings was a bard, a troubadour, a poet, a man of music and although talented with many an instrument, favoured, like myself and my siblings, the lute. Before his own father passed away, he roamed the countryside and courts, playing to much applause and gaining fame which rivals my own. He also found his way to the bed of many a woman and some of those women provided him with gifts in the form of my older brothers and sisters.” A few of the men and women in the middle of the table nodded, one, the redhead with the babe, rolled her eyes so viciously she appeared to strain them. Jaskier ignored her.

“Papa,” Jaskier continued. “Was most unhappy when he was forced to give up his life as a bard and return to the family estate in Lettenhove to settle down as the Viscount. Soon after he wed my lovely mother, may she rest peacefully.”

“If your lord father had to settle down, then why are you still wondering the countryside like a pauper?” Geralt asked and his friend sneered again, turning his head from Geralt's raised eyebrows and questioning gaze.

“Our dear brother,” Said John, chuckling as he bit into a rather large slice of spiced pork pie, which caused him to choke, spluttering astonishingly elegantly into a handkerchief until the man beside him gave him a rather firm smack on the shoulders. “Thank you Johan – where was I? Oh yes, our brother, himself now the Viscount of Lettenhove, has a rather splendid advantage that our dear departed Papa did not. Juli- oh pox, do forgive me brother, Jaskier here, has a wealth of siblings with whom he shares the responsibilities that come with his title, leaving him Viscount in name only for most of the year, whilst we all take turns in running our little corner of the world. All of us except Jennifer, who is still too young, that is.”

“How did you trick your family into such an arrangement?” Geralt directed the question to his friend.

“Oh, before Papa passed away, we all took turns in threatening to give up the title and pass it on to the next sibling until all that was left was poor little Jennifer, at the time was still inside her mother's belly. A late surprise that one, didn't know Papa still had it in him. Anyway, it was he that suggested that, although I, being the oldest son borne of marriage, would officially be the Viscount, we split the responsibility – bastard or not. Works out to less than a month a year, which in order to keep our land and our money and so on, really isn't that much hassle, even for a group of travelling poets. ”

“Quite so.” John agreed, as did a few of the others.

“Come to think of it, who's in charge if you are all here?” Jaskier asked with a strangely concerned tone.

“Oh, Jac's husband, just for the week.” John replied.

“I suppose that is fine.” Sniffed Jaskier. “So anyway, we take it turns to, you know, be the Viscount, in order of age. Johan is the oldest, sat beside John there, then Judith at the end of the table, John, who you know, Jessica, currently performing and younger only by a few months, Jemima, born of my mother but before she wed my father, who is over there with a babe. How many have you now, dear sister?”

“Fetty here is the fith.”

“Goodness, are you also trying to create enough children for an orchestra?” Jemima scowled but was distracted by patting the babe back to sleep.

“Yes Geralt, our dear father realised at some point that a few more children and he may well have his own little troupe or orchestra. The joke is that we all turned out to love the lute and the lute alone.”

“Except for Jennifer.”

“Indeed, except for Jennifer who plays,” The bard let out a sigh which was echoed by a few of more vibrantly dressed siblings. “the triangle.”

A snotty-nosed and rather mucky girl, who could be no older than eight or nine, sat on the end of the table, grinned suddenly and it was only then that Geralt saw the resemblance to Jaskier. She snuffled her nose, which was in desperate need of wiping, and held up said instrument. A piece of thin metal bent into the shape of a triangle, hanging from a string. The girl hit it with a metal stick, rather triumphantly and Geralt smiled at her for ignoring her siblings sighs and being proud of her own talents. Johan beside her patted her on the back and pulled a rag from his pocket for her to wipe her little nose on.

“So after Jemima,” Jaskier was now determined to finish his explanations. “Came myself. Then, Jacob, Jacqueline, Jasper, who is doing a terrible job of wooing that poor lady over yonder, and Jane, beside me.

“And then, my dearest darling mother sadly left this world, the pox took her. Papa was most unhappy for a long time, until he found Sasha, whom he wed after some time, much to all of our relief. Afterwards came Joel and Jeremiah and finally, our very, very late little egg, Jennifer.” Jennifer grinned again, puffing up proudly as if she had planned her own conception.

The evening continued and amidst eating and drinking and bouts of applause, Geralt heard more and more about Jaskier's family. A hundred different tales from when they were young, including the day Jennifer was born and they all stood on the battlements with their father and played their lutes in unison until they were shouted down by the nursemaid for disturbing the new baby. It did however, become a tradition that they met once a year and played together on the battlements, now joined by little Jennifer who hit her triangle enthusiastically in time with the others.

The witcher heard other stories, from all the siblings, who came and went, sometimes in large groups, back and forth from the stage. Family squabbles and disagreements, silly spats and fights – some of which were still unresolved –  as well as many adventures they had happily shared and heart warming tales of happy times.

Stories of rule as Viscount, and of when Jaskier had vanished for almost an entire year, which turned out to be entirely Geralt's fault. He was forgiven but warned not to occupy his friend's time in late spring again. He heard too, happy stories of love and siblings supporting one another and soon Geralt understood the family to, despite Jaskier's half-hearted protests, truly care for one another.

Jaskier himself, now rather drunk on beer and corked wine, seemed to be the biggest champion of all his siblings, cheering them on and arguing – sometimes a little too aggressively – with them when he was praised above them. Truly, it seemed to Geralt that he loved them dearly, each and every one. Even if the bard ended up as the butt of many a joke, now released of any pretence, he laughed along side his siblings, heartedly and with no sign of sourness.

At one point Jaskier announced that he had in fact received the invitation and had pushed Geralt to come through here, despite pretending to have no knowledge of this place, when indeed he knew it to be the only inn around and that, by the time they reached it, Geralt would be sick of sleeping outside. The witcher himself laughed most heartedly, declaring that he had been played most cunningly, which in that moment he realised he had. He even joined in with the applause when Jaskier stood up and bowed to the cheers and laughter of his siblings for tricking a witcher.

When the dawn approached, Geralt had the pleasure of carrying Jaskier to bed. He was surprised that all the siblings, even Jennifer – though she had been asleep on Johan's lap for many hours – stayed until the innkeeper told them he must prepare for the day that had already arrived. It was only when they were on the stairs and finally alone, that Geralt asked Jaskier why he had hidden his family for so long and why even when they had arrived, he had tried to run.

“I want to be Jaskier, not Julian Alfred Pankratz, when I'm with you. And I thought that if you met my family that would change.” The bard said, his speech so slurred that Geralt could only just understand what he was saying. “They're good people, a good family, but I dislike that I'm a Viscount. I'm a bard, Geralt! A bard and only a bard! I've only used my title to get you out of trouble – like that time they caught you swindling the crown because of that red haired witch.” Geralt met Jaskier's blurred gaze and his friend began to giggle. “What I'm saying is,” He dribbled when his laughter had subsided. “The person you are friends with is Jaskier, troubadour, poet, womaniser, a man whom doesn't have a family with fourteen siblings and an increasing number of nieces and nephews. A man who can stand tall on his achievements, unique and talented and not one of many and not even the best among them.”

Jaskier's voice grew quiet and Geralt shook his head at such a notion.

“Dear friend, for you are truly my friend, perhaps the only true friend I have. Not because of your musical talent, nor your proficiency at bedding women and certainly not because you are a man without a family – though I did have you down as an only child, I must admit. No, dear, dear Jaskier, you are my friend for many reasons, your courage for one. You have been to places and taken part in things more dangerous than any normal man and from what I gather, certainly any of your siblings would readily involve themselves in. You have also saved me more times and in more ways than I can count. You are loyal, a horrible wretch, hilarious and utterly unique and with qualities I cannot even put into words, for I am no poet, but all of which make you my very dear friend and that will not change whether you are lonesome Jaskier or Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, one of fourteen or even a hundred siblings, all of whom play the lute with the exception of Jennifer who plays the triangle. You are my friend Jaskier, and always will be.”

The bard looked at Geralt with eyes shimmering with tears and, just as Geralt though he would speak, Jaskier turned his head an vomited into a plant pot.

#Jaskier #geraskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #the witcher #witcher #the witcher fanfiction #jaskier family

[the-bard-followed-the-witcher]

Okay but like:

Has anyone ever thought of Jaskier as somewhat of a monster magnet (trouble always finds him, don’t deny it) as a positive thing?

Cause i see a Jaskier running around in the woods as a small child, his voice raised in songs he is too young to know, tripping and then falling over a branch. He starts crying but not for long because soon a Warg finds him. And he freezes. A frucking Warg, of course of all things. And while Wargs are surely not the scariest of creatures, Jaskier is young and they are gogantic after all. He doesn’t want to die. And he doesn’t. Because the warg sniffs his body that is still lying there on the floor whimpering, and it gives him a little nudge with its nose. It’s almost...encouraging. And soon the nudge becomes harder until eventually Jaskier is forced to sit up at least. His body scrapped and bruised but he can’t even look at himself properly before he feels the wet tongue of a Warg lick over his face. It takes him some time to relax but eventually he does. And when you are relaxed, a wolfs tongue tickles. So Jaskier giggles as he is licked clean, scraches and bruises stop hurting, the only thing he notices is the ticklish tongue and the soft purr coming from the creature in front of him. Now imagine the surpirse his parents felt when they saw their son come out of the woods later that night, a wolf, no a Warg! Close to his side. And Jaskier, Jaskier grinned, he finally found a new puppy to keep.

I see a teen Jaskier who has just about figured out that some fun things in life require a second (or multiple people) to join him. He flirts with everyone and he sleeps with everyone. It’s fun, he is young, and damn he does know how to get what he wants. Of course if you flirt with as many people as he has, you are bound to run into a monster posing as human. The first time, it’s a siren and Jaskier adores her. When he started flirting it was out of curiousity of her beauty but as soon as she had started talking he fell in love with her voice. As aspiring bard it wasn’t too hard for him to realize that such a voice was not human. He flirted with her anyway, even shared a bed that night and in the morning when she told him what she was, he didn’t blink an eye, just kissed her hand and asked her to help him get his human voice somewhat close to her unimaginably beautiful one. He didn’t know sirens could blush. It’s not the first but it’s certainly not the last that Jaskier attracts a monster during his flirts, but who is he to judge? Monsters can be just as beautiful as humans, and he surely won’t limit his playground.

When he really starts travelling as bard it seems to happen even more often than before. Maybe it’s his voice (the siren did a good job teaching him) or maybe it’s just his luck. In nearly every forest, every village there is something not quite human, not quite normal around him. And you see, if you have been surrounded by monsters all your life (trouble always seemed to find him) you start spotting them rather easily. He travels through the woods and he sees a Beann‘shie run past him, a harpy flying calmly above the tree tops. He travels through cities and sees a Fleder in an alley behind an inn, a ghost in the next one over. He travels to court and finds not all royals fully human. He keeps quiet though. Few are friendly, most are dangerous but if you know what to look for, you can get by good enough. He knows the warning, he has experienced some dangers himself. So Jaskier travels the world, fully aware that wherever he goes trouble awaits, or maybe he brings the trouble himself? He was never quite sure about that.

I see a Jaskier who meets Geralt of Rivia and is enchanted. Not because Geralt is mysterious and big and bulky, no, Jaskier is enchated because the Geralt outside of the legends looks so much more human. More human than any other supposed monster he has ever encountered. Of course he noticed him the moment Geralt set foot in the tavern. And you see after a lifetime of monsters you get an instinct on telling which ones are dangerous. Geralt isn’t, not for Jaskier. And so it happens that he starts following the Witcher, trying his best with everyday to figure out how a monster could look so human. He figures pretty soon, it’s easy, some monsters are more human then a human himself.

I see a Jaskier who after seeing Geralt try to safe every monster he comes across, admires the strength of his partner and yet still grieves the death he brings. And every time Geralt has to kill yet another Monster that somehow found Jaskier, Jaskier waits for him to leave, turn around, get wood, it doesn’t matter, he just needs to be alone with the creatures for whose death he is responsible. As soon as Geralt is out of Witcher-earshot, Jaskier does this thing (he did it the first time when his wolf died). He presses his hand to the body, only slightly, he doesn’t want it to bruise, and then he leans down and whispers an apology for each creature he saw killed. Because you see, after a lifetime of monsters it’s hard to see them as just that: monsters. Monsters feel pain too, he knows that.

I see a Jaskier who lets Geralts words about destiny get to him, let’s them flourish in his heart because you see, Geralt is right in a way. Trouble always did find its way to Jaskier and maybe he really was cursed to never have a quiet day and maybe he deserved exactly this, and maybe Geralt really was better off without him. Because after a lifetime of seeing creatures that are supposed to be monsters you quickly realize humans are the real monsters to fear.

