#but the whole point of Yennefer is that raising Ciri allowed her to open her heart

[bamf-jaskier]

Okay so I’m going to try and do a comparison of some of the major scenes between Geralt and Yennefer in Bottled Appetites vs The Last Wish. 

Warning: this is a very long post and I tried to keep it as short as possible but Geralt and Yennefer is the relationship that is mainly focused on in both the short story and the show so there’s..a lot of content here. 

Now, before I really jump in it’s important to note that the show is basically the spark notes version of the book, there’s a lot of missing content in the show mostly because the book just has so much more complexity so for a brief timeline:

Jaskier is injured

Talks to Chireadan 

Meets Yennefer

Take Bath Together 

Yennefer mind-controls Geralt and send him off to go fight some council members

THEN this is where the show and book differ 

In the books, Yennefer’s mind-control has more obvious consequences and Geralt gets into legal trouble and there’s a whole scene with some town leaders threatening Geralt and Jaskier. (Although it is important to note Yennefer in the books has a back-up plan to save Geralt)

As well when Geralt goes to stop Yennefer in the books from capturing the Djinn  she portals away with Geralt and they hate-crash a Noble’s party before having a conversation and fighting the Djinn again, Geralt makes his third wish and then they have sex 

So basically the townspeople sub-plot is removed in the show and the Djinn fight is streamlined into one-scene instead of multiple. Now understanding that, let’s get into the scene comparisons. 

Geralt Meeting Yennefer:

The Last Wish:

“You parried my spell,” she finally said. “You're not a sorcerer; that's obvious. But you reacted exceptionally fast. Tell me who you are, stranger who has come in peace. And I advise you to speak quickly.”

“I’m Geralt of Rivia. A witcher.”

Yennefer leaned out of the bed, grasping a faun—engraved on the pole—by a piece of anatomy well adapted to being grasped. Without taking her eyes off Geralt, she picked a coat with a fur collar up off the floor and wrapped herself up in it tightly before getting up. She poured herself another mug of juice without hurrying, drank it in one go, coughed and came closer. Geralt discreetly rubbed his lower back which, a moment ago, had collided painfully with the wall.

“Geralt of Rivia,” repeated the sorceress, looking at him from behind black lashes. “How did you get in here? And for what reason? You didn't hurt Berrant, I hope?”

“No. I didn't. Lady Yennefer, I need your help.”

“A witcher,” she muttered, coming up even closer and wrapping the coat around her more tightly. “Not only is it the first one I’ve seen up close but it's none other than the famous White Wolf. I’ve heard about you.”

“I can imagine.”

“I don't know what you can imagine.” 

She yawned, then came even closer. “May I?” She touched his cheek and looked him in the eyes. He clenched his jaw. “Do your pupils automatically adapt to light or can you narrow and dilate them according to your will?”

“Yennefer,” he said calmly, “I rode nonstop all day from Rinde. I waited all night for the gates to open. I gave your doorman, who didn't want to let me in, a blow to the head. I disturbed your sleep and peace, discourteously and importunately. All because my friend needs help which only you can give him. Give it to him, please, and then, if you like, we can talk about mutations and aberrations.”

She took a step back and contorted her lips unpleasantly. “What sort of help do you mean?”

“The regeneration of organs injured through magic. The throat, larynx and vocal cords. An injury caused by a scarlet mist. Or something very much like it.”

The Show:

Yennefer: And quite a bit more. You’re immune.

Geralt: You must be the mage.

Yennefer: Yennefer of Vengerberg. 

Geralt: Hm. Chireadan didn’t mention that, uh…

Yennefer: What did he fail to mention?

Geralt: We need your help.

Yennefer: “We”? [Geralt looks to Jaskier who gives a feeble wave.] Just a friend, I hope? [Geralt looks back at her.] Your heartbeat, it’s extraordinarily slow. You’re… a mutant.

Geralt: A witcher. Geralt of Rivia.

Yennefer: The famous White Wolf! [Standing up she steps close to Geralt.] I thought you’d have fangs or horns or something.

Geralt: I had them filed down.

Yennefer: [chuckles] First time I’ve seen a witcher up close. [She circles him, looks him over.] What little spells can you cast with your hands? Call it professional curiosity.

Geralt: Please, Jaskier here needs immediate attention. And then, if you’d like, I’ll indulge your curiosity all night long.

Yennefer: It won’t take all night. But I’m sure we can find a way to fill the time.

Geralt: [holding up the small sack with the pot’s shards] He was attacked by a djinn.

Yennefer: A djinn?

Geralt: Whatever’s wrong with him, it’s spreading. [Yennefer takes the sack and inspects the contents.] Fix it and I’ll pay you. Whatever the price.

Yennefer: You’ll have to do better than juice. [to the undulating figures] "Ragamuffin"!

In the books there is no orgy sequence, instead Yennefer has been mainly just been fucking with the merchant Beau Berrant, who in the show is the Mayor of Rinde. The apple juice sequence occurs in both adaptations and Geralt goes to Yennefer. In the books, Yennefer is alone in Berrant’s bedchambers, in the show she is in the orgy sequence. If you read the passages, they share the same bare bones. Yennefer tries to bespell Geralt, he is immune, she comments on his mutation, Geralt asks for help. 

Yennefer and Geralt have the same flirtatious overtones in both adaptations. Honestly I don’t have much to say here because it parallels relatively well as far as characterization goes. I will say I prefer the book’s prose but I also understand that the show has more simplistic writing and wording. 

Anya Chalotra has fantastic energy in playing Yennefer and the tension between the actors in this scene are quite apparent. 

Bathing Together:

The Last Wish:

She entered the bath-chamber just as Geralt, sitting naked on a tiny stool, was pouring water over himself from a bucket. He cleared his throat and modestly turned his back to her.

“Don't be embarrassed,” she said, throwing an armful of clothing on the hook. “I don't faint at the sight of a naked man. Triss Merigold, a friend, says if you've seen one, you've seen them all.”

He got up, wrapping a towel round his hips.

“Beautiful scar.” She smiled, looking at his chest. “What was it? Did you fall under the blade in a sawmill?”

He didn't answer. The sorceress continued to observe him, tilting her head coquettishly.

“The first witcher I can look at from close up, and completely naked at that. Aha!” She leaned over, listening. “I can hear your heart beat. It's very slow. Can you control how much adrenalin you secrete? Oh, forgive me my professional curiosity. Apparently, you're touchy about the qualities of your own body. You're wont to describe these qualities using words which I greatly dislike, lapsing into pompous sarcasm with it, something I dislike even more.”

He didn't answer.“Well, enough of that. My bath is getting cold.” Yennefer moved as if she wanted to discard her coat, then hesitated. “I’ll take my bath while you talk, to save time. But I don't want to embarrass you and, besides, we hardly know each other. So then, taking decency into account—”

“I’ll turn around,” he proposed hesitantly.“No. I have to see the eyes of the person I’m talking to. I’ve got a better idea.”

He heard an incantation being recited, felt his medallion quiver and saw the black coat softly slip to the floor. Then he heard the water splashing.

“Now I can't see your eyes, Yennefer,” he said. “And that's a pity.”

The invisible sorceress snorted and splashed in the tub. “Go on.”

The Show:

[Later, in the bathroom, Geralt takes a bath while Yennefer keeps him company]

Yennefer: Fishing for a djinn seems an extreme measure to remedy sleeplessness.

Geralt: When extreme measures seem reasonable, yes, I’m desperate.

Yennefer: And yet you didn’t ask me to help with that.

Geralt: Looming death kind of jumped the queue. Now I’m wondering if I can afford you. Have I accidentally agreed to indentured servitude? [Yennefer notices his scars.] Go ahead, ask about them. Everyone does.

Yennefer: Everyone else is boring. [She undresses and steps into the tub.] Turn around.

Geralt: [Tries to look at her in a mirror, but Yennefer moves it with magic so he can’t see] That’s cheating.

Yennefer: Nobody smart plays fair. Tell me, are all witchers similarly blessed? [She sits down so they’re back to back.] Come now, you promised.

Geralt: Hm. I haven’t conducted a survey, but I’d hardly say we’re blessed.

Okay!! Now I can get more into the characterization differences because oh boy are there some here. First, Yennefer mentions Triss in the books which I would have loved to see in the show but the main thing here is how they objectify each other. In both adaptations, Yennefer notices Geralt’s scars when they begin to bathe together but in the books, Yennefer uses it as a way to pry more into the biological functions of Witchers whereas in the show she uses it as a way to talk about their shitty childhoods. 

This ties into how the show, instead of focusing on the more biological aspects of Witchers, focuses on the tragic backstory of the characters. Of course, Lauren is of the mindset (like much of fandom) that Witchers are more animalistic while Sapko really pushes the idea that Witchers are creations of science so it makes sense the show wouldn’t want to talk about Witcher science as much. 

As well, in the books, Geralt is rather respectful to Yennefer, promising to avert his gaze and she ends up turning invisible so she can objectify him but he can’t objectify her. It places Yennefer in charge and the obviously more powerful force in the room. 

In the show, Geralt tries to take a peak at Yennefer and they sit back to back, establishing them as equals. And this is no mistake. In the books, Yennefer is quite a bit older than Geralt, she is powerful mage and Geralt is just a guy. Yennefer is the one in power in their relationship and that is obvious in every aspect of their relationship. 

The show made Geralt 32 years older than Yennefer. They push a narrative of Yennefer and Geralt being on more equal footing (or even at times go as far as to make Geralt seem the more mature and older one which we will see later with Yennefer not being aware of the Wish). 

This reverses a lot of the show/book dynamic where instead of Yennefer being the dominant one she is on equal footing with Geralt. Of course, this is likely due to Henry Cavill being around 37 and Anya Chalotra being around 23. Hollywood is allergic to the older woman/younger man dynamic that is seen in the books so making Yennefer seem younger is not a problem specific to The Witcher but with Hollywood at large.  (Not to say it isn’t still bad to see this perpetuated in the show because it is)

Yennefer mind-controlling Geralt:

The Last Wish:

“He's asleep,” said Yennefer. “And dreaming.”

Geralt examined the patterns traced on the floor. The magic hidden within them was palpable, but he knew it was a dormant magic. It brought to mind the purr of a sleeping lion, without suggesting how the roar might sound.

“What is this, Yennefer?”

“A trap.”

“For what?”

“For you, for the time being.” The sorceress turned the key in the lock, then turned it over in her hand. The key disappeared.

“And thus I’m trapped,” he said coldly. “What now? Are you going to assault my virtue?”

“Don't flatter yourself.” Yennefer sat on the edge of the bed. Dandilion, still smiling like a moron, groaned quietly. It was, without a doubt, a groan of bliss.

“I already knew what you were like,” she continued, “after exchanging a few words with you in Beau's bedroom. And I knew what form of payment I’d demand from you. My accounts in Rinde could be settled by anyone, including Chireadan. But you're the one who's going to do it because you have to pay me. For your insolence, for the cold way you look at me, for the eyes which fish for every detail, for your stony face and sarcastic tone of voice. For thinking that you could stand face-to-face with Yennefer of Vergerberg and believe her to be full of self-admiration and arrogance, a calculating witch, while staring at her soapy tits. Pay up, Geralt of Rivia!”

She grabbed his hair with both hands and kissed him violently on the lips, sinking her teeth into them like a vampire. The medallion on his neck quivered and it felt to Geralt as if the chain was shrinking and strangling him. Something blazed in his head while a terrible humming filled his ears. He stopped seeing the sorceress's violet eyes and fell into darkness.He was kneeling. Yennefer was talking to him in a gentle, soft voice.“You remember?”

“Yes, my lady.” It was his own voice.

“So go and carry out my instructions.”

“At your command, my lady.”

“You may kiss my hand.”

“Thank you, my lady.”He felt himself approach her on his knees. 

Ten thousand bees buzzed in his head. Her hand smelt of lilac and gooseberries. Lilac and gooseberries…Lilac and gooseberries…A flash. Darkness.

The Show:

Yennefer: If you wake him before he’s healed, the spell won’t take. That’s no way to treat a friend, Geralt.

Geralt: You want the djinn, but the amphora’s broken. The djinn’s already long gone. [Suddenly the candles around the sign flare up.]

Yennefer: [rubbing perfume onto her wrists] Do go on. Tell me how stuff works. The djinn is tied to this plane and its master. How many wishes did the bard express before he lost his voice?

Geralt: You need Jaskier to make his last wish so you can capture it.

Yennefer: So that’s… two then.

Geralt: The djinn will fight you. If you try and bend it- [He breaks off, clears his throat then inhales.] Ah… That scent… Lilac and…

Yennefer: Gooseberries. [Geralt exhales sharply.] Tough to get in your head. You have a strong will, but you can’t contend with me. Sorry I couldn’t be direct, I knew you’d fight it. [She leans up to kiss him, bites on his bottom lip until it bleeds.] And I do love a good old-fashioned trap.

Geralt: [slurring] A good old-fashioned… nap. [His eyes flutter shut.]

I mentioned how the show is a spark notes? Well, in the books Yennefer finds out through interrogating Geralt in the bath how many wishes are left. As well, in the books Yennefer is much more physically violent, again asserting the idea that she is the dominant one in the relationship and that she is in charge. 

Honestly, the show softens Yennefer quite a bit in this scene. While she does bite his lip, it’s slowly and not particularly violent. In the books, she is compared to a vampire, grabbing his hair, pulling him down. 

It all ties into the softer, younger version of Yennefer we see in the show vs the books. She is not as aggressive in the show and also not as dominant. Again, this could be due to the actor’s age difference but I also think it ties into Hollywood’s avoidance of placing women in a position that is above a male character. (Especially with Henry Cavill as Geralt, he would be unlikely to play a more subservient role to a woman purposefully considering some of his past statements about Me Too). However, having Yennefer as less aggressive also might make her more relatable to the audience and have her be more likable. At least, that could be what the writers were going for but I’m not psychic and I couldn’t tell you for sure. 

Geralt trying to save Yennefer from the Djinn:

The Last Wish:

“Yennefer saw him, jumped up and raised her hand.

“No!” he shouted, “don't do this! I want to help you!”

“Help?” She snorted. “You?”

“Me.”

“In spite of what I did to you?”

“In spite of it.”

“Interesting. But not important. I don't need your help. Get out of here.”

“No.”

“Get out of here!” she yelled, grimacing ominously. “It's getting dangerous! The whole thing's getting out of control; do you understand? I can't master him. I don't get it, but the scoundrel isn't weakening at all! I caught him once he'd fulfilled the troubadour's third wish and I should have him in the sphere by now. But he's not getting any weaker! Dammit, it looks as if he's getting stronger! But I’m still going to get the better of him. I’ll break—”

“You won't break him, Yennefer. He'll kill you.”

“It's not so easy to kill me—”

She broke off. The whole roof of the tavern suddenly flared up. The vision projected by the sphere dissolved in the brightness. A huge fiery rectangle appeared on the ceiling. The sorceress cursed as she lifted her hands, and sparks gushed from her fingers. 

“Run, Geralt!”

“What's happening, Yennefer?”

“He's located me…” She groaned, flushing red with effort. “He wants to get at me. He's creating his own portal to get in. He can't break loose but he'll get in by the portal. I can't—I can't stop him!”

“Yennefer—”

“Don't distract me! I’ve got to concentrate…Geralt, you've got to get out of here. I’ll open my portal, a way for you to escape. Be careful; it'll be a random portal. I haven't got time or strength for any other…I don't know where you'll end up…but you'll be safe…Get ready—.” 

... (description paragraph skip)

“This way!” shouted Yennefer, indicating the portal which she had conjured up oh the wall by the stairs. In comparison to the one created by the genie, the sorceress's portal looked feeble, extremely inferior. “This way, Geralt! Run for it!”

“Only with you!”

Yennefer, sweeping the air with her hands, was shouting incantations and the many-colored fetters showered sparks and creaked. The djinn whirled like the bumble-bee, pulling the bonds tight, then loosening them. Slowly but surely he was drawing closer to the sorceress. Yennefer did not back away.

The witcher leapt to her, deftly tripped her up, grabbed her by the waist with one hand and dug the other into her hair at the nape. Yennefer cursed nastily  and thumped him in the neck with her elbow. He didn't let go of her. The penetrating smell of ozone, created by the curses, didn't kill the smell of lilac and gooseberries. Geralt stilled the sorceress's kicking legs and jumped, raising her straight up to the opalescently flickering nothingness of the lesser portal.

 The Show:

[In the bedroom]

Yennefer: [still chanting in Elder]

Geralt: [as he enters, Yennefer lifts a hand in his direction.] Don’t! I’m here to help you.

Yennefer: [lowers her hand] I don’t need your help. You’re free. No longer under my spell.

Geralt: And yet here I am.

Yennefer: You seem to want to meet your end.

Geralt: As do you.

Yennefer: [groans] The djinn isn’t weakening. The bard expressed his last wish, but it’s- [screams] it’s getting stronger! Go!

Geralt: That’s because I’m the one with the wishes.

Yennefer: You? You’re the djinn’s master?

Geralt: Yeah.

Yennefer: Well, what are you waiting for? [She screams as her bones crack.] Make your wishes!

Geralt: Becoming the vessel for the djinn will have you lose control, not gain it! Can’t you see what this is doing to you?

Yennefer: True transformation is painful.

Geralt: Release the djinn! I’ll give you my last wish!

Yennefer: You heroic protector… noble dog, permitting my success so long as you command it yourself. Fuck off! I’ll do this myself!

Geralt: Damn it, Yennefer! Tell me what you want!

Yennefer: I want everything!

[In the bedroom, Yennefer’s eyes have gone red, her voice distorted]

Djinn: [speaking through Yennefer] Make your wish! You can have anything you want! You could choose not to be a witcher. What do you desire? Immortality? Riches? Fame? Power?

Geralt: I wish… [The rest of his words are drowned out by the wind. Yennefer falls forward and the wind calms down. Geralt pulls up his sleeve to reveal the third cut.]

Yennefer: The djinn… Wh- Where did it go? [The house groans and creaks, and the two look to the ceiling as it crashes down.]

Yennefer still craves power and wants for everything in the show. In the books, she is more established and wants to try and control the Djinn. This is why when Geralt comes back for Yennefer, both versions express surprise at why Geralt would come back to help after they cast a spell on him but Netflix!Yennefer tells Geralt to fuck off on the basis she doesn’t want a man controlling her life (tying into the Strong Female Character Trope) while Book!Yennefer wants Geralt out of danger first and foremost.

Of course, much of this in the show is likely a response to try and subvert the “damsel in distress” stereotype and while the books have Yennefer as the dominant one and in control, showing that she in not in distress, the show has her explicitly point this out because she is not established as the dominant one as much as in the books. 

The show constantly is more overt with its themes that the books which are far more subtle. 

Yennefer is mad at Geralt and then they have sex:

The Last Wish (Warning this is rather long and I even tried to shorten it without removing content!!):

“You moron!” Yennefer yelled, trying to scratch out his eyes. “You bloody idiot! You stopped me! I nearly had him!”

“You had shit-all!” he shouted back, furious. “I saved your life, you stupid witch!”

She hissed like a furious cat; her palms showered sparks.

Geralt, turning his face away, caught her by both wrists and they rolled among the oysters, seaweed and crushed ice.

“Do you have an invitation?” A portly man with the golden chain of a chamberlain on his chest was looking at them with a haughty expression.

“Screw yourself!” screamed Yennefer, still trying to scratch Geralt's eyes out.

“The wish, Geralt! Hurry up! What do you desire? Immortality? Riches? Fame? Power? Might? Privileges? Hurry, we haven't any time!” He was silent

“Humanity,” she said suddenly, smiling nastily. “I’ve guessed, haven't I? That's what you want; that's what you dream of! Of release, of the freedom to be who you want, not who you have to be. The djinn will fulfill that wish, Geralt. Just say it.”

He stayed silent.

She stood over him in the flickering radiance of the wizard's sphere, in the glow of magic, amidst the flashes of rays restraining the djinn, streaming hair and eyes blazing violet, erect, slender, dark, terrible…

And beautiful.

All of a sudden she leaned over and looked him in the eyes. He caught the scent of lilac and gooseberries.

“You're not saying anything,” she hissed. “So what is it you desire, witcher? What is your most hidden dream? Is it that you don't know or you can't decide? Look for it within yourself, look deeply and carefully because, I swear by the Force, you won't get another chance like this!”

But he suddenly knew the truth. He knew it. He knew what she used to be. What she remembered, what she couldn't forget, what she lived with. Who she really was before she had become a sorceress.

Her cold, penetrating, angry and wise eyes were those of a hunchback. He was horrified. No, not of the truth. He was horrified that she would read his thoughts, find out what he had guessed. That she would never forgive him for it. He deadened that thought within himself, killed it, threw it from his memory forever, without trace, feeling, as he did so, enormous relief. Feeling that—

The ceiling cracked open. The djinn, entangled in the net of the now fading rays, tumbled right on top of them, roaring, and in that roar were triumph and murder lust. Yennefer leapt to meet him. Light beamed from her hands. Very feeble light.

The djinn opened his mouth and stretched his paws toward her.

The witcher suddenly understood what it was he wanted.

And he made his wish.

... (time skip)

Yennefer, slightly flushed, knelt by him, resting her hands on her knees.

“Witcher.” She cleared her throat. “Are you dead?”

“No.” Geralt wiped the dust from his face and hissed.

Slowly, Yennefer touched his wrist and delicately ran her fingers along his palm. “I burnt you—”

“It's nothing. A few blisters—”

“I’m sorry. You know, the djinn's escaped. For good.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Not much.”

“Good. Help me up, please.”

“Wait,” she whispered. “That wish of yours…I heard what you wished for. I was astounded, simply astounded. I’d have expected anything but to…What made you do it, Geralt? Why…Why me?”

“Don't you know?”

She leaned over him, touched him. He felt her hair, smelling of lilac and gooseberries, brush his face and he suddenly knew that he'd never forget that scent, that soft touch, knew that he'd never be able to compare it to any other scent or touch. Yennefer kissed him and he understood that he'd never desire any lips other than hers, so soft and moist, sweet with lipstick. He knew that, from that moment, only she would exist, her neck, shoulders and breasts freed from her black dress, her delicate, cool skin, which couldn't be compared to any other he had ever touched. He gazed into her violet eyes, the most beautiful eyes in the world, eyes which he feared would become…

Everything. He knew.