And i see a Jaskier who at one point during his travel down a mountain too high finds a baby dragon, a creature so tiny it fits in his pant pocket and falls undyingly in love with it. He doesn’t know how it got there so he waits. He needs to see if there is someone taking care of this little thing, and he waits knowing that every second of waiting hightens his chance of running into Geralt. He doesn’t care. This tiny little baby needs help. He warms it with a fire that evening and still the tiny tiny dragon cuddles up to him as if seeking more warmth. He stays awake till morning, no parent appears. And the baby dragon? It has fallen asleep in his lute already, it’s not like he can just leave his lute or wake the small thing. So he waits. And he feels the nudge of a small snout wake him a couple hours later. Such a small snout. God how could anyone leave a creature this cute behind? But when he sees the whitened left eye the dragon beared, he knew exactly why they had been left behind, both of them. Guess we are all flawed in some way.

I see a Jaskier who continues his travels, continues his songs with a new companion. And monsters still find him, both human and beast, but he doesn’t mind it anymore. He has learned enough from a witcher to defend himself and his baby, and he has enough of a bards charm to trick the rest. They get by, together. And Jaskier lets Trouble (it was always somehow drawn to him) sleep in his pocket, in his lute and as he grows around his neck and curled in his lap. He shares a fire with him and soon the stables too. And monsters really don’t seem dangerous anymore.

You see, the folk talk about a white haired witcher and his story flashes them all, keeps them busy until one day they can’t look away from the second miracle anymore. It flies across the sky, sometimes you can catch a glimpse of a shadow flying above, the sound of a human scream and a monsters roar in unison. It lands with thuds so heavy they shake the ground only to be followed by the most beautiful melodies and the most beautiful sounds. And it confuses the people, scares them even, but they know how to deal. And soon the Witcher is replaced and new songs are written, new legends told this time of a bard and a dragon. The reject of society and the half blind creature. It’s not a simple tale but it’s one that is a lot of fun for Jaskier to tell, it’s the one he enjoys singing about the most. And Trouble appreciates his playing, always humming when Jaskier plays his lute or sings his songs, always falling asleep to a lullaby. And they are never cold again.

Geralt was shocked when he first learned of the myth to say the least. Jaskier didn’t even care if he knew.

And Jaskier still has a life filled with monsters but you see,

Trouble follows Jaskier and somehow this time he doesn’t mind at all.

#jaskier the bard #the witcher series #the bard and the witcher #the witcher #geralt #geralt of rivia #dandelion #jaskier and a dragon is like my favorite idea im sorry #i know this is weird #but trouble is just too cute in my head #i might write more about them #like damn it #geralt/jaskier #Trouble the dragon #Trouble

[bicount-de-lettenhove]

Preferences are a privilege that Geralt doesn't get to have - Part 3: Toussaint just ain't the same without your bard

Not really any trigger warnings in this one, apart from drinking and a bit of self hate from Geralt

----------

After spending a long summer winding their way across the continent, Geralt and Jaskier find themselves in Toussaint as autumn sets in. It’s only a few weeks before the festival of the vat and the harvest is in full swing, the women and men of Toussaint out in the vineyards as long as the sun will allow it, the sweet smell of crushed grapes filling the air. Much to Jaskier’s surprise, Geralt agrees to stay for a few days. It’s only because Roach could do with the rest, especially with the long journey North looming, and so when Jaskier mentions the word ‘holiday’, Geralt shoots him a warning glare. Surprisingly, it isn’t mentioned again.

They quickly fall into the rhythm of life in Toussaint, and the bard is a bad influence and encourages Geralt to overindulge in women and in fine wine. Each night when he returns to his room he finds his coin purse a little lighter. On their sixth night, Jaskier plays his last set for the people of Beauclair and steps off the stage to riotous applause. Geralt is deep in a game of Gwent and before the round is up Jaskier is singing again - this time, without his lute, he’s leading the inn in a rowdy and seemingly neverending version of fishmonger’s daughter. Geralt wins the game and they start another, and Geralt can feel the comfortable warmth of the wine settling in his shoulders and knees, Jaskier’s songs fading to background noise as he concentrates.

Suddenly there’s a hand on his shoulder and then a yelp and Geralt finds himself with a lap full of bard, Jaskier sitting sideways on him, one hand braced on his shoulder, the other making a mess of the deck of cards on the table.

‘Oh, Geralt!’ he sounds slightly slurred, and Geralt can immediately feel the heat of him through their breeches, even in the warmth of the inn. ‘Thank Melitele that was you! I think…’ Jaskier turns his face towards Geralt. He trails off, his gaze dropping to Geralt’s mouth. Geralt suddenly realises how close the bard’s face is to his, their wine-sweet breath mingling in the space between them. Jaskier’s pink tongue darts out and wets his bottom lip, then he blinks rapidly and shakes his head minutely. ‘I think, my dear Geralt, that I am drunk.’

‘Hmm’ agrees Geralt.

‘And therefore, I think.’ he prods a finger into Geralt’s chest, frowning as if the coordination is taking all his concentration ‘that I am going to bed.’ The bard stands up with surprising speed and Geralt reaches out to steady him. ‘And furthermore,’ he adds, now facing away from Geralt and projecting more than is necessary. ‘I am going to your bed, because these people tip in wine, and hence I am penniless.’ He frowns again, like he’s forgotten something. ‘And drunk,’ he remembers. Then he adjusts his doublet and sways his way towards the stairs, gone as suddenly as he arrived. After Jaskier has left, Geralt continues his game, but his opponent is no longer playing as well as he was and he finds himself losing interest. It’s not long before he’s packing up his deck and climbing the stairs himself.

Inside their room it’s dark, but Jaskier has opened the windows onto the balcony so it’s cooler and a thin strip of moonlight is filtering through the thin curtains. The air is hardly moving but the thick scent of jasmine has filled the room from outside. Jaskier lies strewn across the bed as though he’s been dropped from a height. He’s taken his doublet and boots off and his shirt is open down to his navel, exposing his chest to the moonlight. Geralt carefully doesn’t look as he strips down to his smallclothes and climbs into what’s left of the space in the bed. He lies on his side, facing away from Jaskier, carefully arranging his limbs so he doesn’t risk taking advantage, but once he’s in the bard makes a soft, contented noise and folds himself around Geralt, throwing one arm over him and hooking his knees into the back of Geralt’s. Geralt stiffens slightly. It’s far too warm to lie like this, he thinks. It’ll take hours for him to sleep with the bard pressed up against him like some kind of lover.

It doesn’t.

The next morning, Jaskier complains tirelessly of sore feet and a sore head as they climb up through the vineyards. Geralt is trying to reach a mountain pass he last used several years ago.

‘Really, Geralt.’ the bard complains, each phrase punctuated by a dramatic huff of breath. ‘I don’t see why we can’t take a path that’s less hilly. Do you want me to pass out?’

Geralt grins. ‘There is another way. We could go through the flooded caves under the mountains and avoid the hills completely.’ Jaskier reconsiders - actually stops walking for a moment as though his brain and his feet can’t both be in use at once - and then has to jog to catch up.

‘Actually, you make a very good point.’ he concedes. ‘But at least we would be out of this relentless sunlight. I feel like someone’s used my head as a battering ram.’

‘Your hangover is your own fault, bard. You know the wine here isn’t watered down.’ Jaskier grimaces, as though the mention of wine physically pains him further.

‘Ah, well. One can’t say no to one’s adoring fans.’ He stops talking as he squints around at the view, his boots and Roach’s hooves scuffing on the dusty track. ‘How was your evening anyway, Geralt?’ He asks, lightly. ‘How was your Gwent game? Did you win?’ Geralt didn’t. But as they reach the mountain path and look back down on the lush green of Toussaint, he finds he really doesn’t mind.

----------------

Geralt leaves Kaer Morhen early that year, heading South under the misapprehension that the weather has broken. The path through the mountains is treacherous and Velen, when he reaches it, is as sodden and miserable as he has ever seen it. One night, the wind howls as he huddles under the bare branches of a long-dead tree, knees drawn up into his travelling cloak to preserve any semblance of warmth. His clothes are already soaked through and caked with mud, rain dripping off the hem of his hood where it dips over his face. His breath forms plumes in the freezing air. Roach stands by the tree, huffing her own breaths into the cold, her mane plastered to her neck by the unrelenting rain. He offers her a conciliatory grunt.

‘I know. We’ll head South.’ As he says it Geralt realises exactly where he’s heading. He’s not expecting to rest in Toussaint - the year is still new and he hasn’t earned the luxury - but there’ll be contracts in the area; work he can take up. The days he spent there last year have taken on a hazy, dreamlike quality and the thought of returning fills him with warmth, despite the freezing rain.

It takes him around a month to reach the feet of the Amell mountains. He’s skirted wide around Oxenfurt, knowing that if he stops then Jaskier will find him and the bard will slow him down. As he climbs the mountain pass, he’s glad of the quiet.

Geralt spends a month in Toussaint. It’s nothing like he imagined. The grapes aren’t ripe and the vintage from last year isn’t as sweet as he remembered. The working women fuck convincingly but they’re cold and impersonal afterwards. Geralt understands that it’s a contract like any other, and so one evening he pays one of them double to stay and hold him. He sends her away before an hour has passed, filled with hot shame and frustration. After she’s gone he opens the balcony windows and lies stiffly on the bed, willing himself not to cry. Pathetic, he thinks. What made you think you deserve that? The wind rustles the plants outside, but the jasmine isn’t flowering and all he can smell is the woman’s thick perfume on the pillow. He leaves the next day, and this time, he doesn’t look back at the view.

Much of the year passes as normal, and Geralt accepts contracts that take him further North. He’s drinking alone in a dingy tavern in Novigrad when he meets Jaskier again. The bard, as ever, is full of stories of his winter, and questions for Geralt, and he keeps flitting back and forth between the two as though he can’t decide which is more pressing.

‘So Geralt, tell me, where have you been? I must say I was a little disappointed when you didn’t pass by Oxenfurt on your way South, but I assume you left the mountains late this year? The snows didn’t ease for a long time, even in Velen! You should have seen oxenfurt in the snow, it really was beautiful! Little Eye found this sledge, and- No, I’m getting distracted.’ He really doesn’t even stop to breathe, thinks Geralt, smiling gently. ‘I’m sure you have lots of exciting tales just begging to be woven into ballads. Where have you been?’ The bard finally stops and takes a swig of his ale, watching Geralt over the rim of his mug.

‘Went down to Toussaint.’ Jaskier gulps down his mouthful of ale.

‘Oh! So early in the year; you’re finally learning how to treat yourself. Was it as lovely as ever?’

‘No.’ The disappointment of his wasted trip rises in Geralt again, and he swallows it down.

‘Oh.’ Jaskier sounds unsure now, and there’s a glint of something in his eyes. ‘Well I’m sorry to hear that. I thought you liked Toussaint.’

Geralt grits his teeth. He had thought so too.

‘Or the time we spent there, anyway.’ adds Jaskier, very softly. Geralt knows the bard is watching him for any reaction, but he can’t stand to look at his foolish, earnest face. Instead, he swallows hard and stands up from the table.

‘No.’ he grits out, and then he turns away before he can see Jaskier’s face crumple, and goes out to fetch Roach. He should be on the road. When he leaves the city gates that evening, he lets Roach choose the direction; it makes no difference to him.

She picks North anyway.

----------

I'm sorry for the no comfort ending!! Nothing felt quite right as an ending for this but Jask will find him again I promise!

This is part of a freeform series of short and unconnected drabbles based around Geralt denying that he has preferences, and Jaskier’s reactions. Part 1 is here, part 2 is here.

#Featuring sad himbo in denial geralt #and sad pining jaskier #and drunk wow-i-nearly-kissed-my-straight-friend jaskier #Geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geraltxjaskier #hurt #hurt no comfort #tw: self hate #hurt geralt #hurt jaskier #because they're both dumb #the witcher #my fic #original fanfic

[jaskierswolf]

The Witcher’s Companion Pt. 1/6

Summary: Geralt is summoned to Lettenhove to deal with a fiend when Jaskier is eight. Young Julian promptly decides he will do anything for the chance to travel with Geralt and have adventures outside of his stuffy castle life.

Note: the relationship between Jaskier/Geralt is not explicitly romantic. Can be taken as platonic life partners... It's up to you.

(And as always the other parts will be on AO3/my masterlist when posted, let me know if you want to be tagged!)

When Jaskier was eight years old a fiend prowled around the grounds of Lettenhove castle.

Young Julian was absolutely enthralled, terrified but completely captivated. At the dinner table he span tales of how a knight would come to defeat the great beast and save them all from a grisly fate. It had been too late for most of their groundsmen and Julian thought the best way to honour his friends would be to avenge them and slay the fiend.

His parents did not agree.

Apparently an eight year old was not allowed to fight a fiend, but they did agree to hire a professional, a witcher. Julian was giddy with excitement and made sure he was dressed in his finest clothes. His parents tried to keep him away from the witcher, apparently the monster slayers took young boys like Julian to train to become witchers. Julian thought it all sounded like a brilliant adventure so he snuck into the study where the Viscount de Lettenhove was entertaining the witcher.

“A hundred crowns. That’s my final offer, witcher!” His father sneered at the silver-haired giant.