“Your wish,” she whispered, her lips very near his ear. “I don't know whether such a wish can ever be fulfilled. I don't know whether there's such a Force in Nature that could fulfill such a wish. But if there is, then you've condemned yourself. Condemned yourself to me.”

He interrupted her with a kiss, an embrace, a touch, caresses and then with everything, his whole being, his every thought, his only thought, everything, everything, everything. They broke the silence with sighs and the rustle of clothing strewn on the floor. 

They broke the silence very gently, lazily, and they were considerate and very thorough. They were caring and tender and, although neither quite knew what caring and tenderness were, they succeeded because they very much wanted to. And they were in no hurry whatsoever. The whole world had ceased to exist for a brief moment, but to them, it seemed like a whole eternity.

And then the world started to exist again; but it existed very differently.

“Geralt?”

“Mmm?”

“What now?”

“I don't know.”

“Nor do I. Because, you see, I…I don't know whether it was worth condemning yourself to me. I don't know how—Wait, what are you doing…? I wanted to tell you—”

“Yennefer…Yen.”

“Yen,” she repeated, giving in to him completely. “Nobody's ever called me that. Say it again.”

“Yen.”

“Geralt.”

The Show:

[Yennefer and Geralt portal into the room inside the manor, where they first met.]

Geralt: Yennefer? [He gets to his knees and shifts the hair of her face.] Yennefer. It’s me… Geralt.

Yennefer: [She opens slowly her eyes, shoves Geralt away and rises.] I know who you are. What did you do? You stopped me, didn’t you? I nearly had it.

Geralt: You had shit all. I saved your life.

Yennefer: And I saved yours! You let the djinn escape. Who knows what havoc it’ll wreak now that it has no vessel at all?

Geralt: No more havoc than you. Djinns are only dark creatures when held captive.

Yennefer: How can you be so sure?

Geralt: When did you last feel happy when you felt trapped? And if you were going to portal us to safety, you could’ve taken us out of this shit town!

Yennefer: A fine critique if you could make a portal yourself. And it wasn’t a shit town, it was a fine town till you came along. I had a plan!

Geralt: [chuckles] And that was going swimmingly!

Yennefer: It was. Like a drowning fish. [They kiss and begin to have sex.]

I tried to keep it short here, but the show combined multiple scenes from the book here. I do love the fact that they kept the shit-all line, it’s a favorite. Of course, many people have likely noticed the HUGE difference between the show and books. In the books, Yennefer knows what the wish is and she’s aware Geralt tied their destinies together. 

The show keeps Yennefer in the dark about the wish (likely as a way to manufacture tension on the mountain and have it be dramatic tm) and this just further places her as the not-dominant one in comparison to Geralt. I will also say I love how in the books, Geralt gets a flashback through Yennefer’s past and her trauma. It would have been interesting to see that in the show. 

This final scene suffers so much in the show by being so shortened. We don’t see Yennefer and Geralt have a long conversation about the consequences of the wish or what they might do next, they just exchange a few lines about the Djinn which makes the sex scene seem more sudden than in the books. 

Of course, I will give props to the actors for the sexual tension they are able to generate in just a few lines as they move closer to each other (granted this tension is ruined as soon as the music starts playing and Jaskier shows up, making the sex scene humorous instead of impactful). 

The last lines in the book passage where Yennefer asks Geralt to call her Yen just breaks my damn heart and I would do anything to have seen it in the show. The way the books showcase two very traumatized people finally finding each other is just so lovely and I don’t understand the directing decision to have the tone of the scene switch so quickly in the show from serious and impactful to light. It takes away a lot from the characters. 

In the end, the show has Yennefer in a less dominant position in the books and also has her act younger in a sense. This could be due to the actor’s age difference or Hollywood’s allergy to dominant women but despite this, the actors bring a lot of chemistry to the screen (especially in the first meeting/bath scenes). 

I would have liked the show to give Yennefer more agency in regards to the wish, especially considering that is her character arc in the show, but I did appreciate how many scenes paralleled each other and I believe at the end of the day, the show was able to preserve enough of Yenralt to make it a believable pairing in the show and I can see them improving the dynamic they have already established throughout the first season in season 2. 

#I mean it's sure as fuck better than the bastardization of Yenralt that is the games #shit she isn't even in the first game #and appears in the second one through flashbacks #and also the games imply that the wish changed Yennefer's feelings for Geralt which is NOT TRUE IN THE BOOKS AT ALL #and also just the fact that the games make Geralt the gruff batman type when he is nothing of the sort in the books #and the show plays into so many of these macho-man stereotypes too #and the way the games have Yennefer ENCOURAGE Geralt to take Ciri to Emhyr #just everything about the Empress Ciri ending #and the games not having the ending of Lady of the Lake just ignores and spits in theface of everything the books were trying to show #like the show has its problems but at least there's hope for redemption #the games just has Yennefer and Triss fighting over Geralt for no reason #and the fact that Ciri never calls Yennefer her mother in the games #argh the show better not fuck up Ciri and Yen's relationship #honestly Yennefer in the games never strays beyond her Last Wish characterization and we NEVER see the growth that is seen in the books #which is quite annoying because Yennefer in the Last Wish is still cruel in many ways #she needs to grow and learn #and she does that through raising Ciri #which the games IGNORE #they keep Yennefer as cruel and heartless in many ways #but the whole point of Yennefer is that raising Ciri allowed her to open her heart #of course if Yennefer was kind in the games they couldn't put her against Triss as much #haha if u can't tell I have some...problems with Yen's portrayal in the games... #the witcher #Yennefer #geralt #yenralt #the Witcher netflix #the Witcher books #myposts #meta

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze Pt. 14/25

Previous

____________

Jaskier ran down the corridors of Dol Blathanna. His guitar case was slung haphazardly over his shoulder and books were on the verge on tumbling out of his satchel. His blasted alarm hadn’t gone off this morning, although that was probably his own fault for getting so caught up in his book that he’d forgotten to set the alarm before falling asleep with the book still in his hands. Luckily for him he’d still woken up at a vaguely reasonable time and on any normal day he would have made it into school before his class had started to arrive.

Unfortunately it wasn’t an ordinary day.

An email had been sent out to all the faculty the night before from the school board, calling a meeting in the school hall before class started.

And he was already late.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He muttered as he ran. A book flew from his satchel as he turned the corner in the corridor. “Oh cock!”

He turned on his heels and ran to gather up his book only for two more to fall out of his bag along with several loose sheets of paper.

“Shit!” He grabbed another one of his books but his foot caught on one of the bits of paper.

It all happened in slow motion.

His legs were suddenly up in the air and he landed, quite painfully, on his arse. His guitar case dropped heavily on the floor next to him, strings twanging in the case and his heart sunk as he heard a sickening crack of wood.

“Bollocks!” He groaned and scrambled to open his case.

Sure enough the neck of the guitar had broken and the strings were the only thing keeping it together.

“No no no!” He stood up and kicked the case. “Fuck!”

That was all he needed. It was bad enough that the rest of his instruments were currently in storage whilst his landlord managed to sort out the repairs to the apartments. He was incredibly lucky that none of them had been damaged in the fire. Geralt’s team had gotten the fire under control quickly and the blaze hadn’t managed to spread much further than the third floor. A few of his neighbours from the fourth floor had lost some of their furniture and the flooring had been toasted but Jaskier had had a lucky, if not humiliating escape. Unfortunately he wasn’t allowed to stay in his flat whilst they made repairs. There were concerns that the ceiling below his flat sustained some damage, making his home unfit to live in.

He was currently staying with Triss in her little bungalow. He was lucky she had a guest room and allowed him to bring his guitar along with him but she’d put her foot down at his wider instrument collection, he had said goodbye to his precious lute with a heavy heart as he’d locked his storage unit.

He was less lucky that she hadn’t thought to wake him up this morning.

He scooped up the remains of his guitar and zipped up the case. He didn’t have time to mourn. This time he was smart enough to close his satchel properly too and he scurried towards the school hall. He pushed the heavy door open as quietly as he could and slipped inside. A woman stood at the front of the hall where Stregobor would normally stand.

How peculiar.

She glared fiercely at him and he muttered an apology and ran to find a seat.

“As I was saying.” The woman continued, still holding his gaze in a death stare. He swallowed nervously as he begun to wonder whether he’d been cursed today. Nothing had gone his way so far. “We have received several alarming reports regarding your headmaster. Therefore, the board has made the decision to temporarily suspend Mr Ban-Ard whilst we conduct an investigation into his behaviour.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but smile.

They’d done it.

The whole case had blown up just before half-term. Jaskier and several of the other faculty members had written some very strongly worded emails to the school board to highlight the nasty goings on in the school. He was aware that Yennefer Vengerberg had also been involved. Istredd had told them with a very smug smile on his face. Jaskier supposed he’d finally pulled his head out his arse and done something about that ridiculous crush of his.

Two weeks into the new term and they’d gotten rid of the pervert. He wanted to cheer.

“Furthermore.” The woman said sharply. “We were also made aware of other members of staff supporting Mr Ban-Ard’s views in his treatment of women. I’m sure you will have noticed that not all your colleagues are in the room.”

There was a rumble of noise as everyone looked around. Jaskier met Triss’s eyes and she seemed  relieved to see him. He scanned the room looking for his nemesis.

“Oh this is good.” He mumbled to himself, barely able to keep his excitement contained.

Valdo Marx was absent.

He grinned and linked his fingers in his lap. Maybe he wasn’t cursed after all.

“They have also been suspended until we can ensure that they are not able to use their influence as teachers to encourage this sort of behaviour in our students.” The woman continued with a rather sinister smile. It would have been sexy if it wasn’t so darn right terrifying. She reminded him in many ways of Yennefer.

“Of course, if nothing is proven against those who have been suspended then they will be allowed to continue teaching. In the meantime I’d like to introduce you to Mr Filavandrel Fidháil and Mr Mousesack Ermion. They will be filling in for Mr Marx and Mr Degerlund. I do trust that you will treat them both with the utmost respect. Finally, Ms de Vries will be acting as your new headmistress for the time being. If there are any problems she will be reporting to me directly.”

After a few more minutes the woman in charge let them go and the room burst into noise as everyone began to gossip about what had happened. Of course, by now everyone knew about the whole affair. When one teacher knew something then it was only a matter of time before the whole school knew. Jaskier found Triss first, wanting to catch up on what he’d missed.

“You’re awake then.” She teased as he approached.

He put his hands on his hips. “No thanks to you!”

“I thought you were just being slow.” She defended herself. “We both know you’re not a morning person, Jaskier.”

He waved his hands dismissively. “I’m a great person in the mornings!”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“It just has to be with the right person.” He smirked.

She rolled her eyes and hit him on the arm. “Gross.”

He laughed. “I know. I know!” He whined. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a while.”

“Still pining after your sexy fireman?”

“Not my fireman.” He grumbled. “and I am yearning! I am dying of thirst.”

“Can’t believe you were late!” Triss giggled. “I thought Philippa was going to kill you!”

He frowned as he tried to recall the name. He was certain that none of the staff were called Philippa. He’d even written a song to help him remember all of their names. “Who?”

“Philippa Eilhart, the person we’ve been listening to for the last fifteen minutes?”

“Ooohh.” He nodded. “I was just calling her. ‘The Woman’”

“Very ominous.”

“Maybe she’ll be the next star of my new song.” He pondered. “She certainly knew how to control a room.” He went to pull his guitar case round to his front but he froze as he felt the broken wood beneath the leather. “Bollocks!” He moaned. “I’ll never write again!”

Triss rolled her eyes as they reached her desk at the front of the school. “Are you sure you’re not one of your six year olds?”

“My guitar broke!” He pulled out the dead instrument and laid it forlornly on her desk. “I fell. Just look at it.” He cried. “And all my other instruments are still in storage! I can’t bring my lute into class everyday, it’s too fragile and far too expensive. I need my guitar!”

Triss patted him patronisingly on the shoulder. “Chin up, Buttercup. Maybe your fireman will by you a new one.”

He gaped and stumbled backwards at her remark. “Not. My. Fireman!” He pointed at her accusingly. “You are the actual worst, Triss Merigold. No wonder Yennefer loves you.”

She smirked. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“It’s not.”

“Now kindly get your precious instrument—”

“Dead instrument.”

“—off of my desk. I’ve got to work.” She finished with a pointed look.

He sighed and picked up his guitar. The kids would be here soon and he needed to get ready for the day.

________________________

Ciri was crying and once again Jaskier had decided that he’d been cursed.

The beginning of the day had gone smoothly after his guitar incident. They were picking up their numbers excellently and they’d even begun to write little short stories of their own. Jaskier was incredibly proud of his young authors. Once their stories were finished, the kids were going to split into groups and act out each one. It was all fun and games and the arts really help to improve their imaginations and confidence. They had been sad when he told them that they wouldn’t be singing along to his guitar today but Kayleigh had suggested that the could make their own instruments which Jaskier thought was a fabulous idea. After lunch they were going to be making tissue box guitars if he could raid the supply cupboard and collect all the tissues into one box. As long as the cleaners didn’t spot him then he would be fine.

Probably.

Although knowing how this day was going he would be caught and lose his job.

But that was neither here nor now. Right now he had one screaming child on his hands.

She had forgotten her lunchbox and it wasn’t a Friday so Geralt hadn’t given her money for a hot lunch.

“I’m going to starve!” She cried in between sobs.

He wondered, for a moment, whether his love for dramatics was rubbing off on his children in a bad way.

He knelt down in front of her so he was at her level. “Ciri, look at me, Buttercup.”

She sniffed but met his eyes. Her cheeks were tearstained and her eyes were red and puffy. He tilted his head and opened his hands in front of him so that she could take them, if she wanted, which she did.

“Do you trust me, Ciri?” He asked softly and she nodded. “Good. Now I promise you that I won’t let you go hungry.”

“But my lunchbox!” She sobbed.

“I know.” He nodded and squeezed her hands. “But we can fix it. Ok?”

She nodded and chewed at her lip.

“I can either call your father and get him to bring your lunch box.” She scrunched up her nose.

“No he’ll hate me!” She cried. “It’s all my fault and he’ll send me away!”

Jaskier took a deep breath to calm himself. Geralt would never abandon Ciri like that and it broke his heart that she would think that, but it was so easy to forget the circumstances that brought her to Geralt in the first place.

“Oh Ciri. It’s ok to be frightened but I promise you that Geralt would never do that.” He stumbled backwards as she threw her arms around him and cried more into his chest. “Come on, let’s get to Reception and we can call your father.”

“Nooo.” Ciri whined into his chest.

Jaskier was going to offer to pay for her lunch for the day as a second option, he knew Geralt would pay him back. Not that he wanted Geralt to pay him back, he still felt indebted to the man after the fire, but he couldn’t be seen to be favouring Ciri by paying for her lunch. It didn’t matter anyway. Ciri needed to see her father wouldn’t leave her so he wasn’t even going suggest the hot lunch option.

He pulled her gently to her feet and extracted himself from her arms and then turned to face the rest of the class.

He waved to get everyone’s attention before talking, signing as he went. “I’m just going to Reception, with Ciri. I’ll ask Mr Fidháil to take you to the dining room. You’ll be good for him won’t you?”

The class chorussed their agreement with the exception of Marilka who grinned cheekily and said ‘No’.

He tilted his head in her direction and gave her a warning look. “What was that, dear Buttercup?”

She giggled. “Yes, Mr Jaskier!”

“That’s what I thought.” He shook his head. She was certainly a handful. “Come along now Ciri.”

He crossed the hall to Filavandrel’s room and asked him to keep on eye on his class whilst he went to the reception with Ciri. It would have been much easier if he could have just called Geralt on his own phone but that would have raised questions and ones he wasn’t prepared to answer.

“Mr Pankratz? Ciri?” Triss asked, surprised by their appearance. By the looks of it she’d just been packing up to head to lunch herself when they’d arrived.

“Can you call Geralt?” He asked. “Ciri has forgotten her lunch.”

Triss nodded and pulled up Geralt’s number on her screen. She was about to pick up the receiver when Jaskier stopped her.

“I can talk to him. Please.” He pleaded.

She was too professional to call him out in front of one of his students, especially Ciri, but he could see the mischievous glint in her eyes. He’d have to pay for that one later once the kids were on break. She dialled the number and passed him the receiver. “Thanks.” He muttered and smiled down at Ciri reassuringly.”

The phone rang a few times before Vesemir picked up to announce the fire station. Triss must have used Geralt’s work number.

“Ah. Vesemir isn’t it?” He stammered, unprepared to speak to not Geralt.

“That’s correct. What can I help you with? If it’s an emergency you need to call the emergency line.” Vesemir sounded tired, that was a relatable feeling.

“Oh no. No. Umm. Hi. I’m Jaskier Pankratz.”

“Geralt’s Jaskier?”

He blushed. “Umm. Well. I wouldn’t say that exactly.”

“Bath tub Jaskier?” Vesemir chuckled and he realised the older fireman was teasing him.

“Ah yes. That would be me.” He agreed reluctantly. “Is Geralt there?”

“Why?” Vesemir asked sternly.

“Ciri forgot her lunch today. I was wondering whether he could drop it off. It really is quite important!” Vesemir hummed in response.

Well wasn’t that very Geralt like?

Perhaps they really were like family.

Unfortunately, Jaskier wasn’t fluent in Vesemir’s grunts like he was with Geralt. “So is that a yes?”

“He’ll be there shortly, unless we get a call.”

Jaskier grinned. “Of course. Thank you Vesemir!” He replied but it was too late. The other man had already hung up the phone.

Ciri tugged at his arm. “Is that Uncle Vesemir?” She asked.

“It was, Ciri, your father is on his way. Shall we go wait in the lunch hall so the others can start to eat?”

She nodded with a sad smile.

“Tell Geralt we’ll be in the lunch hall!” He called back to Triss as he walked back to his classroom with Ciri.

“Will do.” Triss replied, Jaskier could practically hear the her eyes rolling.

He gathered the rest of class and bundled them into the lunch hall. They were later than he would have liked and his own break time would be cut short because of it but it was a risk of teaching a younger class. He couldn’t just let them wonder around the school on their own. At least he wasn’t on break duty this week. He hated break duty. It wasn’t so bad in the summer term but in the spring it could still be cold and it meant that he didn’t get a real break until he got home. He was, however, on after school pick up duty which meant he’d have to stay late.

Sometimes he’d stay late to finish off some marking at his desk, he didn’t really enjoy bringing his work back home, it made it harder for him to switch off when he was ready to relax in the evenings, but that was a choice. He hated being forced to stay late.

He sighed as Ciri ran off to join her friends. He browsed the hot food options but nothing really tickled his fancy so he picked up a cheese and onion sandwich instead. Sadly, being the beginning of the week there wasn’t a good dessert option. Fridays were the best for that. They always had chocolate cake with chocolate custard on Fridays. He reluctantly picked up an orange instead of a bowl of goopy rice pudding.

He wasn’t a fan of the rice pudding.

He was half way through his sandwich when Geralt arrived. Ciri ran over to him and he picked her up and spun her around as if she weighed nothing more than a feather.

Then again, Geralt had also picked him up like he weighed nothing and he was a lot larger than Ciri.

He snapped himself out of that train of thought before he ended up daydreaming about all the different ways Geralt could throw him about, preferably up against a wall, and walked over to the pair.

“Mr Pankratz.” Geralt greeted him as Ciri tugged her lunchbox from his hands.

“Geralt. Hi.” He flashed the fireman a dashing smile as the ashen-haired girl ran away to eat her lunch. “I’m glad you came.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice her lunchbox.” Geralt replied sheepishly. “It won’t happen again.”

“Nonsense.” Jaskier waved it off, Geralt could forget to notice more often if it meant he would come in to visit. “But I am worried about something Ciri said.”

Geralt frowned and Jaskier launched into an explanation of her tantrum and her fears about Geralt sending her away. “I know we agreed that she didn’t need to see anyone at the start of the term, but this isn’t the first time she’s overreacted when she thinks someone might leave her.”

“She’s just a kid.” Geralt huffed.

Jaskier nodded. “I know, my dear, but Ciri’s lost a lot already. I think she may have some form of rejection sensitivity.” Something Jaskier knew far too well. “It would do her good to be able to work through that with someone.”

Geralt pressed his fingers to his forehead. “It’s because I work too much. I can’t spend enough time with her anymore.”

Jaskier resisted the urge to hug his friend. “No. Geralt. No.”

“It was fine during Summer. We had a better routine. I could take her to see Roach every weekend. Now we’re lucky if we get to both go once a month. I rarely get weekends off anymore and she can’t go during the week. Poor Coën sees more of her than I do.”

“It’s not your fault, Geralt.” Jaskier said softly, his teacher voice seeped in slightly but it was hard to turn that off at school. “You never expected to be a single parent.”

Geralt just grunted in response.

“Just promise me you’ll consider what I’ve said, my dear.” Jaskier implored.

Geralt hummed.

“A promise needs words, Geralt.” Jaskier rolled his eyes at the fireman.

“I’m not a child, Jaskier.” Geralt grumbled but sighed when Jaskier put his hands on his hips and gave him a pointed look. “Fine. I promise I’ll think about it.”

“Excellent!” Jaskier clapped his hands together. “Now off you pop. I’m sure those wolves of yours will be missing you White Wolf.”

“Who told you about that?” Geralt snarked.

“Not telling!” He grinned.

It had been Lambert. After they’d met in the coffee shop, Lambert had asked for Jaskier’s autograph when Geralt had been distracted on his phone. Jaskier had happily scribbled on the back of a napkin and the pair had exchanged numbers in case the band ever decided to play live then Lambert would be one of the first to know. They didn’t talk much but Lambert did enjoy sharing embarrassing stories of Geralt at work. Jaskier had even been invited to hang out with Lambert and his brother one evening. It had been a little awkward at first but Jaskier had always had a talent for making friends and he found that he enjoyed Lambert and Eskel’s company rather a lot. It had been nice to make some new friends outside of work and his band.

“Jaskier.” Geralt almost growled which made his brain dive straight into the gutter.

Honestly, the way Geralt said his name should be illegal.

He couldn’t resist a wink at the fireman. “Allow me to have my secrets, dear heart.”

Geralt froze at the nickname that slipped out.

Fuck.

He hadn’t meant to say that. He didn’t even know where it came from normally he just stuck with ‘my dear’ or ‘darling’ both could easily be excused as Jaskier just being flamboyant, but ‘dear heart’? He couldn’t exactly hide his feelings with that one.

Fuck!

Geralt just smirked, and to the gods was it sexy. “Fine.”