Julian gasped as he saw the swords on the witcher’s back. They were huge! One of the swords had a wolf on the hilt, which was far more interesting than the wooden practice sword Julian’s tutor made him use. He wanted a wolf on his sword too!

“A hundred crowns, no.” The witcher crossed his arms. “This is my job, my life, that’s pittance, my lord. I can leave if you would prefer to deal with the problem yourself, but fiends are nasty buggers. I wouldn’t recommend it. They’re difficult even for witchers.”

“Father!” Julian cried. “You must pay him properly! He can have my pocket money!”

“Julian! Go to your room, now!” His father roared.

Julian stood his ground and put a hand on his hip. “No! You’re not being fair!”

The witcher turned to face him and Julian’s jaw dropped. He had the most amazing eyes that Julian had ever seen. They were golden and shining like the sun, like a field of buttercups in the spring, and slitted like a cat’s eyes. Julian was in awe!

The witcher squatted next to him and held his hand out. Julian was raised to be polite so he shook the witcher’s hand. “Julian, right?”

“Yes, Master Witcher!” Julian grinned and nodded enthusiastically. “Julian Alfred Pankratz, heir to this estate!” He gave a bow, just like his tutors had taught him.

“Julian, shut up!” The Viscount snapped. “You leave the boy alone, mutant.”

The witcher ignored his father and just smiled at Julian with a tilt of his head. “How much is your pocket money, Julian?”

Julian scrunched his nose up and stuck his tongue out as he counted. “Forty, no, fifty crowns a week.”

The witcher seemed surprised by this. “I would need two weeks pocket money, at least, on top of what your father is offering me.”

Julian just grinned. “Done!”

He wouldn’t be able to afford the lute he’d been eying up in the local market for another month but it was worth it. The fiend was terrorising his home and he didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. His father was a fool if he didn’t see it.

“Julian!” His father grabbed his arm and tried to push him out the room but the witcher pulled him off.

“I will take the contract. If I succeed, I will be back in two weeks to collect the rest of what I’m owed. Your son is an honourable young lad, my lord. You could learn something from him if you just listened.” The witcher scowled at the Viscount but when his gaze shifted to Julian his expression softened.

“You will not see a single coin of the boy’s money, witcher.” His father growled.

Julian tried to protest but his father smacked him over the back of his head.

The witcher smiled dangerously. “Then the fiend will live a long and happy life. Farewell, Lord Lettenhove.” The witcher spun round and walked from the room without looking back.

Julian squirmed in his father’s arms but it was too late. The witcher was gone.

“No!” He burst free and ran from the study, hoping to catch up with the witcher.

He reached the front door to the castle just after the witcher. His horse was saddled and he jumped up onto his mount.

“Wait!” Julian cried.

The witcher trotted round in a circle, glancing back at Julian. His golden eyes were even brighter in the sunlight, the dark slits barely visible now.

“I’ll pay. Two weeks, witcher, I’ll pay!” Julian said, his voice full of determination and he was proud that it didn’t waver one bit.

The witcher nodded and rode off down the track, galloping fast. Julian was jealous. The witcher was so free. He could travel and see the world. Julian wanted that. There was so much beauty in the world and he was stuck in a castle like a damsel in distress.

He vowed that one day he would leave the castle for good and there was nothing his father could do to stop him.

___________

Of course, Julian’s promise to the witcher was not easy to keep.

His father grounded him without pocket money. He would have snuck out to the market to sell some of his clothes that he didn’t wear anymore but the fiend stood between him and the town.

Two weeks passed and Julian had his face pressed against his window, watching for any side on the silver-haired witcher and his gorgeous bay. He had a plan. He’d bundled up some of his finer doublets and jewellery into a satchel. As soon as he spotted the witcher he was going to escape out his window and present the witcher with his offerings. Once the fiend was dead then Julian was going to beg the witcher to take him with him.

He could become a witcher! That was what the legends said happened to young boys taken by witchers.

He was so drawn into his own thoughts that he almost missed the sound of hooves hammering on the path. He fell back off the windowsill as he spotted the witcher approach and then scrambled up to double check it was him.

The witcher’s silver hair flew out behind him as he rode.

He was magical! A real knight in shining armour.

Julian flung open the window and clambered out. It wasn’t easy but he’d practiced this a few times now over the last two weeks. He’d almost broken his arm the first time he’d tried, luckily he got away with just a sprained wrist. He shuffled across the window ledge and hopped down onto the lower roof, eventually using the beams of the lower window to scramble down to the floor. He ran to meet the witcher before he could get too close to the house.

“Witcher!” He waved frantically.

The man dismounted with the horse mid-canter. It was so graceful. Julian would need a lot more time in the ring with his horse riding tutor before he could manage such a thing.

“Julian.” The witcher greeted with a gentle smile.

“I’m sorry, witcher. My father stopped my pocket money.” He scowled but pulled the satchel off his shoulder and presented it to the witcher. “You should be able to sell these though. You won’t need any of my father’s coin.”

The witcher hummed and grabbed the satchel. He pulled out a long gold chain. It was a family heirloom, one that marked Julian as the heir of the estate and the title of Viscount, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want it, any of it.

The witcher tucked Julian’s bag onto the saddle of his horse. “Thank you, and call me Geralt.”

“Can you really kill the fiend?” Julian asked.

The witcher, Geralt, shrugged. “I’ll try my best. If I don’t succeed then the horse and all that’s on it is yours” He paused. “but don’t drink the potions. You’ll die. Roach will come back here if I don’t return. She’s trained well.”

Julian gasped. “But that would mean… you died?”

Geralt hummed. “That’s generally how it works.”

“But… but why?” Julian stared up at the witcher wide-eyed. “My father didn’t even want to pay you. Why would you risk it?”

“That’s the job.” Geralt frowned, Julian could see he’d been pulled back into some memory of another place and another contract. “It’s why we exist.”

“Well that’s shit.” Julian decided, taking the opportunity to curse whilst his parents weren’t around. “There’s, there’s got to be more to life than that. Look at the world!” Julian gestured with wide arms. “You get to see all of it!”

Geralt hummed.

“I wish I could see it. Will you take me with you?” Julian asked. Geralt shook his head. “Oh come on, please, Geralt!”

“The path is no place for a child.” Geralt scowled. “You’ll get killed within a week.”

Julian put his hands on his hips and stared up at the witcher defiantly. “I won’t! I’m learning to fight! Master Rhindon says I’m almost ready to start training with a real sword! And I almost always hit the target in archery practice. Come on, Geralt, please take me with you!”

“No.” Geralt said firmly and went to mount his mare.

“When I’m older!” Julian ran in front of the bay with his hands up. “Come back when I’m older, I’ll train. I can be a travel companion. Give me a chance!”

“I don’t need anyone.” Geralt grunted.

Julian sighed dramatically and gave the witcher an exasperated look. “A chance, that’s all I’m asking.”

Geralt hummed and rode off with Julian’s belongings, hopefully to kill the fiend, and not a moment too soon. His mother came running out of the house.

“Julian! Get away from that freak!” She pulled him back inside the house roughly. “What in the name of Melitele were you thinking, boy?”

“I was saving our villagers, seeing as father refused to pay the witcher. He’s agreed to kill the beast.” Julian held his head up and put both hands on his hips.

“Foolish boy!” He mother chided but pulled him into a hug.

Julian groaned into the hug but eventually wrapped his arms around his mother’s waist. She wasn’t all bad. She cared too much, unlike his father who seemed not to care at all.

He thought about what Geralt had said about the path being too dangerous for a child. He didn’t feel like a kid. He was eight. That was almost double figures and that meant he’d been an adult! He decided to make a list of skills he’d need to the path.

The witcher wasn’t great with people, that much was obvious but Julian had always been pretty outgoing. He loved people. It was part of the reason he hated being stuck in the house so much, but he could always hone his skills.

Ooh. He could become a bard! People loved bards. People trusted bards! He loved music and the stories his nurse would tell him. Mother had even agreed to buy the lute for him when his father had stopped his pocket money. He would need a lot of practice, perhaps he could even leave the castle to study it. That was an adult thing, right? Studying. That’s why his father had a study.

Then of course he would need to master his sword and archery. He knew that Master Rhindon would be training him in fencing, rather than swordsmanship. The wooden sword he had at the moment was only really to get his footwork right and get used to the basic attacks and parries. He’d have to persuade the older man to teach him proper sword skills. His archery needed work too but at least they would let him use a proper bow.

Then Geralt had mentioned potions. A knowledge of healing then. If he did go to study music when he was old enough then he could try and take a class in medicine. In the meantime, his nurse knew some basics. She’d patched him up enough times after he’d fallen out of trees or down the stairs, even after he’d gotten in a fight with one of the stable boys, which in his defence had not been his fault. The boy hadn’t appreciated Julian’s poem that he’d written about the gorgeous black stallion in the stables, his mother’s horse. Julian had been very proud of it and the bastard had declared that it was stinkier than the horse’s stall.

And the horse’s stall stank like shit!

So he’d punched the boy hard. Not hard enough though, he’d ended up with a black eye and a fractured finger.

He didn’t regret a thing.

“We just don’t want to lose you to that monster, my petal.” His mother cooed and stroked his hair.

He wrestled out of her arms and glared fiercely up at her. “I did the right thing, mother” He insisted. “And he isn’t a monster! He protects us from monsters.”

His mother’s eyes flared angrily. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Julian.”

“I do!” He pouted. “But you won’t believe me. You never do.”

His mother sighed and cupped his cheek. “Come inside, petal. I have something for you. Let’s forget about all this talk of monsters.”

Julian nodded but in his mind he knew he wouldn’t forget. He had his mission and there was nothing in the whole continent that would stop him now.

Tag List: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @awitchersbard @genkitaco @innocentcinnamonpun

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #julian alfred pankratz #viscount de lettenhove #the witcher fanfiction #wolfie's witcher writing #the witchers companion

[wordsablaze]

2~ i’ll make it okay

tell me your problems (i’ll chase them away) Internal scars can be difficult to deal with but Eskel vows to heal any that Jaskier is weighed down by if it’s the last thing he does…

A/N: did not expect people to be interested in my ramblings but i’m glad we love jaskel !! oh and @random-nerd-3 , @betaray-jones , you asked to be tagged <3

previous chapter

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A knock on the door wakes them. 

Well, it's not actually a knock. It's just someone falling into their floor on their way to find breakfast. 

But both Eskel and Jaskier blink themselves awake at the noise, Eskel springing out of bed and grabbing one of his swords where Jaskier just sits up and glares daggers at the door. 

By the time they realise it isn't anyone trying to get or break in, it's far too late to pretend they're still sleepy. 

"You're still here?" Jaskier asks, tilting his head to one side. 

Eskel sheaths his sword before raising an eyebrow. "Was I meant to chase after them for being clumsy?" 

Jaskier frowns before shaking his head, somehow missing the fact that it was meant to be a joke. "No, no, of course not, that'd be ridiculous. I just meant, don't you witchers like to be moving before even the sun is awake?" 

Apparently Jaskier is as much of a mystery in the morning as he is in the evening. 

Eskel nods slowly. "Well yes, that's how we avoid trouble, but it'd be rude to have left without thanking you." 

Jaskier yawns widely before waving a hand dismissively. "You already thanked me yesterday, silly."

Before Eskel can explain that he'd only thanked Jaskier for the drink and bath rather than for letting him stay in his room, in his bed, Jaskier's eyes widen and he's scrambling to find his clothes. 

"Oh, for the love of Meletite, I was meant to perform this morning! How could I forget? Stupid, stupid- Where's my- Aha! Lute? Lute… ah, there you are! Oh, perfect, beautiful as always. Now where did I- of course, wonderful, bless that tailor and his skilled hands… Anyway, do I have time to-? No, probably not but… oh, wait, this'll do!"

Eskel simply stands to one side and watches as Jaskier assembles himself. It's more amusing than he'd like to admit and he's somehow smiling by the time Jaskier finally turns to him with a strange look. 

"Seriously, you're still here? Well, if you don't have anywhere to be, I can offer you another drink?" 

There's hope laced in Jaskier's words and the average person may have missed it but Eskel is used to looking for it so he offers Jaskier a small smile. "Sounds good."

Jaskier quite literally lights up at his words, grinning widely. "Great! I'll go and get started, you should find yesterday's spot still open for you so take your time!" 

And with that, he slips out of the door, taking his lute with him. 

He's seen a lot over the years but Eskel has never seen anyone switch between half-asleep and chaotic so quickly. He tells himself he's only going to stay because he owes it to Jaskier, not because he's curious or worried or anything like that. And it's absolutely not because he hasn't smiled so much in what feels like an eternity. 

Either way, once he's slipped his jacket on - taking a moment to mourn the loss of half his shoulder spikes, of course - he heads down to where he can hear Jaskier singing. 

"Your drink, from Jaskier," a girl says as soon as he's sat down, sliding a mug towards him and slipping away as fast as possible. 

Eskel wonders how Jaskier had managed to so quickly organise that, eat his breakfast, and already have the attention of most people in the room.