“Good!” Jaskier stammered.

“But.” Geralt leaned a little closer and Jaskier could almost feel the tickle of breath against his ear. His heart was thundering in his chest and he felt like he was going to pass out. “You still owe me that drink.” Geralt whispered so that no one else could hear.

Jaskier’s cheeks lit up and his buried his face in his hands. “Geralt!” He chided. “I am working. Go on. Shoo!”

Geralt laughed but strode out of the school hall. Jaskier’s fingers twitched by his side, desperately needing to pluck away at non-existent strings.

He nervously looked around the room to see if anyone had noticed the interaction but everyone seemed to be engrossed in their lunches.

Thank Freya for that.

He managed to finish up his lunch in record time and the kids were all eager to go outside and play. He decided to spend his break at his desk. He couldn’t face Triss right now. He just knew she was going to corner him about Geralt and he didn’t have the energy to deal with that right now.

Maybe he could go for a nap?

He glanced at the clock at the back of the classroom.

He still had twenty five minutes. He could absolutely have a nap and the school bell would wake him up before his class came back inside.

He sighed and rested his head on his arms. It wasn’t comfortable but he was done and it was only fucking lunchtime.

He moaned into his desk.

Maybe if they could just keep the flirting to a minimum until summer then everything would be alright. Once he was no longer Ciri’s teacher then he couldn’t really be accused of doing anything wrong.

At this point he was certain that Geralt liked him back. He’d never seen the fireman flirt so openly around anyone else, he’d expected something around Renfri but really their whole vibe was more like siblings than anything else. He spoke fondly of Yennefer but again there didn’t seem to be any lingering chemistry between them, although that could very well be wishful thinking on his part, but he was good with people and he knew when people were flirting with him.

Geralt was definitely flirting with him

No matter how many times they both insisted what they were doing was just things that friends do.

He thought back on how his friendship with Geralt had grown. Starting with the clandestine meetings after school/work to discuss Ciri’s progress and the extra emails back and forth during the week, then after Solstice and he’d given Geralt his number leading to them occasionally hanging out in coffee shops whilst Ciri was at her Ukulele lessons with Pris and the infrequent evening phone calls if one of them had something to say that couldn’t wait until school time.

He swallowed.

Then the fire.

It had shaken him up more than he would have expected when he couldn’t put any weight on his ankle. He had been beginning to think he was going to burn naked in the bath and he really hadn’t wanted to greet the gods like that.

But Geralt had appeared like his own guardian angel. He’d been hoping Geralt would turn up but it could have easily been any of the wolves. Geralt had saved his life though. He would never forget that, even if his crush turned out to be just a fleeting moment in his life and they ended up passing like ships on an ocean.

They’d talked more frequently after that. Jaskier had had trouble sleeping the first few nights and Geralt seemed more than happy to stay up late talking to him in the evenings. Jaskier had even fallen asleep a few times whilst Geralt was still on the phone but he hadn’t seen Geralt in person since the fire.

And he missed him.

Fuck, he missed him.

Jaskier bumped his head against his desk a few times in frustration and then a thought hit him like a train.

They were dating.

The stolen moments after school, the emails, the phone calls and coffee shop dates.

They were fucking dating.

And no one else thought to let them know!

“Shit, shit, shit!” He shot to his feet and began pacing around the room and then yelled in frustration. He needed his guitar, or his lute or something!

He tore through the drawers of his desk looking for a spare notebook. He must have one somewhere. “Come on, come on, come on!” He muttered but there nothing expect the work books of the kids.

His fingernails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists.

What was he going to do?

They’d just been lying to themselves this whole time.

He had to cut it off. No more reckless meetings. No more evening phone calls.

And absolutely no flirting!

He could do that. He was a professional and Geralt was a parent. He just had to treat Geralt like any other parent. He fell in and out of love all the time. This would be easy. If he had any concerns about Ciri he would ask Triss or Tissaia to relay them. There was no need for him to get involved personally, except for parents’ evening and his weekly emails. Geralt probably wouldn’t even noticed. Geralt hadn’t noticed they were dating so he wouldn’t notice if Jaskier pulled away.

The plan formulated in his head, his hands tugging on the bottom of his shirt as he steadfastly ignored the pain in his heart.

No more gossiping with Triss over Geralt’s quite frankly sinful body, which was a shame because their friendship had really grown since Geralt had come into their lives. He hoped their new found camaraderie would last. It was good to have a partner in crime at the school. It had made his break times a lot more entertaining.

No more hot and heavy dreams.

Ok, maybe he couldn’t control that one but he would scold himself for it in the morning!

And he had to get a grip on this! Two of his colleagues had already been suspended just for expressing misogynistic views. If either of them dared to mention his chats with Triss about Geralt as part of their defence then he was a goner and he loved his job, he loved his kids.

His heart felt like it was burning in his chest but it was too late.

He’d made his decision.

If Geralt forgave him for this maybe they could try again in the summer.

He scoffed.

Why would Geralt forgive him? He didn’t deserve that. He’d led him on all year and, if he was right, he was going to break his heart just to save his own career.

He was a fucking idiot. ___________________

Next

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #cirilla fiona elen riannon #minor angst #you set my heart ablaze #modern au #teacher!jaskier #fireman!geralt #teacher au #wolfie's witcher writing

[mordoriscalling]

Life (of) Surprise (4/6)

Jaskier lies to his family about being engaged to Geralt for the second time… and there are way too many surprises involved.

Part 4 of the Singer and the Sailor AU that no one asked for but I wrote anyway (again). The chapter count went up again because I just can’t stop writing this story lmao. 

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

IV - A Surprise Discovery

Geralt is certain that a stag do shouldn’t involve this much crying.

The evening started innocently enough. They have had a room rented at a fancy club and they’re drinking, talking and playing cards. Geralt would rather do this at home but Lambert and Eskel told him not to be so “tragically boring”, hence the current arrangement.

Geralt’s been spending the day with “the guys”: Eskel, Lambert, Aiden, Vesemir, as well as his soon-to-be brother-in-law Silvio and not-quite soon-to-be brother-in-law Nasir. Jaskier, on the other hand, is away partying with “the girls”: Rozalia, Amelia, Triss, Essi and Yennefer.

Geralt hasn’t heard from Jaskier in a few hours, so he assumes his soon-to-be husband (only two months left to the wedding, and isn’t that a thought) is enjoying himself. Geralt, for his part, is having fun too; the stag do isn’t a disaster at all.

Then, it gets better.

Because Eskel is crying.

They were talking about Essi, commenting on what a lovely person she is. Although she’s not exactly Geralt’s type (he’s into people who are more... feisty), he still agrees that she’s a great woman – loving, warm, intelligent and beautiful inside out. Vesemir commented that there had to be many people mourning the fact that she was taken.

Eskel, upon hearing this, started weeping.

“Should we tell him?” Aiden, sitting beside Geralt, murmurs to Lambert.

“Nah,” Lambert replies gleefully.

They watch as Eskel sheds tears, mumbling about how much he’s in love with Essi but he wouldn’t dare to ruin her current relationship because she deserves happiness and –

To be fair, they have drunk a lot at this point.

Silvio and Nasir are clearly holding back their laughter. Lambert doesn’t even bother and guffaws freely, to which Eskel pays no mind, so lost he is in his despair. Aiden hides his face in the crook of Lambert’s neck, his shoulders shaking.

Vesemir seems more tired and sick of their shit than usual, though sparks of amusement dance in his eyes.

“I wasn’t aware this relationship makes you cry,” he tells Eskel gruffly, playing along.

“It does!” Eskel whines, “I should be her boyfriend.”

Vesemir’s lips tremor but he manages to keep his cool as he asks, “And what’s her boyfriend’s name?”

Eskel opens his mouth to respond but he says nothing. His brow creases in thought – it’s visible how the wheels are turning in his head – and then the moment comes when something clicks in his brain.

“Wait,” he says, understanding slowly dawning in his face.

At this, everyone at the table collectively loses it. Geralt is laughing so hard he’s slapping his thigh. Silvio and Nasir are in convulsions. Lambert and Aiden are leaning against each other, wheezing. Vesemir has to wipe the tears out of his eyes.

Eskel is too happy at the discovery to even notice the amusement at his expense. “I am her boyfriend!” he exclaims with wonder. Letting out a joyful chuckle, he repeats, “I’m her boyfriend!” He reaches for the bottle of vodka on the table. “We should drink to this!”

At the same time, Vesemir answers, “No.” and Aiden replies, “Yes!”

Vesemir plucks the bottle from Eskel’s hands and says, “You’ve had enough for now, pup.”

Lambert starts arguing and Geralt rolls his eyes. He then proceeds to drag his older brother to the side and force a lot of water and some food into him. While he does this baby-sitting, the phone in his pocket rings. As Geralt pulls it out, he’s surprised to find Jaskier’s name displayed on the screen. Slightly worried, he picks up.

“Hey, my loveliest sailor,” Jaskier slurs, his voice unsteady and watery. “Can I –” A sniff. “Can I come?”

Geralt frowns, bemused. “Shouldn’t we spent this night apart?”

“Fuck that,” Jaskier grumbles, “I miss you.”

“You haven’t seen me in five hours.”

“So?” Jaskier asks. “I just... want to see you. Please?”

Jaskier sounds downright miserable. Geralt has nearly come to terms with the fact that he may never master the art of telling Jaskier no but he's not fully resigned to his fate yet.

“Okay,” he answers.

“Are sure, darling? I won’t come if you don’t want to, you know,” Jaskier babbles nervously, “I don’t want to make you do anything you–”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighs, “it’s fine, come here and bring the rest.”

Ever since their argument three months ago, Jaskier takes extreme care not to do anything without Geralt’s knowledge and consent. He keeps asking about every little idea, fretting and worrying whether he’s not overstepping. Most days, that’s the reassurance Geralt needs to keep believing in Jaskier's words. It does get tiring sometimes, though.

“All right.” Jaskier’s voice goes from resonating from the darkest depths of sadness to cheerful as the sun on a spring day in the span of those two words. “We’ll be there soon, my dearest.”

Geralt hums and hangs up.

After fifteen minutes more of trying to turn Eskel into a more or less functioning human being, Geralt witnesses the other stag do party members arrive. Jaskier opens the door to the room with a bang, his arms spread wide and a grin on his face.

“Geralt!” he exclaims and walks towards him with a prominent stagger in his step.

Before Geralt knows it, he has his arms full of drunk Jaskier. His fiancé peppers kisses all over his face and mumbles something nonsensical while Geralt holds him up, a smile tugging at his lips under all the loving attention.

In the corner of his eye, he can see the rest greeting each other, apart from Yennefer and Triss, who are watching him and Jaskier with a judgemental and an amused look respectively.

“Why are you here?” he asks Yen as Jaskier finally stops kissing him and embraces him instead.

“He was crying about how much he loves you,” she replies with an eye roll.

Triss snickers. “He was telling everyone about it, and I mean it. He wanted everyone in the club to know.”

Geralt stifles a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. Yennefer and Triss laugh. Jaskier raises his head and blinks up at him owlishly.

“Something wrong, my gorgeous sailor?” he asks.

Geralt really bemoans the fact that even a single look from Jaskier can affect him considerably.

“No, siren,” he sighs, “We should join the rest.”

They ask the staff to bring another table and more chairs, and soon, everyone is sitting comfortably, talking, playing and drinking. Everyone except Essi when it comes to the last part, at least; Geralt quickly notices that she doesn’t touch any alcohol. She claims that she simply doesn’t feel like drinking but Eskel, who sits beside her, starts fretting, concerned that she’s ill.

“I’m fine,” she assures him.

“You sure?” he asks, “You haven’t been feeling well recently. Maybe you should see a doctor?”

Geralt’s the only one watching the exchange, as everybody else is occupied with the ongoing conversation about the rules of Monopoly. He sees hesitation in Essi’s face. She bits her lip, seemingly considering something for a moment, but then looks up at Eskel and smiles. “I think I should,” she replies, “seeing that I’m pregnant.”

Geralt freezes in shock. Eskel’s brain visibly short-circuits.

“The fuck. But we –” he stammers out, “Why, I mean, how –”

“I don’t know,” Essi answers, her eyes wide and apprehensive, “I really have no idea.”

Eskel nods slowly, his expression still absolutely flabbergastered. “Fuck,” he says, with much feeling.

Essi looks at him closely, uncertainty colouring her lovely face. “I know this very unexpected and you never wanted a family but perhaps we can... talk about it? We don’t have to keep it but I –”

Eskel seems to finally snap out of his shocked state. “Essi, no,” he says quietly, taking her face in his hands, “I never let myself have a family, but now that the baby is here... Holy fuck,” he breathes out, one of his palms moving to touch her abdomen. “There’s a baby here?” he asks, his voice cracking. She nods with a watery smile, and he takes her into his arms. His whole frame is shaking now, and there’re tears in his eyes. “A baby,” he chokes out. His tear fall but his whole face is alight with joy.

Suddenly, Geralt’s throat is tight. He knows that Eskel never considered himself a father material because of all the issues he’s been battling since his childhood, just like Geralt and Lambert. Although he was quite a ladies man in his youth, he never allowed any relationship to get serious. Years passed like this, and Eskel’s now in his early forties, which is rather late to become a dad. Essi is six years younger than him, so it’s not early for parenthood for her either.

Yet, they both seem so happy now, and Geralt can’t get enough of seeing his brother like this, smiling and crying as he holds Essi and kisses her.

The rest of the table finally catches on that there’s something important happening. Then, the news is out, which brings their celebration to new heights. Jaskier is so happy and satisfied with himself that Geralt suspects his chest may soon burst from how much Jaskier puffs up with pride.  

“See?” Jaskier tells Lambert, “I’m a better matchmaker than you!”

“I made a marriage happen!” Lambert replies.

“I made a baby happen! Beat that!”

Lambert scoffs, the picture of unimpressed. “Maybe you and Geralt are gonna have kids too.”

“We’ve already got two,” Geralt answers without thinking.

Jaskier lets out a shocked gasp, staring at him in disbelief, and Geralt slowly understands what he said.

It’s not that it’s not untrue – they do have two children under their care. The thing is that neither Ciri nor Dara is very likely to call Jaskier their dad. Technically speaking, Jaskier will soon become Ciri’s step-father, but Ciri sees him more as Geralt’s partner. In Dara’s eyes, Jaskier is a supportive, parental figure, but it'd be foolish to think that the boy could ever consider himself Jaskier’s child. Geralt knows that Jaskier realises how silly that wish is but he still seems to hope for it, deep, deep down.

“Geralt–” he says, tears welling up in his eyes.

For a stag do – even two of them at once – it’s too much crying involved.

***

“Shoes off, Geralt, honestly,” Jaskier complains, “Are you doing this on purpose every time?”

Geralt only grunts. His head is spinning, too much to be pleasant, and he doesn’t trust his mouth to form a dignified enough answer. Jaskier’s very drunk too, so he doesn’t comment on Geralt’s response, or lack thereof.

The two of them slowly make their way towards the bedroom. Jaskier’s house is rather large, though, and they’re many objects and corners they stumble into. The rucksack they’re causing makes them snicker but their amusement is cut short when walk by the living room – Ciri and Dara are there, sitting on the couch in front of the TV and observing the two of them with delight.

“What are you two doing up?” Jaskier slurs out, “It’s...” he looks at his hand, where a watch should be, but there isn’t. “It’s late.”

“We found an interesting show on TV,” Ciri replies innocently. Geralt doesn’t believe it for a minute.

“Well, sleep is important!” Jaskier exclaims, gesturing dramatically with the hand he doesn’t use to hold on to Geralt. “Go to bed!”

“Yes, Jaskier,” Dara answers.

“Young people like you should get a lot of sleep.”

“We know, Jaskier,” Ciri sighs.

Jaskier would go on about the significance of sleep for teenagers if he was allowed, so Geralt starts dragging him away. Before they disappear behind the corner, though, he turns back to Ciri and Dara, shooting them what he hopes is a withering look.

“Show’s over,” he growls out.

Ciri and Dara have the decency to look chastised.

Arriving in the bedroom successfully takes them a few more minutes. When they finally do, they go straight to the bed, not bothering to undress. Then, they’re kissing, messy and eager, but their bodies have a problem rising up to the challenge because of the copious amount of alcohol flowing through their veins. Jaskier breaks the kiss quickly anyway, saying that he’s about to be sick, and rushes to the bathroom.  

After Geralt is left alone, he tries to process all the holy fucks of the day, primarily the reveal that Eskel is going to be a father and by extension, Geralt’s going to be an uncle. Then there’s the very fact that he marries Jaskier in two months. Geralt also has a memory of seeing Yennefer and Triss kissing during the party, and that is a lot to unpack as well.

The world is spinning as he lays in bed. He registers Jaskier returning and laying down beside him before he falls asleep.

It feels like no time passed at all when Geralt and Jaskier are waken up by noise. The loud thumping bores down into his skull, causing awful, throbbing pain. He sits up, groaning, and Jaskier does the same with a whimper.

Then, they hear Jaskier’s voice sing the first verses of Her Sweet Kiss and, suffice it to say, Geralt has had enough of that gods-damned fucking song and its techno remix especially.

“CIRILLA!” Geralt bellows.

“DARA!” Jaskier yells.

After a torturous minute, the music is turned off, but there’s no blessed silence. Instead, bright laughter reaches their ears. Geralt huffs, irritated, and checks the time on his phone. The fact that it’s one in the afternoon and that there’s a glass of water placed on his bedside table redeems Ciri and Dara slightly.

“Fucking hell,” Jaskier moans, messaging his temples, “I love my life.”

Strangely enough, there isn’t an ounce of sarcasm in Jaskier’s voice. Geralt turns to watch him closely, taking in his pale face, chapped lips and the grimace of pain twisting his features. “You do?” he asks.  

Jaskier looks at him, the blue of his eyes as beautiful as always. “I do,” he answers softly, “My life is so much better with you in it.”

Warmth explodes in his chest and Geralt moves closer, kissing Jaskier on the mouth, the cheek, the nose, hoping to convey what he finds himself unable to say. Jaskier responds to the affection with a happy hum, angling his face so get more kisses. Geralt indulges him gladly, pecking him on his forehead, his brows, under his eyes, down his neck.

“So much better indeed,” Jaskier purrs.

Geralt chuckles. “That is thanks to Lambert.”

“Oh shut up.”

Jaskier’s grumble is so grumpy that Geralt can’t help but laugh. Jaskier carries on grouching about being better than Lambert, and it keeps making Geralt laugh.

He couldn’t be more glad that he’s stayed.

#myfic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #modern au #The Sailor and the Singer AU

[snarky-starks]

Could you imagine how fucked Geralt would be if Yen and Jaskier became BFFs?

Geralt knows that at some point his lifestyle will catch up to them and lead to Jaskier’s demise (if some adultering woman’s husband doesn’t manage to get to the bard first). He’s not happy about it, Jaskier is the first person who chose him despite the fact that he’s a Witcher and Geralt doesn’t usually allow himself to linger on the topic of Jaskier’s human fragility.

This all changes one day when a hunt becomes too dangerous and Yennefer shoves Jaskier and Ciri through a portal. She yells out to him where he can find them when it’s all over before the portal closes behind her.

The fight eventually ends. Geralt is battered, bruised and bloody. He’s got a cut on his arm and his armour needs tending to but the creatures are on the ground, heads separated from bodies. Geralt wipes his sword on his already disgusting pants before trudging off through the forest to find a river to jump into.

The water is frigid and Geralt can almost imagine Jaskier’s shrieks and Ciri rolling her eyes. He quickly rinses off the blood and guts, stripping down to let his clothes dry on a tree branch in the sun. While the clothes dry Geralt calculates in his head how long the trip will take. Half a day back to the inn where they left Roach and at least a dozen to get to Yennefer’s current base of operations.

Geralt grimaces at the thought. Not of the travel but at the thought of what he might find when he gets there. Yen and Jaskier don’t exactly... get on. At all. They don’t hate each other, not the way they did in the earlier days but Geralt wouldn’t lock the pair up in close quarters unless there was a third person in the room Geralt truly wanted to suffer.

Eventually his clothes dry and he can re-dress without his armour feeling uncomfortable. He takes off at a steady pace and ends up taking less time than he had originally calculated to get back to the inn. He wants to leave immediately but he knows there are things he needs to do first, things like getting paid for the contract fulfilled and getting his armour sorted.

The lord looks disappointed at having to hand over the coins but folds easily when pressed. Geralt buys food for himself, feed for Roach and things he needs to deal with his armour. He’s learned enough through his decades of travel that he can fix his armour enough to be serviceable. Geralt will have to get someone to actually look at it eventually but baring any major issues it should keep him protected until he can get to the others.

Geralt pushes Roach. Not to her breaking point, never to her breaking point, but more than he has done in years. It reminds him of the djinn and Jaskier slumped and dying against his back. He doesn’t have a whole lot of faith in finding Jaskier whole and uninjured (Yen wouldn’t harm him, per se, but Geralt knows that Jaskier is more than capable of pushing people to the point that they just decide to not warn him of any upcoming self-inflected injuries) but he thinks that with Ciri there to act as a buffer he might not actually arrive to a situation where Geralt has to take sides.

He really hates it when he has to take sides.

Yennefer didn’t talk to him for a year the last time she and Jaskier had a blow up.

Roach proves herself once more to be Geralt’s favourite travelling companion when they arrive to their destination in ten days. He leaves her at the inn with a threat to the innkeeper who doesn’t look too happy about his sudden appearance. The man’s wife is obviously the brains between them because she takes his coin happily with a roll of her eyes at her husband and a promise to take care of Roach. Geralt hears the man grumble about the woman being soft about horses and grins to himself when he hears her response: a snap of damp cloth on skin that has the man cursing.

It isn’t hard to find Yennefer’s home. He walks up to the nicest house in the town, a three story building with dandelions growing in planter boxes beneath windows. The door swings open before he can knock and Geralt is taken aback by the sound of laughter.

He finds Jaskier and Ciri draped across each other on the couch, Jaskier’s feet propped up on a short table cluttered with candles, books and what looks suspiciously like the knife he gave to Ciri for her last birthday. Yennefer is sitting across from them, wine in hand, and Geralt isn’t sure he’s ever seen her look less put together. She’s wearing a loose, flowing gown and the only piece of jewellery he can see on her is a small discreet necklace around her neck.

She looks comfortable with her feet tucked underneath her as she continues to tell a story to Jaskier and Ciri, ignoring Geralt’s arrival completely.