And rightly so, because he’s magnificent - nobody would be able to guess how frantic he’d been before. Well, nobody except Eskel, who can’t help but appreciate the way Jaskier makes himself seem so coordinated so quickly; he briefly wonders if it has anything to do with travelling alongside Geralt.

It's a much shorter performance than yesterday but the innkeeper seems satisfied regardless because he's all smiles when Jaskier walks over to him after finishing up and seems to strike up conversation. 

After a few minutes, Jaskier walks over to him with two plates of food and winks. "I really didn't expect you to stay until the end but obviously you needed me to order you food, huh?" 

"What?" 

He's not even sure if he's questioning why Jaskier hadn't expected him to stay or why there are two plates of food or why Jaskier even thought he wanted food. 

Jaskier just pushes one of the plates towards him and settles into the seat opposite, his lute next to him as if it were another person.

"You can't very well leave without a decent meal if you're in my company," Jaskier says, almost daring him to argue. 

He doesn't, only because the food smells fresh and denying Jaskier seems foolish. 

But… 

"You didn't eat before?" Eskel asks. 

Jaskier shakes his head, a puzzled look on his face. "I hadn't performed yet and this way, both of us can save some coin."

It sounds logical enough but what did the bard do when innkeepers didn't want to offer free meals in exchange for performances? Surely between them, Geralt and Jaskier would have had enough coin to eat meals without having to negotiate for them?

Jaskier kicks him under the table. 

Wincing, Eskel turns to him with a frown, surprised when he sees the bard simply eating, not even looking his way. 

"You were glaring at nothing, darling, it's bad for business," Jaskier explains eventually, and Eskel is almost embarrassed for not having noticed he was doing so. 

Not wanting to explain his thoughts, he lets them finish their rather average but still decent meal in silence. 

It doesn't take long and soon enough, they're heading back upstairs, Jaskier taking the lead. He stops to talk to the girl who'd given Eskel his drink earlier and laughs at whatever she says, whispering something to her before continuing. 

As Eskel passes her, she holds her hand out and offers him a coin, smiling hesitantly. 

Oh, the song. 

"Thanks," he says gently and she nods quickly, disappearing to serve someone else. 

"Did you ask her to do that?" he questions Jaskier once they're in his room again. 

Jaskier laughs again. "No, she just heard me play the song yesterday and wanted to convey her gratitude to witchers." 

The gratitude that didn't exist before he'd composed his song. 

"I'll have to thank Geralt for letting you accompany him in Posada, then," Eskel jokes. 

But it falls flat on Jaskier, who flinches.

He takes a deep breath and grins just as Eskel makes to question it, though. "No need, darling, it's not really like he let me, more that he didn't quite know how to get rid of me. I'm very stubborn, you know? Just ask, uh, anyone, really… Although there might be a few more popular choices depending on-" 

"Jaskier," Eskel interrupts, confused again. 

Despite having just called himself stubborn, Jaskier stops talking immediately, biting his lip as regret radiates from him.

"Why would he want to get rid of you?" Eskel asks softly. 

Jaskier only bites down harder on his lip, hard enough for Eskel to smell blood. But Eskel still waits, just in case Jaskier simply needed a moment to collect himself before answering.

Eventually, Jaskier shakes his head. "I can't- It's not… Hasn't he told you already? Or haven’t you guessed yet? Why do you need to make me say it?" 

To Eskel's shock, he sounds like he's on the verge of tears. Never has Eskel so quickly regretted asking something, something that transforms the laughter from five minutes ago into tears. 

"I just wanted to…"

But Jaskier isn't listening. 

"I'm sorry, I'll just- I'll just go. It really was very nice meeting you, Eskel. This room is still yours until lunch." 

He's picked up his lute and gone before Eskel can even process his words. 

And Eskel is left staring at a closed door as he tries to figure out what he'd said that had caused such a reaction. He knows he can sound much harsher than he means to, he is a witcher after all, but Jaskier hadn't been bothered by that right up until… 

Geralt. 

He and Geralt must have fought. And Eskel had unknowingly reminded him of it, repeatedly. 

Eskel curses.

But Jaskier is so much faster than he’d anticipated and he’s nowhere in sight by the time Eskel reaches the bottom of the stairs. 

He groans, heading back up and quickly gathering his things before making his way to the stables where Scorpion seems to share his urgency and makes no fuss as he gets her ready. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs as they set off.

He’s not even entirely sure where he’s going but he thinks he can still smell honey and lavender so he follows the scent, groaning every time he hits a dead end and has to turn back to try another route. 

It’s pointless, though, because he finds no physical trace of Jaskier at all; he seems to have disappeared just as quickly as he’d arrived and Eskel circles back to the inn with a heavy heart.

“He left,” someone says as he dismounts Scorpion.

“Who?” Eskel asks, turning to find the girl who’d given him a coin earlier, “Jaskier?”

She nods, something sad in her eyes. “He left town.”

“What?” Eskel frowns, wondering why Jaskier had assumed that, out of the two of them, he was the one who should leave, as if he didn’t deserve a roof over his head far more than Eskel. 

The girl shrugs. “He didn’t say why, but I thought you’d want to know.”

His expression softens as he looks at her again, offering her a smile. “I do, thank you.”

“Off we go, girl,” he whispers to Scorpion, the two of them heading off once more. 

He’s just glad he’d already finished his contract so he can go after Jaskier rather than having to delay it and risk not catching up with him because, who is he kidding, he definitely isn’t just drawn to the bard due to debt.

Thankfully, Jaskier isn’t running.

He seems to be reluctantly pulling himself along and it’s only when Eskel draws closer that he realises the bard is shaking. 

“Jaskier!”

Jaskier freezes. 

He adjusts the lute case on his shoulders and turns slowly, as if expecting the worst. 

“Jaskier, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“You’re sorry?” Jaskier echoes, his voice shaky and filled with wonder.

Eskel dismounts as quickly as possible before nodding. “Of course. I didn’t mean to cause you pain.”

Jaskier bites his lip again, only to promptly wince as he puts pressure on the small scab there. But instead of saying something, he just bites the other side of his lip and folds his arms. 

Eskel takes that as his cue to apologise again, pretending not to notice the way Jaskier’s eyes are red and watery. “I mean it, I just wanted to thank you for your, uh, kindness. And I really don’t know what happened between the two of you but I won’t ask again if it’s not my place.”

There’s a moment of silence before Jaskier’s face crumples and he stares at Eskel in nothing short of amazement, as if he’s never had anyone thank or apologise to him before - if Eskel finds out that Geralt had never done either of those, he’s going to punch him.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Jaskier offers him a soft smile. “Okay, okay. I believe you.”

“You do?” Eskel finds himself asking before he can think about it, think about how that might seem suspicious or-

“You came after me, didn’t you? That’s proof enough for me,” Jaskier declares, still sniffling a little. 

Eskel finds himself smiling. 

And with that smile comes a very strange but not so unexpected urge to try and avoid losing Jaskier at all costs. Even if Geralt had idiotically chosen not to embrace what a blessing Jaskier is, there’s nothing saying he needs to make the same mistake.

“Please tell me your horse has a worthy name,” Jaskier says, interrupting his thoughts.

Eskel chuckles. “Jaskier, meet Scorpion.” 

Jaskier gasps like a child, running a hand along her mane and practically giggling when Scorpion huffs at him, undeterred. He pulls an apple out of absolutely nowhere and offers it to her, grinning smugly when she bites into it. 

“She likes you,” Eskel notes, only somewhat shocked at how quickly she’d taken to him since he shares that sentiment with her. 

Jaskier steps back as if he’d been burned, dropping the apple. He curses, swiftly picking it up and holding it out to Eskel. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to- she’s just beautiful. I won’t… I won’t touch her again. I swear it.” 

Oh, he undoubtedly needs to punch Geralt when he sees him again.

But more importantly, he needs to clear Jaskier’s misconceptions about witchers and their horses. 

So he just shakes his head. “Who am I to say whether or not you can touch her? If she likes you, she likes you.” 

Jaskier frowns at him as if trying to find an alternate meaning to his words but settles on nodding slowly. “Thank you.”

Eskel lets him finish feeding her the apple and wishes Jaskier didn’t think he needed to thank him for it. In fact, Eskel should be thanking him because he’d forgotten to treat her before starting his search. 

It doesn’t take too long and Jaskier wipes his hands on his doublet before smiling at Eskel. “Well, I hope our paths cross again, darling.” 

“You what?” Eskel asks, raising his eyebrows. 

Jaskier looks alarmed. “You don’t like the name? Sorry, but why didn’t you tell me sooner? I wouldn’t have-”

“No, no, the name is… it’s fine. That’s not-” Eskel exhales audibly, frustrated. “Where are you going?”

Now Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Whichever town appears next, probably. Did you need something from me?”

What a strange time to live in, where a witcher is being asked if he needs something from someone rather than being told someone needs something from him.

“I just mean, what if our paths stayed the same?”

He might as well have punched Jaskier for the way his jaw drops. To Jaskier's credit though, he regains composure relatively quickly, clearing his throat. “Just to clarify, darling… you want me to follow you?”

No, that doesn’t sit quite right with Eskel.

“I want you to travel with me,” Eskel corrects, “even if that means I end up following you.”

If Eskel thought Jaskier had lit up back at the inn, it was nothing compared to the way Jaskier’s whole face all but glows when he comprehends Eskel’s offer.

“Are you sure?” Jaskier asks breathlessly.

Eskel rolls his eyes. “Scorpion likes you and I’ve never been able to say no to her.” 

He’s not quite ready for Jaskier to throw himself at Eskel, his arms looped around his neck as he laughs brightly, but Eskel breathes a sigh of relief upon hearing it, glad that the first side of Jaskier he’d seen is back. 

He feels Jaskier freeze and easily anticipates him pulling back, stopping the movement by lifting his own arms and wrapping one around the bard, not forcefully enough to cage him in but firmly enough to silently reassure him that he hasn’t done anything wrong. 

When the tension melts from Jaskier once more, he loosens his grip, allowing yet another smile to bloom on his face as the warmth of the embrace surrounds them both. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier mumbles into his shoulder. 

Eskel resists the urge to shiver at the feeling and nods, patting Jaskier’s back. “It’s the least I can do.”

Jaskier hums in response and when he peels himself away, Eskel makes a note of every detail in his expression, from his soft but bright eyes to his messy but not unpleasantly so hair to the way his smile threatens to erase the very existence of sadness from the world. 

In the same way, Eskel promises himself he’s going to erase whatever keeps making Jaskier sad from existence, one step at a time.

-

sorry for being mean to jaskier but at least Eskel is now here, right? also lmk if he seems too ooc as idk very much about him !! 

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#jaskel #jaskier #eskel #the witcher #jaskier x eskel #jaskier the bard #witcher eskel #netflix the witcher #jaskel fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #hurt comfort #angst #hurt jaskier #soft eskel #geralt of rivia #insecure jaskier #canon who? #my writing #tmypicta #post rare species

[fancifulwhump]

i’m a simple bitch who likes seeing jaskier get kidnapped and geralt having to rescue him lmao

AN:   as you ask, so shall you recieve.   protective geralt going from beast-mode to soft??  that’s my jam, dude

In Geralt’s complete defense, the risks of leaving Jaskier unattended — of which past experience had proven were many — really paled in comparison to a Devourer attack.

Rather, an attack by multiple Devourers, at the same bloody time, with the tenacity of a pack of wild wolves. The flesh-craving beasts showed little interest in a Witcher’s mutated blood. They wanted human flesh, and human alone. A reign of terror stretching on for weeks before Geralt happened upon the poor mining village in the mountains made that clear enough. People could no longer venture from their homes without risk of being torn to bits by a sulking monster. Geralt’s arrival was a blessing to them. Jaskier’s presence — for, having hit a creative dry spell, he'd been following Geralt for the last few weeks, to “fan the flames of inspiration” — was just convenient. 

Geralt never liked using the bard as bait. This had nothing to do with any moral qualms; any time Jaskier involved himself in a kill, things got complicated. He simple had a talent for getting in the way. Trouble was drawn to him like a magnet; rather than avoid it, the idiot almost seemed to invite it. Geralt tried to keep Jaskier out of the way during jobs because bailing him out of danger was more trouble than any amount of coin was worth.

That, and he’d rather not see his companion be mauled or swallowed whole by a monster. 

Sometimes, however, Jaskier’s presence during a job could actually be useful. Like it or not, Geralt had to put him to work.

“This isn’t my first time playing irresistibly seductive meat-sack, you know,” huffed the meat-sack in question, carefully fastening his lute to a pack strung along Roach’s side. When Jaskier looked up at Geralt, his eyes glittered. Whatever thrill he got from being in mortal peril, it was probably worrying. “Practically used to it by now. Could make it a profession. Thank the gods I’m here, too, or what else would you have done? Picked up a nice, juicy steak from the market, and dressed it up like a toddler?”

Geralt snorted, unsheathing a dagger from his belt. It was a small, silver-bladed thing — better for throwing than stabbing, though it could be useful at close range. The hilt was almost too small for his hands. In Jaskier’s, it fit perfectly.