“Did you put a spell on him?” Geralt asks, interrupting her tale about her early days in Aedirn. He can’t think of another reason why Jaskier would be so enraptured by anything Yennefer has to say.

“You really think I would have done this if I’d thought I could get away with putting a spell on him?” She asks.

No. Geralt’s sure she would have banished Jaskier back in the beginning if she had thought Geralt would allow her to do such a thing. “Well I know he’s not drunk.”

“Yen and I are friends, Geralt!” Jaskier declares with a wave of his hand. “Not in the way you and I are friends, of course, but in your absence we have found common ground.”

Yennefer snorts. “I would much rather not be that kind of friend, Jaskier.”

Jaskier laughs and Geralt ignores them both and turns his attention to Ciri. “What happened?”

Ciri shrugs. “The portal closed, Yennefer showed us around and they got drunk?”

Geralt raises an eyebrow. “A two week long drinking binge? That’s impressive even for you, Jaskier.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes. “Only for the first three days. Believe it or not, Geralt, we are adults. Would you like some ale? Jaskier can help you set up a bath.”

“It’s wonderful, Geralt, the water stays hot and the beds here are so soft you can sink into them and sleep for hours,” Jaskier gushes. “Yennefer showed me the magic behind it.”

“The rooms are large too,” Yennefer smirks. “Plenty of room for you and Jaskier to share.”

Geralt knows what she’s implying, that the room isn’t the only thing that is large. He wonders if Ciri understands what she’s saying but his ward doesn’t seem to be interested or phased by the current conversation. “No.”

Jaskier frowns. “What? Geralt?”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it,” Yennefer says as she walks up to him and pats him on the cheek. “You just have to accept it. Forever is a long time.”

Geralt’s brain stops. “Forever?”

Yennefer drinks her wine. “I’ve decided that it’s hardly fair for the both of us to live forever while Jaskier ages. Once I’ve procured everything we need he’ll be like us.”

“Like us?”

“Immortal.”

#Yennefer and Jaskier becoming BFFs #poor geralt #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #ciri #cirilla of cintra #geralt of rivia #geraskier #witcher #the witcher

[justablobfish]

Snowball fight

Day 5 of my Advent Calender. A new drabble or oneshot everyday until Christmas, following the Continent’s favourite found family and what they’re up to in the winter season. Based on this prompt list

Read on AO3

Day 1, 2, 3, 4

______

It's quiet at the little cottage Yennefer precured for them. Which means Geralt and Ciri are doing what they're always doing when there's some time to spare. They're out back for sword fighting lessons. 

Jaskier closes his cloak tighter around his shoulders and shivers as he watches them. It's gotten pretty cold over the last couple of days to the point that a thick layer of snow is covering the ground. 

Maybe he should have followed Yennefer's example and stayed inside. Though, while Yennefer busies herself with cataloguing all the souls she has stolen from innocent people or whatever, Jaskier would probably just be bored with nothing to do. The clashing of swords and Ciri's cursing when Geralt gets another hit in at least provide ample entertainment. While the swordsmanship still needs practice, Ciri's collection of swear words has become quite colorful ever since the four of them started traveling together. 

Personally, Jaskier thinks it's a sign the girl could use a bit of a break. Whenever she's not training with Geralt, Yennefer has her practice spells without end. Which is, of course, essential if the most hunted teenager in the world wants to stand any kind of chance at survival. However, Geralt and Yennefer seem to forget sometimes that she is indeed only a teenager. 

Maybe there's something Jaskier can do about that whole dilemma, though. 

Geralt and Ciri are sufficiently distracted and pay him no mind as he sets out to prepare his nefarious plan. 

He waits for just the right moment, when Ciri places her foot wrong and gives Geralt an opening to strike. 

Smack

The snowball Jaskier gathered hits Geralt in the middle of his left pectoral. 

Ciri uses the split second of confusion to gather herself and place a strike of her own. 

"Yes! Score!" Jaskier screams excitedly. "Score for the princess! Well done Ciri!" 

"Stop meddling, Jaskier!" Geralt grumbles as he turns to Jaskier and takes a threatening step forward. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Jaskier lies through his teeth and dons his most innocent expression. "Ciri won that round fair and square. Are you telling me you're a sore loser?" 

Geralt lets out a deep growl in response, but he does turn back to Ciri. 

"Again!" he huffs and gets back into fighting position. 

Well, that's an order Jaskier is more than happy to follow. 

Once again he waits until it becomes clear that Ciri is losing ground in their fight. Just as Geralt is about to take advantage of an opening in her defense, a pile of snow hits him in the face. A moment later, his sword goes flying and Ciri points her own blade at his throat triumphantly. 

"Jaskier!" Geralt presses out as he wipes the projectile out of his eyes. 

"Yes, darling?" Jaskier grins back as he leans onto the railing of the wooden porch he's standing on. "Is there something you need?" 

Geralt starts trudging in his direction and Jaskier knows he's reached the end of his short life. He has no regrets, though. The look of barely contained glee on Ciri's face is well worth it. 

"Again!" Ciri demands with all the royal authority she can muster. "Or are you giving up already?" she adds with a wide smirk and a wink at Jaskier. 

"Stop meddling!" Geralt orders in Jaskier’s direction before he turns around to pick up his discarded sword and get back into battle position. 

Jaskier let's out the breath he's been holding. Once again he escaped the whims of fate by a hair's width. 

Of course that doesn't mean he has any intention to stop. 

Unfortunately, Geralt can't be fooled for long. This time, he manages to dodge Jaskier’s snowy assault and even disarms Ciri in one swift motion. 

"That's enough!" he snarls as he makes his way toward Jaskier again. 

Oh well. He's had a fulfilling life. There's worse ways to go. 

Smack 

For a moment, Jaskier is confused why Geralt stopped in his tracks again. Then the Witcher turns around and Jaskier can see clumps of white clinging to the dark leather on his shoulder, as well as the guilty look on Ciri's face. Jaskier’s heart warms at the realization that once again, she came to his rescue. 

The whole backyard seems to hold its breath in anticipation of what Geralt's going to do now. What kind of punishment he will distribute for the audacity of interrupting training like that. 

"Fine. Have it your way!" Geralt huffs. 

Before Jaskier can even attempt to beg for mercy, a flurry of snowballs comes flying his way. He shrieks and runs for cover, though most of them hit their mark. 

He darts towards a nearby tree and presses his back to the trunk on the side facing away from the relentless Witcher. A moment later, Ciri bumps into his chest and clings to the flaps of his cloak as if holding on for dear life. The way she's dripping wet from head to toe tells Jaskier that she wasn't faring much better than him at avoiding Geralt's revenge. 

Nonetheless there's a bright smile on her face and she's giggling uncontrollably. 

"Come on," she beams. "Together we can take him down! You attack from the front and I'll circle around to the house so we can flank him." 

"That means I get to draw all the fire while you sneak in position," Jaskier points out with mock outrage. "Alright, fine, I'm in," he adds after a moment and dodges out of the safety of the tree. 

Immediately he's hit in the chest. The next projectile hits his arms which he raises protectively. 

"You're dead, Jaskier," Geralt growls before he launches another one. 

"I'm well aware!" Jaskier shouts back as he tries and fails to get a hit in himself. But he can see Ciri making her way towards the advantage position of the raised porch. 

Fuck, Geralt notices her, too, with a glance over his shoulder. The look on his face is full of pride over Ciri's tactical prowess. Then he spins around and scoops up a handful of snow to hurl at Ciri. 

He misses. 

There's no room for cheers or smugness, though. Because as fate would have it, in that exact moment Yennefer steps out onto the porch. 

For a moment everyone just stares at the clumps of snow sticking to her sternum. 

"What. Exactly. Is going on here?" she asks, excruciatingly drawing out each word. Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it's colder and more piercing than any icy winter wind. 

"Uh oh," Geralt mumbles. 

"It was nice knowing you," Jaskier whispers and takes a large step away from Geralt. 

"Aren't you supposed to be playing around with your silly little swords?" Yennefer demands, head held high in indignation. 

"We uh," Ciri stutters as she stumbles backwards until her back hits Geralt's chest. "We were having a snowball fight." 

"I see," Yennefer returns harshly. "So that's the kind of nonsense you teach the future queen of Cintra?" 

Jaskier gulps. Geralt opens his mouth, then closes it again without saying something. Ciri stares at the ground, face bright red. 

"Well, Ciri," Yennefer continues, though her voice sounds weirdly different now. Jaskier chances a glance at her and catches a wide grin creeping into her features. "As usual, these boys are utterly useless. Allow me to demonstrate some actually useful skills." 

With that, Yennefer raises her hands and the whole world turns white. 

Heavy winds push against Jaskier as snow flies around him in angry swirls. Geralt, who only stood a few feet beside him, has completely vanished from view. There is only the snow storm around him. 

He tries to resist, but soon enough he's pushed off his balance and shoved this way and that until he's no longer certain where left and right are. 

As quickly as it started, the storm subsides again, leaving the skies clear and bright blue. 

Jaskier finds himself sitting at the base of the very same tree he took cover behind earlier. Aside from being drenched from head to toe, though, everything seems to be fine. All his limbs are still attached where they belong. 

He lets out a deep, relieved sigh. 

That's his mistake. The sound seems to be enough to cause the leaves above him to shed their newly acquired coating. An avalanche of snow falls down and buries Jaskier under a large heap of white. 

Cursing and spluttering, he fights himself free, leaving behind a Jaskier-shaped hole. 

He wipes the snow out of his eyes and looks around. Ciri is cowering a few feet away, spitting out mouthfuls of snow. 

And Geralt? Well… 

The only thing visible of the mighty Witcher is a pair of leather-clad legs, sticking up straight towards the sky from a pile of snow. The left leg twitches slightly, but there is no purchase to be gained in order for Geralt to free himself. 

Jaskier hurries over and grabs each leg with one of his hands. He gives them a vigorous tug and manages to produce the rest of the Witcher out of the snow heap. 

"I would have managed," Geralt complains once he's gotten his legs under him again. 

Jaskier ignores him and glances up at the porch, where Yennefer leans against the side of the door and grins smugly at their misery. 

"And that's how you win a snowball fight," she muses. "Now come inside, you lot, I've put up some tea." 

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #Yennefer of Vengerberg #ciri #found family #theblobfishwrites

[lemondropsssss]

chapter five! part one part two part three part four. the full story is on ao3 here 

.

After the anger burns off. After the stink of shame surrounds him. After he realizes that there will truly be no coming back from this; that neither Yennefer or Jaskier will ever forgive him. After he says quite possibly the cruelest and stupidest things he could have thought to say. When he is at what he believes is his lowest point. That’s when he finds what remains of Jaskier’s lute. And finds that he can be dragged so much lower. The pride of Kaer Morhen, the great White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, is brought to his fucking knees by the shattered remnants of an Elven lute.

Jaskier loves this lute. He is protective to the extreme. He almost started a brawl once because some loud mouthed drunk spilled half his ale over the instrument and then when he claimed it wasn’t even Elven Jaskier had decked him and Geralt had to bodily drag him out of that particular tavern before the man's friends rallied.

The once-fond memory drags over Geralt like sharp rock, and he drops to his knees by the pieces. If the lute went off the side of the mountain, what happened to the man? Jaskier wouldn’t willingly let someone toss it. Was he hurt? Bleeding out somewhere and he’ll never know? He looks around the area but sees no bright flash of red leather to indicate a bard fell here.