“Only if you need it,” he said. Jaskier gripped the blade, eyes wide with fascination, before nodding and tucking it into his own belt. “Quick slashes. If you have to stab, stab deep.”

Of course, Jaskier couldn’t fight, and he certainly didn’t stand a chance against a monster… but at least he wouldn’t be completely helpless.

So, Jaskier was sent on ahead, and did what he did best — played the oblivious fool. Only when he’d blustered along the mountainside for about ten minutes, leading Roach along as the Witcher silently trailed them both, did their plan show signs of success. In the distance, a few rocks shifted. Pebbles rolled down the mountainside. The faint trill of birdsong went quiet.

Jaskier had been humming to himself, but his voice cut off abruptly. His head raised; he glanced around. That was all he had time to do before a blur suddenly shot out of the cave, launching itself at him.

And another, and another — more than Geralt expected.

In a few swift bounds, he was in the middle of the fray, cutting Devourers down in midair. This was just enough time for the bait to make his escape. With the battle begun, Jaskier leapt on top of Roach and sped off — “somewhere safe”, Geralt had told him.

So maybe Geralt was the fool, for assuming the hapless bard could look after himself. At any rate, he trusted Roach to keep Jaskier out of trouble; the horse always had more sense than he did, anyhow. 

An hour, maybe, or less — that’s how long it took for Geralt, covered in Devourer blood and a few new scratches, to follow the trail his horse and companion left, only to come up empty handed. Not being able to hear Jaskier’s annoying caterwaul was the first sign of trouble. Coming across a lute in the bushes, smashed and abandoned, was the second.

Picking up the remnants of the familiar instrument, Geralt’s hands tightened around the wood; he sighed through his nose, barely able to restrain his own frustration.

Served him right for letting Jaskier near his bloody horse... and letting them both out of his sight.

Witcher senses were better honed for tracking than even the most astute hunter. It also helped that the bandits didn’t bother to cover their tracks well. The left a trail of broken twigs, snapped branches, and footprints behind them. However much of a head start the group — Geralt counted five sets of footprints, maybe six — had on him, it didn’t take long to track them down.

Even so, it took long enough. Too long.

He could smell the blood before the noises reached his ears. Perhaps the senses hit at the same time, and he just didn’t register; as soon as that metallic tang hit his nose, all-too-familiar, Geralt saw red. Blood meant nothing on its own, but this blood held a familiar scent — he’d recognize it anywhere. It was as familiar to him as that annoying voice, or that smirk any time Jaskier said something he thought was particularly funny. Blood could belong to anyone, but Jaskier’s blood was his, and Geralt could smell a lot of it.

Blood, and noise, and shouting — not Jaskier’s voice, but a stranger’s rough tone, spitting venom in a language Geralt faintly recognizes. A horse’s frustrated wail. Sharpening blades. And underneath it all… a strangled whimper.

Geralt found the bandits’ campsite.

As for whatever happened at the campsite… well, he couldn’t be held responsible.

By the time the last of the thieves took off running into the forest, stumbling over himself in horror, the bandits’ camp was utterly quiet. Before his body hit the tree, the big one had been making an awful lot of noise. So was the quick one, when he hissed at Geralt and tried to draw his sword; thankfully, Geralt was quicker. Now, in the silence, with nothing but his heavy breathing as he came back to awareness, Geralt could see everything.

Roach was unharmed, tied to a tree. She stomped her feet as Geralt came closer, as if applauding his quick work… but Geralt’s attention turned in a second, from her to the other side of the clearing. Silence reigned there as well, and it was unnerving. 

Jaskier was never silent. Jaskier didn’t know how to be silent. 

The figure slumped against the base of the tree, chest bound with rope and head bowed, did not make a sound.

The stench of blood grew overwhelming the closer Geralt got. He had to force himself not to focus on it. Instead, he honed in on Jaskier’s heart, beating a steady rhythm in his chest. Not faltering, not stuttering — he was alive, then. Unconsciously, a sigh of relief escaped Geralt, loud in the silent woods.

Then he saw the blood staining a head of dark hair, trailing down Jaskier’s jaw.

“Shit.” Immediately, he dropped to one knee, hand finding his companion’s shoulder. The battered captive’s face scrunched you in pain when Geralt gripped it. “Jaskier. Hey! Jaskier.” Unwilling to hurt him any further, Geralt shook his companion lightly. “Wake up.”

It was just enough — or maybe the pain from Geralt’s touch pulled him back into wakefulness. Jaskier stirred, head sluggishly rolling on his shoulders. For a moment, he struggled to lift it, as though his skull were filled with lead rather than gray matter. When he finally managed, he blinked sluggishly up at Geralt, pupils blown wide. Concussion, then, Geralt thought, and had to bite back another curse.

“Ah hah — the mighty Witcher!” Jaskier’s head fell back like a doll’s; still, he offered Geralt a wide grin. His teeth were stained with blood, from the busted corner of his lip. “Knew you’d come for me. It was only a matter of time. Caught about half that fight, I think. Just half. Til you threw that one lad down the hill.”

Was it any surprise that even half-senseless, Jaskier still didn’t know how to shut up? Geralt just took it as a good sign that he was talking. While the bard blathered on, he busied himself checking Jaskier over for further injuries. His shoulder was probably dislocated; he’d have some colorful bruises in the morning; there were a few deep scratches along his face and bare forearms, like he’d been dragged through brush…

“Mmm. Geralt. Hey.” Jaskier’s movement was sudden — like a marionette unable to control his own limbs, his arm raised, landing heavily on Geralt’s shoulder. When Geralt looked up, Jaskier’s head was lolling to the side. He seemed to be putting in a valiant effort to stay awake. Half opened eyes remained trained on Geralt, warm with an emotion Geralt could not name, but left him feeling immensely guilty. He should have gotten here sooner. He shouldn’t have let Jaskier out of his sight in the first place.

“Look,” said Jaskier — and, very deliberately, nodded towards the thug still crumpled at the base of a nearby tree. The tree’s trunk had a dent in it. Geralt wished he’d thrown him harder. “In the pockets,” insisted Jaskier, giving Geralt a weak push of encouragement.

Bemused, Geralt made his way over; hoisting the thug’s body up by the back of his jacket, he shook him out for any spare bits. A shower of gold pieces greeted him, along with a pair of rings… and a silver-bladed dagger, stained with blood. Geralt lifted the familiar blade, frowning at it. When his gaze turned to Jaskier again, a grin, bleary but proud, greeted him.

“Jus’ like you said,” Jaskier slurred, then let out a dry crackle of laughter. “I stabbed ‘im deep. And they did not appreciate that, let me tell you —“

“Damn it, Jaskier,” Geralt muttered, hand tightening around the blade.

Yet another mistake to tally for the day. Giving Jaskier a weapon was supposed to keep him out of trouble, not damn him deeper.

Without bothering to clean it off, Geralt rounded on Jaskier, blade clutched in his hands. Jaskier’s unfocused gaze tracked his approach with obvious effort. However hard he was trying to stay awake, he was fighting a losing battle. Even so, not a flicker of fear crossed Jaskier’s face at the sight of a hulking Witcher, advancing with a blade in hand.

Geralt cut Jaskier’s bonds in a few quick strokes. As soon as he was no longer bound to the tree, Jaskier slumped forward. It took Geralt’s quickest reflexes to lurch sideways, catching him before he could hit the ground. A dead weight in his arms, Jaskier let out a small moan.

“What is it?” Geralt demanded. As he shifted the injured man into an easier position, Jaskier inhaled sharply, face twisting up in pain. Another groan sounded through clenched teeth, but a second later Jaskier forced a strained smile.

“Kicked me in the chest — more than once.”

Geralt didn’t need to test the statement any further. As gently as he was capable of being, he eased Jaskier back against the tree. Broken ribs would be more of a headache than all of Jaskier’s other injuries combined, but hopefully he didn’t shatter so easily. Human bodies were so fragile; Geralt saw it every day, of course, in the remains of men torn apart by monsters. Seeing it firsthand was different. Seeing Jaskier, of all people, wounded and in pain… something in Geralt’s chest was drawn tight, like a clenched fist, and the more his companion swallowed back sounds of pain, the tighter it got.

“Better get you up, then,” he muttered. Jaskier nodded, face still screwed up. A long moment passed before his hand tightened on Geralt’s shoulder, and it took yet another moment before he managed to hoist himself upright.

Finding his feet was another challenge. Geralt did his best to offer support without brutalizing Jaskier’s injuries further. No sooner did he pull himself up, however, than Jaskier began to teeter. When his gaze slipped out of focus, Geralt’s arm twined around him. He caught him just as Jaskier’s knees began to buckle.

A yell shattered the illusion of quiet around them, ripping through Jaskier’s body like a physical attack. As fresh pain rippled through his chest, he shoved away from Geralt, who released him without protest. For a moment, it seemed certain that Jaskier would topple. His breathing heavy, each gasp an effort that nearly knocked him sideways, he finally managed to find his feet. Wide eyed, he gazed at Geralt, twisting a protective arm around his chest.

“I’m — I’m okay.” Jaskier put a hand up. “I’m fine. But next time — next time I fall, Geralt, don’t bother catching me.”

Geralt arched an eyebrow. In response, Jaskier shook his head. “I can manage on my own.”

And to his credit, he did. He managed to get on Roach, at least, and the horse carried him back the rest of the way. Jaskier didn’t lose consciousness once, no matter how his head lolled or his senses drifted. Geralt didn’t mind the slurred ramblings, weaving their way through utter nonsense. Only when Jaskier went silent did he worry. Each time, he looked up to find his friend fading, blue eyes half-shut, head falling against his shoulder. Geralt gave a bruising pinch to the flesh of his arm, and Jaskier awoke again.

The nearest inn was a night’s ride from their campsite, and it was getting dark already. By the time they made it back, there seemed little sense going any further, especially with Jaskier in his state. He fell into his bed as soon as Geralt had it laid out on the ground, and did not have the energy to raise his head, even when Geralt offered him a sip of much-needed water.

“‘M fine,” Jaskier muttered. His muted tone suggested he was anything but; Geralt wouldn’t argue, though, if rest was really what Jaskier needed. 

“We need to set your shoulder,” he remarked, keeping his voice low for Jaskier’s benefit. “And clean the blood from your head. That wound ought to be bandaged.”

Jaskier nodded along slowly, as thought everything Geralt was saying made perfect sense. His eyes were closed, expression unchanging, so however much he really understood was anyone’s guess. Frowning, Geralt took the liberty of wetting a cloth himself. Hesitating for just long enough to wonder which decisions in his life brought him to this point — to caring so deeply for someone so easily breakable, so human — he set the cloth against Jaskier’s bloodied face. As the grime was sponged away, Jaskier could not help but sigh in relief.

“That’s the stuff,” he muttered. “All I need. Just… rest, Geralt? Can we? Is that okay?”

Geralt considered him for a moment. “Yes, Jaskier. We can rest awhile.”

This was all he needed to hear. Jaskier smiled, setting his head back down on his pack once more; as his eyes drifted shut, Geralt fought off an instinctive flash of worry. Hand tightening around the damp cloth, he brought it back to Jaskier’s face, and continued cleaning the remnants of that bloody encounter.

Next time they faced down monsters, he might think twice about letting Jaskier out of his sight… but no matter what trouble he fell into, Geralt would always be there to pull him out.

#whump #jaskier #the witcher #kidnapping #geralt not sure how to be gentle with a hurt jaskier?? also my shit #Anonymous

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend (Geralt x Reader, Part 3.)

Series description: The Butcher of Blaviken has a long and famous past, thanks to his friend Jaskier. Yet, neither of those dies easily and it still lurks behind Geralt like a shadow after all those years. History, neither unfriendly relationships, doesn't die easily.

Part summary: Two witchers in one hall can be a lot. Especially when they are not friends at all and if Jaskier and Dijkstra are present as well. 

A/N: Well, here we go with miss reader being a coronated savage and badass bcs she definitely can kick Geralt's ass in ten seconds precisely and kill Jaskier with one look alone. Her song is kinda maybe New Level by A$AP Ferg I guess?

Tagging:  @osgon-azure​ @davnwillcome @missdictatorme​ @nemodoren​

Word count: 2.2K

Master list: H E R E

It was so boring to stand there and watch these people having... Fun. A big man huffed out ironically, taking another sip of his wine. He already hated all about that convention and may I say, he was there only for half an hour. His friend seemed to be enjoying himself and the ladies if Geralt had to say.

And these clothes. For what on earth he was fucking wearing a robe like this? With a shirt that was ironed? The fuck was going on with Geralt? And on top of that, he was drinking fancy wine in the Vegenbul residence. This whole situation was beyond laughable.

"Ya don't dance, mister Witcher? Are ya the big scary man everyone is telling us about?" - A woman appeared next to him and she was beyond drunk. From what Geralt was able to smell, it was a wonder she was still standing on her feet. All Geralt responded with was a good long hum and a stare into the middle of the dancing crowd.

"Ya not a good company. I wonder what does the bard sees on traveling along with you." - The drunkard told Geralt pretty loudly and stomped a few meters away from him. Geralt thought that maybe, she would fall flat on her smudged and sweaty face, but to his surprise, she walked to another group of guests.

The ball was just boring. Geralt was there only because it was related to business. Otherwise, he wouldn't come. When he watched everyone from the corner of the room, he wondered about his outfit. Yennefer would be happy to see him in the clothes he had on. Naturally, Geralt's attention was drawn when a guest who was running late was being introduced.

No-one dared to come late at events like these. No-one was that rude. Except for two people who were slowly walking the stairs while trumpets were telling everyone that these two have arrived. For a small while, Geralt could see only legs - one of them was limping badly. That was Sigismund. Geralt had personally fucked up that lag, he knew how bad did Dijkstra limped. The other one was female - at least according to the high heels they were wearing and a long robe studded with shiny rocks. After a fairly long observation, the rocks appeared to be diamonds - which was extremely dumb and also extremely expansive.

And when Geralt saw that hair, he didn't even need to see the rest of her face. She was dramatic as always - expansive dress, late arrival, and an emotionless face. He closed his eyes and turned away, knowing she already saw him in that fancy suit.

"Let me introduce lady Y/N of Kaedwen and sir Sigi Reuven of Novigrad as the last guests of this ball." - A man in a uniform said, bowed to these two and left. Geralt was already sick of her. No matter what, Y/N was always acting like a child and a bitch, there were no other words to describe her behavior. There was also nothing that would make Geralt sure that this time, she'll behave like an actual adult.

His eyes shot a quick look at Jaskier. That man, of course, was over his heels for her already. To be honest, there weren't many ladies who were showing their cleavage this blatantly; let alone the dress showing her leg up to her thigh.

Y/N was walking the hall, having elbow entwined with Sigi's, giving a pleasant smile to everyone. If Geralt had to say, you were the most pleasant looking and acting witcher of them all. People would choose you as the nicest, yet they never got to know what's hiding under that mask. It was a killing machine full of small numbers. It was calculating every single move and taking in everything around you.

It was too late to hide already. Dijkstra had seen Geralt and waved at him to join you and young lady Vegelbur. Jaskier almost approached you as well - but just seconds before that, someone tugged his jacket to make him play the lute.

"Geralt." - Was the first word he heard from you. - "What a... A pleasant surprise." - You grinned a bit, taking an elegant cup of wine to at least hold something in your palm. You never drank on events like that since witchers and witchresses got drunk extremely fast. Geralt never drank more than one pint of ale but this time, he was thinking about breaking the rules.

No-one noticed the short pause of disgust when you greeted him. So you two were still on the same page you ended up on the last time you saw each other, that was good to know.

"As always, the pleasure is on my side, Y/N." - Geralt said back as politely as he was capable of. Before you had the chance to say something back, Dijkstra stopped both of you.

"These are the witchers I was able to persuade to take the job, lady Vegelbud. They are the best of the best. I swear on my very own name." - The man pointed at the both of you, making you both grin a bit at lady Vegelbud.

"I've met with sir Geralt a couple of times. He saved my life when the murders in Novigrad were taking place and my gratitude for that is endless." - Lady smiled at the man, bowing to him a bit. Then she turned to you and took in your appearance with her eyes. And let's say, you were a lot to take in.

"As for lady Y/N of Kaedwen, I'm not entirely sure if I've ever heard her name. I can see that you're a witchress, fair lady, but I haven't seen you around here." - Lady Vegelbud tried to smile as nicely as she was capable of. She winked at you, staring the unnerving amount of skin you were showing off.

For an unknown reason, you were eye-catching. It was strange to see a woman who was appearing so thing yet so masculine, so beautiful and dangerously looking. Your golden eyes which were appearing as if they shone... She couldn't look away. Gently, you smiled and winked back at lady Vegelbud.

Yet again, Dijkstra jumped in so you wouldn't say anything back.

"That's because lady Y/N doesn't travel here that much. Mostly, you'd find her on Skellige or Redenia with sir Lambert. But that's how I'm sure that lady Y/N is the right choice to solve your problems." - Dijkstra told her with all of his charms, smiling a bit. You nodded gratefully, pushing your lips together.

"Is that so? So you and sir Geralt know each other from the past, have you met, slaught a monster perhaps?" - Lady Vegelbud asked with a burning passion, awaiting an answer from you. Not from Geralt, not from Dijkstra, but you. There was still the silence where only Jaskier and his band could be heard.

"I know sir Geralt for a long time. We've been raised together on the School of Wolf in my homeland, Kaedwen, but after that, out ways parted. But to answer your question, we did slay some monsters together before sir Geralt here got famous by his party in Blaviken." - You smiled sweetly and even if Geralt did his best to completely ignore you, he had to look at you. You saw Dijskra shifting his position and you knew you had already said too much, so you shut up and smiled even more.

Lady Vegelbud was way too curious. She asked you a million questions - about monsters, about being a witcher and a woman at once, about the dream of having a child which you didn't have... You finally got rid of her shortly after midnight. And that was when you saw Geralt drinking his third ale in the corner of the room. You naturally couldn't let that slip past your attention.

"What a naughty boy you are." - You winked at the man, putting your cup of warm wine aside. - "Look at you drinking the ale as a lemonade. Uh, papa Vesemir would be sooo fucking angry." - You looked around, watching the crowd dancing, talking, drinking, and dancing. They were boring.

"Better making myself drunk than trying to talk to you, eh?" - Geralt finished his third ale and then got into your wine almost immediately. You didn't tell him a word, you just rose your eyebrows.

So you were still on the same page you ended up on all those years ago.

"My approach to the situation will be as follows - we have to get there as quickly as we can, kill the monster, take its head and we need to get back. It's the start of fall now and when we get back, it will already be time to get to Kaer Morhen." - You said sincerely and Geralt nodded immediately.

"You'll be getting back to Kaer Morhen for the winter? Haven't seen you there in years." - Geralt sincerely wondered. While every normal witcher or witchress got there in the winter, you haven't shown up in the last five years. There was no need for witchers in the winter.

Everyone always gathered back in the keep to tell stories, have fun, and to share memories. No-one was hunting in the winter since most of the monsters almost disappeared. Each school always gathered in their keeps as a big family, and School of the Wolf wasn't different - yet you didn't show up for more than ten years. You were always spending the winter in warmer kingdoms than Kaedwen. That year was different. You wanted to tell goodbye to everyone before you'd disappear in the thin air. And this time, you meant to leave the witcher business for good.

"Yes, I feel like I haven't seen my family in years." - You answered with a pinch of irony. And according to swift steps behind your back and Geralt looking all terrified, you knew that soon, your party will have a new member. And it was none other than the man and bard himself, Jaskier. Or as you called him, the jester who was traveling with Geralt.

"I feel like you and I haven't spoken nor dance yet. So to be nice, I decided to join you and my friend, lady, my name’s Julian Alfred Pankratz, but you can call me..." - And that was the exact moment when your fingers caught his jaw in a fast and precise movement. You pushed his cheeks together, making him look like a fish before you slowly looked him in the eyes.

"I don't care." - You said simply, observing him. After looking at Jaskier with disgust, you let his jaw go. - "This is one cute puppy to keep you warm in the cold nights, I tell you, Geralt. Now, gentlemen, excuse me while I’ll join some enlightened company to talk about political bullshit. I expect you to be ready in the morning to look at the maps of attacks and what did the witnesses say." - You bowed so it would still appear somehow decent. When that was said and done, you turned on your heels and left the two men standing alone.

"Jesus, first of all, did she assume you and I having a secret relationship? Secondly, how dare she call me a puppy, and third of all, Geralt, what in the bloody ass is wrong with you?" - Jaskier took the half-empty cup of Geralt’s hand, drinking the rest of the alcoholic drink. Geralt didn't answer, nor cursed or hummed, he just looked at Jaskier, waiting for what Julian had to say.

"What is it with you always picking bloody psychopaths as your romantic interest? First, we had to suffer under Yennefer's reign of terror, then there was this whole bloody thing with Triss Ranuncul, and how gladly I would forget about your fling with Keira Metz?" - Jaskier looked at Geralt offendedly, making the witcher stare him down.

"This woman isn't near being my romantic interest. I'm surprised she hadn't tried killing me yet." - Geralt answered honestly, watching you talk to a local alcohol merchant. You were overreacting a serious lot, but you indeed had something Geralt was painfully lacking - charm.  

"So she’s not taken yet is what my ears hear." - Jaskier whispered with a growing smile, but Geralt punched his shoulder rather harshly to get him out of the trance.

"Don't try your tricks on that woman, I beg you. I don't want to scrape you off the ceiling when she gets pissed. I'm going to bed and you should do the same." - He gave his friend one last piece of advice before he left the room to have a good rest.

#geralt of rivia x reader #Geralt of rivia x female! Witchress #Geralt z Rivie #Geralt z Rivii #geralt of rivia #julian alfred pankratz #jakier #dandelion #witcher #the world of the witcher #andrzej sapkowski #wiedzmin #zaklínač #sigismind dijsktra #lady vegelbud

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Lost/Found chapter three

chapter one || chapter two || chapter four || chapter five complete fic on ao3

They continue on in the morning, but Jaskier's mood doesn't improve. He never should have sung that song in public, nor even in private, because now Geralt is on his mind all hours. He wonders if he and Yennefer reunited, if she would even have him if they did. It's not that he really wants to know, but he doesn't like not knowing about Geralt.

It's another week or so before they find an inn that will take them, and Jaskier spends the time between considering his music. He tries and fails to write anything worth performing, although when he sings his songs to the darkness, Eskel seems to approve. The night they spend at the inn, Jaskier makes no attempt to seek out employment.

The next time, he does and it's a mistake. He barely gets through the first set; he's worked himself up again about Geralt and all anyone wants to hear is Toss a Coin tonight. At least news hasn't travelled of Her Sweet Kiss because he doesn't think he could bear to play that again. He's a good showman and that's all that gets him through the first few songs; a smile here and a well-placed wink and no one would suspect anything.

No one but the Witcher sitting at the back of the room.

He comes to see Jaskier while he's putting his lute away, snapping the clasps shut and rests a hand between Jaskier's shoulder blades. Jaskier shuts his eyes and presses back into the warmth of his touch. It's one thing he doesn't realize he'd been missing, just the touch of someone else. And when Eskel sits down and pulls him into his lap, Jaskier goes easily.

He lets himself be drawn in even as he can hear the distaste of people who were singing his praises only moments ago. It doesn't matter, he doesn't care what they think right now because Eskel is the only one who's worried about him.

"Let me take care of you," he breathes and Jaskier nods.

He lets himself be bundled up and Eskel takes him upstairs and lays him down on the bed. It's an act of desperation that has him reaching out when Eskel walks away, pulling him back.

When Eskel kisses him, it's soft and sweet and not at all what Jaskier wants. He pushes and pulls and Eskel gives him what he needs.

In the morning, Jaskier feels awful, but Eskel silences him with a rough kiss, assuring him that he has nothing to feel bad about. It's fine. Eskel goes about his morning, but Jaskier is still dwelling. As they make to leave the inn, Jaskier steps between Eskel and the door, turning to face him.

"I can't-" he starts and it's as far as he gets before he doesn't know how to continue. This isn't a relationship and they both know it, but he feels like he's using Eskel and he doesn't know how to explain it without assuming things are more than they are. "I can't do it again, what I had with him. If we travel together, I can't-"

"I don't want anything from you." Eskel lifts his chin and smiles at him. "I just like your company."

It's an agreement that suits them both and Jaskier finds having someone nearby at all times makes him feel better. It's not a desperate need for touch when they come together and there's nothing expected of either of them afterward. He doesn't like to admit it, but having Eskel around and in his bed helps him to keep his mind off other things and Jaskier starts to move on.

But the weather turns quickly and Jaskier starts to worry about what happens when it gets too cold. In the past, he'd go back to Oxenfurt and spend the colder months there, but he's never had a travelling companion in the winter before. Geralt, presumably, also spent the winters tucked up somewhere nice and warm.

It's a bitterly cold day when Eskel approaches him about his winter plans. They haven't been able to find an inn and Jaskier's taken back to the early days he travelled with Geralt. He'd forgotten the sheer hatred of Witchers that people still hold and Eskel doesn't have the notoriety to speak for him that Geralt does. It's better than it used to be, he says and Jaskier can't imagine how bad it was before if this is better.

Jaskier's huddled under both their blankets, barely inches from the fire and he's still shivering. He tries not to let it show because he doesn't want Eskel to know how bad it is, but he's a Witcher and Jaskier knows better than to try and keep things from a Witcher. Eskel comes back with a pair of rabbits and sits next to Jaskier.

"I can't keep you out in this weather any longer. You'll freeze."

"I'm alright," Jaskier shrugs, but his fingers are too cold to play and he can't feel his toes.

"I'm going to Kaer Morhen for the winter. It's a Witcher stronghold in the North. I'd like you to come with me."

It's a bad idea. Going to Kaer Morhen means almost certainly running into Geralt and he doesn't want to see him and he's been doing better. But on the other hand, they're nowhere close to Oxenfurt and Jaskier's only other viable option is Cintra, which is further. Kaer Morhen is the closest, it's likely the safest and he'll be with Eskel so he won't be alone.

"All winter with a bunch of Witchers? What could possibly go wrong?"

Everything, as far as he's concerned, but Eskel seems happy with his answer and they head out early the next morning. They're two weeks out from Kaer Morhen and Jaskier can only hope he lasts that long.

Eskel tries to keep close to the few cities along the way and tries to keep Jaskier housed whenever they can, but they reach a point where there's nothing left between them and the keep. It becomes a decision of whether to keep on and walk as much as they can to get there quickly or to stop more often and risk taking longer. Most days, it depends on how Jaskier is feeling and they stop to make camp when he gets too cold.

He feels like a burden and tries to keep going as long as he can. He's not going to complain more than the goat. But when they finally make it to the mountains, Jaskier presses on longer than maybe he should, eager to finally get out of the cold.

When they reach the keep, Jaskier nearly collapses at the front gate, relieved and exhausted and desperate to be warm. Eskel takes him inside and briefly, introduces him to the only other people there at the moment; Vesemir and a younger man named Leo. It's strange to meet Vesemir after hearing about him from Geralt but he seems kind enough, as far as Witcher's go. Leo is different. He doesn't seem like a Witcher and Jaskier isn't quite sure how to react to him. He's quite happy when Eskel takes him away to get settled.

The rooms are large and comfortable and Jaskier drops onto the bed. There's only one, but Eskel assures him it's not going to be a problem. Presumably, that means he's going to sleep on the floor or something otherwise ridiculous. Jaskier has better plans; they've shared smaller, less comfortable beds.

For the first time in weeks, Jaskier is hot and he revels in it, sprawling on the fur in front of the fire. He grins up at Eskel. "We don't really have to leave again in the spring, do we?"

"We'll see how the spring turns out."

Jaskier spends three whole, glorious days lazing around the keep and playing for the Witchers in the evenings. They're all much more appreciative of his music than Geralt ever was and he savours it while he can. Then, on the fourth day, Geralt arrives. And he's not alone, which is the only thing that makes his appearance slightly bearable.

Eskel goes out first when he arrives and Jaskier holds back. He has no reason to follow Eskel; as far as any of the others know, Jaskier knows no one but him. He sits back and listens though, as Eskel goes forward.

"Ah, the Great White Wolf returns."

"That's still not funny."

Jaskier's stomach turns and he considers escaping up to their room. It's the first thing he's heard Geralt say since the day they parted and he shuts his eyes, inhaling deeply.

"You look like shit."

"Hmm."

"And who's this?"

"Princess Cirilla-" is all Jaskier catches because oh, Geralt went back for her. He wonders what could have happened to get Geralt back to Cintra. Gods know he wouldn't listen to Jaskier when he suggested it. Ciri talks a little more and Eskel is quiet while he listens and then-

"There's someone I want you to meet too, actually." And Jaskier's stomach clenches.

"I thought you smelled different," Geralt hums. Eskel scoffs in response.

"Julian?" he calls and Jaskier knows he can't delay any longer. He's going to have to face Geralt sooner or later, it might as well be now.

He gets up and forces his feet to move, pushing himself through the archway to where Eskel is standing. He slips up next to him, standing maybe just a little too closely. He can hear Eskel introduce him, but he sounds far away and Jaskier can't manage to speak for himself. Instead, he looks at Ciri and she gives him a huge smile which helps to calm him significantly. Even if that's going to be another thing he'll have to admit to Geralt.

When he finally looks up to meet Geralt’s eyes, he’s frowning. "Who the fuck is Julian?"

"I'm Julian,” Jaskier admits. He doesn't even know how he gets the words out, but the look he gets from Geralt is nearly enough to render him mute for the rest of his life. Geralt looks from him to Eskel like he's expecting an explanation and Jaskier realizes he does look like shit.

And Jaskier feels terrible about it. He would have thought he'd feel better knowing that Geralt was suffering, too, but he doesn't. He just feels worse. Geralt takes Ciri and leaves the room and Jaskier's heart sinks. He didn't think things could be worse between them than they were and yet.

"Geralt-" he calls, but the Witcher shows no indication that he even heard him. Jaskier knows better and that knowledge makes him ache. He's left standing alone with Eskel, who looks thoroughly confused and Jaskier drops his arms to his sides, aiming for comical. "Well," he says, "that could have been worse."

Eskel doesn't say anything and Jaskier can't blame him. There's no way he doesn't understand what just happened or at least a part of it. And Jaskier can't just sit here and look at him. He makes an excuse and heads up to their room to avoid seeing Geralt. Jaskier feels like he's shaking so hard he's going to fall apart and it's obvious that not much has changed. Geralt still wants nothing to do with him and all he can hope is that his feelings don't rub off on Ciri.

The fire is out in the room when he gets there and he piles logs in but struggles to get them lit. He’s fumbling with bits of kindling when the door opens behind him and footsteps cross the room toward him. When a warm hand presses down on his shoulder, Jaskier relents, dropping the sticks and slumping back against Eskel's legs. Eskel gently pulls him aside and kneels down, forming a sign with his hands and lighting the fire with ease.

"Thanks," Jaskier mumbles and Eskel takes a seat next to him.

"Geralt," Eskel says quietly. "He's the one who hurt you? He looks terrible."

"Good," Jaskier says instinctively.

"I mean, it doesn't seem like he's been handling it well. Whatever happened between you."

"That's his own fault. He had a choice, I didn't."

"I'm not defending him,” Eskel says gently. “I did wonder why you didn't run away when you met me. It wouldn't be the first time someone took off when they saw me." It's supposed to be a joke, but Jaskier leans into him.

"I think you're lovely." Eskel snorts and Jaskier looks up at the fire. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I knew you and Geralt knew each other and I didn't want to get involved. I know he's your friend, but he hurt me."

"I don't blame you for being upset. It's not my fight," Eskel says. Jaskier nods and he understands. Right now, he just wants to go to sleep and Eskel doesn't try to stop him. He finds Jaskier an extra blanket and wraps him up in it, leaving him in front of the fire.

When Jaskier wakes, he aches from sitting in the same position for so long and when he stretches out, a chill runs through him. The fire is burning low and he wonders how long he's been sleeping for. Getting up and holding the blanket around his shoulders he adds another log to the fire and hopes not to stifle it.

He moves from the floor to the bed, leaning back against the wall. Of all the messes he's landed in, this one is without question, his own fault. He thinks back to Geralt's words on the mountain and squeezes his eyes shut.

It's late when Eskel comes back to the room and Jaskier shuffles over to make space for him. Eskel sits down next to him, but faces out into the room, not climbing into bed as Jaskier expected him to.

"Geralt told me what he said to you. I don't blame you for not wanting to talk to him."

"It's not-" he tries, but Eskel turns to look at him.

"Geralt is an idiot," he says and it's the first time Jaskier realizes he's upset about the situation. But he's not mad at Jaskier, he's mad for him.

"I know," Jaskier agrees, "but the worst part is I want to but he obviously still wants nothing to do with me."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

Jaskier doesn't sleep well and he wakes up early. Eskel is still asleep and Jaskier creeps around him, determined not to wake him as he slips from their room out into the cool morning. He sneaks out onto the balcony and wanders down into the yard, the blanket still wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

He likes it out in the yard because he likes the snow and it's peaceful enough that he can hear himself think. Only this morning, thinking doesn't go very well because he's only alone for a few minutes. He turns at the sound of footsteps, expecting to see Eskel coming up behind him, but it's not Eskel. Jaskier's heart leaps into his throat at the sight of Geralt walking across the balcony and he turns back, staring directly ahead.

"You smell like him," is all he says and Jaskier doesn't scoff, but it's a close call.

"I don't think it's relevant to you who I smell like."

"Jaskier-"

"No," Jaskier turns, heart pounding and stares at him. "You have no right to comment on anything I do. You left me Geralt. You told me you didn't want me anymore and so I left. I spent more of my life with you than without you and that still wasn't enough for you. You hurt me, Geralt, it's none of your business who I smell like." His voice comes out shakier than he means it to and he looks up above Geralt's head to keep from saying something stupid.

Geralt comes closer and Jaskier can't do anything to stop him because he knows if he tries, he'll break. And when Geralt's arms wind around his waist, Jaskier does nothing to stop him.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, and Jaskier, because he's weak and desperate, clings to him.

"I'm still mad at you."

"Okay," Geralt says but he doesn't let him go and Jaskier doesn't make him.

#jaskier x eskel #eskel x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #the witcher #rex writes #lost/found

[whumpernickel]

witcher fic number two! also on ao3

still not super confident in my writing, but im a lot happier with this one than with the first.

so here, have some jaskier with the flu and geralt trying not to confront his own emotions.

It had been four hours since Jaskier had last spoken - or at least since he’d said anything more than “shit” for tripping over his own feet - and Geralt was beginning to worry.

Not worry. Geralt didn’t worry, and especially not about Jaskier who was a grown man and whose prolonged, uninterrupted silences were no one’s business but his own. But this was the first nice day after a miserable stretch of cold, dreary, drizzly ones, and Jaskier, hopeless romantic though he was, hadn’t said or sung a word about the frolicking birds or the dancing sunlight or whatever his personification of the hour was.

And Geralt was on edge – that's what he was. Anything out of the ordinary had him like this, because, more often than not, out-of-the-ordinary meant imminent peril. Silence was horribly out of the ordinary for his usually animated, usually singing, usually noisy shadow. The last full sentence he’d heard Jaskier say was, “She’s still mad at you for making us travel in the rain all day yesterday, and, frankly, I don’t blame her,” which Geralt had all but guffawed at him for, for presuming he knew Geralt’s mare better than he did.

So, when Roach headbutted Geralt once again, catching him off-guard and nearly tumbling him headlong into the rain-sodden road, Geralt eyed Jaskier expectantly, bracing for insufferable levels of I-told-you-so smugness and deepening his frown when none was forthcoming. He was surprised to find the tiniest itch of disappointment at this lack of banter, but more prevalent than that was his mounting concern. Something was obviously wrong, and there was a reason that Jaskier wasn’t telling him.

Jaskier flinched as if startled when he caught the sour look directed at him. He scowled to match it, clearly clueless as to why they were scowling at each other, but lending admirable commitment to the act, nonetheless.

"What?" he croaked.

"...You're quiet."

Somehow worse than a smug Jaskier was this halfheartedly-smug one that emerged as he responded:

"You sound disappointed-"

"I'm not."

Geralt cringed inwardly at how quickly the denial came out, but Jaskier barely glanced up at his response. He seemed more than content to take Geralt at his word, for once.

"Wonderful," he said, too cheerful, "then neither of us will mind if it remains that way."

It was an enthusiastic invitation to leave it the fuck alone, but Geralt was nothing if not contrary. He found his attention drawn to Jaskier and his unsettling Jaskier-less-ness even more, now that he knew Jaskier was avoiding it. Every little thing stole his focus: a stumble, there, when Jaskier normally would have been sure-footed on even ground; a shiver, here, when the midday sun ought to have been enough to banish any lingering morning chill.

For the thirtieth time in half-as-many minutes, Geralt's eyes darted back to his quiet travel-companion, and apparently this was just one glance too many.

Jaskier heaved a dramatic sigh and stopped in his tracks. He didn't say anything, but there was a clear and demanding What? in the hands-on-hips posture and dead-eyed annoyance he aimed at Geralt.

Geralt stopped, too. He frowned at Jaskier critically – appraisingly – and watched as Jaskier's attitude from moments before shrunk back within him, the bard’s arms folding over his chest in an attempt to maintain his image of stubborn petulance while also making himself a lesser target. It wasn't working.

Geralt hadn't been entirely oblivious to Jaskier's condition - he could never completely drown out his constant presence, however hard he tried - and so he'd been noticing (and disregarding) little things all throughout the day: the tired bowing of Jaskier's back and shoulders when he thought Geralt wasn’t looking, the uncharacteristic irritability in his normally-playful jabs, the purposeful shallow breathing in an attempt to avoid coughs that occasionally slipped past anyway, the way the pallor to his skin had worsened whenever the trail steepened or whenever their unusually-minimalist conversation had shifted to food, the stagnant scent of cold-sweat and stress underlying Jaskier's usual familiar one whenever he stepped into Geralt's personal space and the slightly elevated heat radiating off of him along with it, the shudders intermittently jolting his shoulders in spite of the warmth of the day, the bruised-looking shadows under his eyes that Geralt was sure hadn’t been so stark just a day ago.

He'd dismissed all of this in favor of basking in rare, blissful silence. But the details had continued compiling in some recess of his mind, building up into a great, nagging, restless-leg kind of feeling that he could no longer ignore.

"Are you ill?" Geralt finally asked.

"Pardon?"

Geralt waited sternly for his answer.

Jaskier rolled his eyes, then hiked his lute higher onto his shoulder and resumed their trek.

"I'm not ill," he said, the harsh crack in his voice on the word "ill" belying his stalwart conviction. "And since when would it matter?"

"It matters when we run into the beast, and I have to waste precious time and concentration saving your useless arse because you're delirious from fever."

It came out a little harsher than Geralt intended – well, no, it came out exactly as harsh as Geralt had intended, but much harsher than he wanted, and he found himself frustrated not for the first time at how often his intentions and desires so poorly aligned. Jaskier kept his attention forward, but Geralt still saw a strange look overtake his companion’s face for a brief moment, equal parts stung and calculating, before falling comfortably back on annoyance.

"Good thing I'm not feverish, then.”

"You're warm," Geralt prodded.

"It's a warm day."

"You're shivering."

"You're scary."

"You're not afraid of me."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

And he did. From the moment the bard’s eyes had lit up with a giddy, “Oh, fun,” after first realizing Geralt was the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, it had been clear that Geralt didn’t scare him in the slightest. It was one of the many things about Jaskier that frustrated and confused him.

Also among these things were his seemingly boundless social energy, his unflappable confidence (no matter what gaudy outfit he wore or what godsawful thing he said), and his insistence on denying that he was sick when he very clearly wasn't well.

"Jaskier."

"Geralt," Jaskier grunted in a mockery of the witcher’s tone – a surprisingly decent one, to be true, but that was mostly owing to his illness-roughened throat.

"We're stopping here."

"Hm, then I guess we're not saving and-or slaying our beast tonight, yeah? You said we couldn't make any extra stops if we wanted to make it there before nightfall."

Geralt stifled a huff of frustration.

It was true. This particular curse reversal required that they find the animal at dusk, so they were pressed for time. Geralt had said so, earlier, when Jaskier was complaining he wanted to rest because he was tired. Geralt hadn't realized, however, that "tired" was apparently the new slang for "ill and grievously stupid,” and he'd been actively trying to ignore Jaskier for... well, for as long as he'd known the bard, really, so it had taken him longer than it should have to start taking the warning signs seriously.

He felt guilty for that, now.

"We can spare ten minutes," Geralt grumbled, leaving little room for objection as he followed Roach to a decent patch of shade off the path.

Jaskier shrugged and trailed behind them. "Well, I usually require a full eight hours’ beauty sleep, but... okay."

He sat himself and his lute down gingerly against a tree, while Geralt browsed Roach's packs for whatever he could scavenge in the way of a human-grade fever-reducer and similar herbs, and Roach snuffled at the ground and ignored the both of them. When Geralt turned back around, Jaskier had shut his eyes and let his head fall back against the tree trunk, brow furrowed and lips pressed together in a taut line. It was a worrisome thing to see the usually-so-expressive human with such an actively restrained look on his face.

Geralt considered this and added another small phial to his handful before walking over. He knelt in front of Jaskier.

"Jask."

Jaskier cracked an eye open. "Yesk?" he responded, then snorted tiredly at his own half-assed attempt at humor.

Geralt didn't laugh. He reached out and pressed the back of his hand to Jaskier's forehead, briefly noting the way Jaskier recoiled, first with surprise and then with a shiver, before becoming wholly preoccupied by the intense heat beneath Jaskier’s skin.

"Your hands are freezing, Geralt!” Jaskier complained. He shuddered and hugged himself, looking three shades more miserable than before. “Gods, I’m starting to wonder if that sylvan had a damned point about your dad being a snowman..."

"You have a fever."

"Hm," was all Jaskier had to say to that. The irony of this was not lost on either of them, nor was the annoyance it elicited from one witcher, who maybe understood a little bit, now, why others found his noncommittal grunts so damned frustrating.

"And a cough."

Jaskier at least had the decency to look guilty for hiding it. The slight edge of accusation to Geralt's voice may have helped, too.

"Pain?" Geralt continued his verbal checklist of Jaskier's symptoms.

"Just a bit of a headache," he half-admitted.

Geralt hummed. He placed a waterskin and a small pouch into Jaskier’s hands.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose when he uncinched the pouch and realized it was food: dried berries and a little leftover bread from their last inn-stay. He started to push it away.

“I’m good, thanks-”

“Eat,” Geralt commanded, “You haven’t eaten. You need to eat something.”

Nausea colored Jaskier’s face a papery grey just at the idea, and the silent plea in his eyes was just pathetic enough that Geralt almost caved and took the bag away from him. But thirst and hunger were an added stress that the bard’s body didn’t need right now.

"Try," Geralt urged more gently.

Jaskier grimaced, but he tore off a piece of bread and placed it in his mouth, chewing slowly and reluctantly.

“Happy?” he spoke around the meager bite.

Geralt smiled encouragingly. This must have been the right response, as Jaskier seemed to yield to the approval, and his next bite was much less hesitant. Geralt made sure he’d drunk some water, as well, before standing to set about gathering what usable wood he could find in the immediate vicinity – not much, but he only needed enough to boil a cup of water.

It was quiet once again as Geralt worked, heating water and steeping herbs, but it was a little more comfortable and a little less foreboding this time around. Perhaps because Jaskier’s silence had a clear explanation, now, no longer the faceless monster lurking in the shadows that it had been before. He didn’t speak up again until Geralt walked back over, cup in hand.

“Oh, did you make me tea?” he quipped. “How domestic.”

“It’s an infusion.”

Jaskier traded Geralt the pouch and waterskin for the cup and stared into its steaming contents. “It looks like tea.”

Geralt gave a snort of impatience to put Roach to shame. “Drink it,” he said, before turning back around to clean up.

Behind him, Jaskier made an exaggerated gagging noise at the bitter herbs. "That is just... vile– Geralt what the devil have you given me? Are you trying to put me out of my misery? I mean, I appreciate the gesture..."

Geralt huffed out a sound that may have been amusement or may have been exasperation – even he wasn't sure.

"It's mostly catnip. Some ribleaf and melissa and a small amount of beggartick,” he answered truthfully, though he knew the plant names meant fuckall to the man.

"It's disgusting, is what it is..."

"Just drink it."

Jaskier all but pouted as he did what he was told, pulling an inordinate look of disgust for just how small of a sip he took.

Geralt sighed and mentally cursed himself for having become so soft as he went rummaging through his bags once again.

“You owe Roach,” he said, dropping a small cube of sugar into Jaskier’s cup.

Jaskier stared dumbly at the ripples in his cup while the words caught up to him. He blinked.

“Hey, I gifted those to her so she’d stop trying to chew my sleeves- I owe nothing,” he argued, but there was a warmth that had crept into his expression at the gesture, and it softened any bite his words might (but most likely wouldn’t) have had. Geralt had to pretend like he didn’t notice it for both of their sakes. Or so he told himself.

There really couldn’t have been much the small amount of sugar did for the bitter drink, but Jaskier seemed to have decided it fixed the problem just fine, and he drank the rest quickly without further complaint. By the time he was finished, Geralt had everything stowed away in Roach's saddlebags. Ten minutes had already turned into twenty, and Geralt was itching to get back on schedule.

He looked between his mare and his bard. Both seemed to have sensed Geralt’s antsiness, Roach scuffing at the dirt impatiently and Jaskier already halfway to his feet.

Part of Geralt told himself that he was only about to let Jaskier ride Roach so the ill man wouldn’t have the chance to slow them down any more than he already had, but another part of him was panicked when he saw Jaskier’s eyes widen and lose focus, and he rushed forward to grab the man as he tilted dangerously forward.

“Jaskier.”

“‘M alright,” Jaskier said, though he was clinging to Geralt’s forearms like he wasn’t so sure. “Jus’… Just stood up too fast. Just need a second...”

It was a strange contrast, the harsh heat that poured off of Jaskier and overwhelmed the space between them compared to the weak, clammy chill of his fingers on Geralt’s arms. Geralt silently willed the herbs to take effect and watched Jaskier’s eyes shift as they began registering his surroundings once again. He waited until his companion was able to support his own weight before moving, but he continued to hold onto Jaskier, anyway, as he steered him over to Roach’s flank. 

“Up.”

Jaskier frowned at him, and Geralt sighed.

“Do you doubt my horse, bard?”

“Never! Not Roach. I doubt you, no offense.”

The witcher huffed.

...Maybe just a little taken.

“Get on the horse, Jaskier.”

“Look, you were already wrong about her once today, need I remind,” Jaskier protested, even as he complied and climbed up into the saddle with Geralt’s help. “I just don’t want her mad at me next because of you.”

There it finally was, the I-told-you-so Geralt had expected from earlier. As much of a relief that it was to have that little bit of normalcy back, he still felt no small amount of irritation at being reminded that he’d managed to piss off his mare and also be wrong about it. He opened his mouth, a retort stinging at the tip of his tongue, but then he caught the softly murmured, “Thanks, old gal,” as Jaskier patted Roach’s neck, and Geralt wasn’t quite sure where that irritation fucked off to all of the sudden.

The remainder of their journey was a quiet affair. Neither of them spoke much, and Jaskier was still stifling his coughs, not for Geralt’s sake but for Roach’s, this time, as he spent most of the ride resting against her neck, drifting in and out of sleep.

It gave Geralt little room to ignore the question that had begun to itch at his temples. They were finally nearing civilization again, muddy-ash buildings cropping up gradually over the hill, and Jaskier was stirring awake from another fitful few minutes of rest, so Geralt decided to ask it.

"Why did you deny it?"

Jaskier turned his head to blink at Geralt, hair plastered against one side of his face.

"What?"

"You knew you were sick – Why lie?"

Jaskier sighed. He sat up in a wilted imitation of alertness.

"I dunno Geralt," he deadpanned, clearly knowing. "Supposing I had told you that I might be sick – Would you have let me come along, or would I still be in Dregsdon right now, while you get to have all the fun breaking curses and saving the fine folk of the kingdom and disappearing for weeks-stroke-months-stroke-years at a time?"

Jaskier’s voice sounded worse, now, despite the medicines, and there was a trembling weakness to his posture at the effort of just keeping himself upright. No, Geralt most definitely would not have let him come along.

"Hm."

“Right, that's what I thought."

The bard faced forward with an air of self-satisfaction. Under any other circumstances, it was an expression that would have grated on Geralt’s nerves like metal on stone, but the present context made it one of the most effective guilt-trips he’d ever been dragged along, and Geralt found himself floundering for something - an excuse, an explanation, a deflection.

What he came up with was:

"I would have come back.”

There was about a collective half-ounce of confidence behind these words, and they both knew it.

Jaskier rolled his eyes mightily.

“Oh, would you have?”

Geralt glanced at Jaskier, glanced away, shifted stiffly in his armor, readjusted his grip on Roach’s reins.

"...Most likely," he appended.

Jaskier’s laugh was a short and less-than-amused thing, and it caught on a coughing fit halfway out that made him see spots. He waved Geralt’s hand away when Geralt reached out to steady him, and continued to talk through the tail-end of the fit.

"Look,” he rasped, “not to go and play long-suffering wife to your sea-beguiled sailor, but there really is never knowing when you're going to leave or come back. It’s aggravating."

Geralt could read enough subtext to guess that “aggravating” really meant “disappointing and lonely,” and he couldn’t help but agree. He must have been looking as guilty as he felt, because Jaskier seemed to take pity on him, his expression lightening to something a little more reminiscent of his usual playfulness. Geralt found himself scowling preemptively at the bard’s smirk.

"The children are beginning to ask questions, Geralt."

Geralt glared.

"Think of the childr-"

"Shut up, Jaskier."

Jaskier did, but not without a snicker.

They were lucky enough that there was a hamlet not far from where the possessed waterfowl was alleged to be stalking. Daylight was near-gone by the time they made it there; Geralt would have to move fast, but he reckoned he should be able to get everything settled here and still make it in time to apprehend the beast. The inn he’d found was hardly an inn - really just some person’s home with a sign tacked onto the door declaring it to be one, but Jaskier’s eyes brightened with a glimmer of hope, anyway, when Geralt woke him outside of a building instead of halfway back into the wilderness as he’d been expecting.

“So, do we get Roach put up and head out now, or are we waiting ‘til tomorrow evening?” he asked as he climbed down from the mare in question. His body-language screamed, Dear gods, please say ‘tomorrow.’

Geralt shook his head.

“You’re not coming with me. You’re staying behind to sleep this off.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, but Geralt cut him off before he could get started.

“Keep an eye on Roach while I’m gone.”

It was as close as Geralt was about to get to saying, “I promise I won’t disappear this time,” and it was by no means a guarantee that the same could be said for any future excursions, but Jaskier seemed to get the message.

“Okay,” he agreed, “but she and I are gonna talk about you while you’re gone.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll have lost your voice by the time I get back.”

#the witcher #the witcher fic #jaskier #geralt #whump #hurt/comfort #flu #or something; i mean hellifino i just needed a sick bard #fever #wrudy writes #im committing to the tag ok

[buttercup-of-kaer-morhen]

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