Geralt snatches the biggest shard of lute and scents it, but all he gets from it is sweat, linseed oil, and salt. Wait. He sniffs another piece. Tears, and then the acrid scent of despair. Everything slides into place and Geralt very much wishes he could go back to thinking Jaskier was dead somewhere because even that was better than knowing this; that he had hurt Jaskier to the point of such pain and rage as to destroy a lute the man had once called the symbol of our lasting friendship Geralt- don’t make that face, I know we’re friends now, you said so last week when you thought I was delirious from the flu. That he can hear Jaskier’s voice so clearly in his head is a twin comfort and pain that burrows deep into his chest. Jaskier won’t forgive this one, won’t let Geralt come back after the shit he’s just pulled and Geralt doesn’t blame him. He must resign himself to this, to his memories of the bard instead of the warm breathing man by his side.

He allows himself a scant minute to sit in that; in his shame, and regret, and anger before taking a deep breath and righting himself. He shoves down those feelings until they’re just a gray wash of the blaze they had been. Feeling nominally more himself he goes to leave, tucking a small piece of the fine lacquered wood into his pocket before he can think better of the action.

The light is just beginning to fade when he finally makes it back down to the camp where Roach is waiting for him. She is displeased at having been left for so long, and shows it by ramming him hard in the chest. Twice. He lets her.

A month later sees Geralt in some shitty backwater tavern when he finds Jaskier’s knife. He’s searching through his packs trying to find some damned potion ingredient when his hand falls on the familiar sheath. It’s not the first item of Jaskier’s he’s found in his bags. First there was the half filled notebook with the soft vellum pages that Geralt had absolutely not run gentle fingers over. Then the heavy winter cloak Jaskier had always insisted go in Geralt’s pack since there is precious little space on my back, Geralt, and precious more on Roach’s, it’s not even as if you have to carry it yourself you oversized child and Geralt had certainly not spent the evening breathing in the ever slowly fading smell of Jaskier.

They had spent time apart, gone years without seeing one another, but Geralt knows this time is different. And every possession he finds in his bags is another small, tiny, incremental piece of Jaskier he is allowed to have. But the knife, oh that knife. Geralt remembers Jaskier’s twenty-fifth birthday well. They had gotten spectacularly drunk at a tavern in Novigrad and when Jaskier looked at him with his bright eyes and wide smile it had taken all Geralt’s strength not to drag the bard into his lap and kiss him senseless in front of everyone. When they finally stumbled back to their room Geralt had pressed the knife into Jaskier’s hand with a promise to teach him to use it. Jaskier made a joke about sheathing things and Geralt had shoved him towards his bed with a muttered curse and a firm order to get some sleep.

The memory of how Jaskier had looked that night drops him farther down the pit of shame and regret in him that seems to grow ever more each passing day. Jaskier always seemed so much younger when he was asleep, which was what always stopped Geralt before he could start anything; the reminder of how young his companion really was. Splayed out on his stomach, miles of soft skin on display. He had discarded  his shirt and doublet with great difficulty; drunk Jaskier cannot work a button to save his life, much to Geralt’s eternal amusement. He glowed in the warm light from the hearth and Geralt had to physically stop himself from kissing him for the second time that night. Jaskier’s mouth dropped open, he let out soft beginnings of a snore, and his hand curled tighter around the knife clutched to his chest. The knife that Geralt gave him to keep him safe. The knife that was a promise of the only kind Geralt could give. The knife that said I will protect you to my dying breath and both of them knew it.

And now the knife was here. In his hand. In a shitty backwater tavern in the middle of nowhere and not safely tucked into his bard’s boot. It had only been in his bag that day because the pommel had come loose and Jaskier had decided Geralt’s packs were somehow safer than his own until they could get to a metalsmith. Holding the blade now, it occurs to him that this really does mean the end of their friendship. The other items he was able to pass off- Jaskier was in a rush, of course he wouldn’t remember the extra inkpot tucked into Geralt’s potions bag. But the knife. Leaving it could only mean one thing; Jaskier was done. Their friendship was over, he would get no second chance. That moment on the mountain, that was his last moment with Jaskier, and he would have to reconcile himself with that someday. Not this day, though.

Geralt is alone after that, and he pretends he likes it that way. He avoids cities and large towns when he can. If a bard starts singing he leaves the room- especially if it’s that damned song. When he hears of Nilfguaard’s threat he makes his way towards Cintra, hoping to take the child to safety. It does not go as planned. Meeting his Child Surprise in a forest and then immediately being asked about his ex was not part of any plan. But the only thing to do is move forward, so he does.

They stay at the farm for another night before they head off with a small bag of provisions from the farmer’s wife. Geralt worries about Cirilla’s ability to keep up, but she’s surprisingly agile for a princess, and they make good time. He’s taking them towards Kaer Morhen because he has no idea where else he could take Cirilla where she would be safe, but also because he has no idea how to raise a child and Vesemir has at the very least some amount of experience in that area.

She’s quiet at first, but he can see her starting to relax around him. She starts asking questions on day two, and he makes an effort to be more verbal for her. Talking isn’t his skillset, and he can practically hear Jaskier in his head saying Use your words, dear Witcher, we don’t all communicate solely in grunts and well timed curses . As she warms up to him she begins to talk more, and like another young human he knew, once she starts she doesn’t stop. She asks about him, and Yennefer, and did he know her parents, and when did he meet Mousesack, and did he really meet a Selkie like in the song? Geralt makes an effort to add details to the stories for her and when he does he can hear Jaskier in his ear, Adjectives, my good fellow, describing words! It’s what makes a story come alive. She isn’t always satisfied, and it isn’t long before a story of his comes under some criticism.

“So, if I’m following, Jaskier was a loyal friend for over twenty years and then you shouted terrible things at him because... Yennefer dumped you when she learned you bound your destinies together without her consent? And now neither of them are going to speak to you again?” They’re camping somewhere in Temeria when Ciri finally bullies the whole story out of Geralt. She’s across the fire from him with her chin resting on her tucked up knees, and he can see her nose crinkling like it does when she thinks he’s being stupid, which is often.

“Yes, essentially.” His voice sounds rough even to his ears, and he clears his throat before starting again. “But also no. It was more complicated than that. It wasn’t as simple as Yennefer dumping me, we weren’t really- She was- she is... more to me. Than just that.” He finishes lamely, coming to the sudden realization that he truly does not know what Yennefer is to him. Assuming he ever convinces her to speak to him again, which doesn’t seem particularly likely this decade. Important, yes. A friend, he’d hope, even if he knows the less-than-slim chances of that. Not an antagonist, surely; Yenn would never give him the satisfaction of her attention, even if it was to turn him into a toad or something equally unseemly.

“You love them both."

It is not a question, and for a long moment Geralt considers ignoring it and telling Ciri to get some sleep. What kind of answer is he supposed to give her? Green eyes meet gold across the fire and Geralt is held fast by her stare. He finds himself wanting to be open with her; wanting to be different for this wide-smiling, bright, curious young woman who isn’t afraid of him. So he considers carefully before answering her.

“Yes. In a,” He pauses, letting out a puff of a harsh air between his front teeth before continuing, “In different ways, I loved them then. And in different ways I love them now.”

“That sounds complicated, Geralt.” She pauses before shaking her head to steel herself and pushing on. “Yennefer was in my dreams again. I think the dreams are telling us to find her. They told me to find you, and now they’re telling me we have to find her.” Her voice has an edge of command running through it, and it’s a tone he knows she must have learned at her grandmother’s knee. “And I think you need to apologize to her. And Jaskier. Especially Jaskier. He was your best friend, and best friends don’t hate you forever just because you yelled at them, that isn’t how it being best friends works.”

Geralt blinks, and it strikes him then that while she’d called Jaskier his best friend, he’d never actually said it himself. He’d said he was a bard, a traveling companion, but not a friend. He meets her gaze and finds she’s been watching him with her chin raised, ready to fight back if needs must. She looks the princess she is, for all her dirty clothes, tangled hair, and battered cloak. They do need to find Yennefer, she’s right, but Geralt isn’t so amenable to the second idea.

“We’ll start our search tomorrow, then. Time to rest, Cirilla.” She groans a complaint, but tucks herself into her bedroll laid beside his own with little fuss. He stays awake awhile longer to watch her sleep, and the persistent warm feeling in his chest only grows.

Finding Yennefer, as it turns out, is much easier than Geralt anticipated. They’re in a larger town than Geralt would like, but needs must. Ciri’s cloak is more hole than fabric at this point, and her boots were made for palace life, not tramping around in the muck and the wilds. They’re low on coin, as Geralt’s been hesitant to take contracts when it could draw unwanted attention. Luckily Jaskier never described Eskel or Lambert in song, and it’s fairly easy to convince anyone who recognizes him that all Witchers have white hair and he isn’t the one from the song. He finds them a quiet corner of a quiet pub, tucking Ciri between him and the back wall and mostly hiding her from view. They’re almost done with their supper of stew and brown bread when the door blows open and with it the comforting, or possibly heart wrenching, smell of lilac and gooseberries.

Geralt’s gaze snaps up, and meets her familiar violet eyes above the crowd. He sees her see him, sees the immediate frown his presence produces. He leans back, and watches that frown turn to a genuine look of surprise at the presence of Cirilla. Cirilla, who noticed Geralt grow still, who follows his gaze to the beautiful woman sliding into the seat opposite them.

“You’re Yennefer,” She says before Geralt can even open his mouth, and maybe that’s a good thing. “You’re in my dreams. We’ve been looking for you, so Geralt can apologize.” He takes that back, letting Ciri speak was a terrible decision.

“Apologize? Well, that hardly sounds like our White Wolf.” She meets his eye, and the corner of Yennefer’s mouth ticks up in a sharp smile. Her attention shifts back to Ciri, and her expression softens almost immediately. “What do your dreams tell you, little lion cub?”

“That we had to find you. That us being together was important. All of us.” At that she looks up at Geralt with a frown. “Including Jaskier. That all four of us were tied somehow, and for what has to happen next, we need to be together.”

Yennefer is quiet for a long time. She watches Ciri with a calculating gaze that the teenager returns solemnly. “What has to happen next?” She asks eventually, leaning back in her chair.

“I don’t know. They aren’t- it’s not a conversation, I can’t ask questions. It’s like,” She pauses, and Geralt can see her biting at her inner lip while she thinks, “It’s like feelings, and some of them I know what they are, and some I don’t. Like the feeling to find Geralt, or you and Jaskier. I just know that’s what we need to do. But I don’t know what we’re supposed to do now that we’ve found you, and I don’t know what happens next.”

Violet eyes meet green across the table and Geralt watches something pass between them, but he isn’t quite sure what. Finally Yennefer nods, and the air around them relaxes. The rest of the night passes quickly, and it’s too soon that Ciri begins to slump against his shoulder, eyelids drooping. He shakes her awake softly and sends her up the stairs to their room.  

Yennefer watches him carefully from across the table even as he orders them both something strong to drink. She says nothing as a bottle and cups are brought, pouring herself a drink and downing all of it in one go.

“You’re not forgiven, Geralt.” Her voice is worn, and suddenly can Geralt see just how exhausted she really is. “And I have no interest in restarting any kind of relationship with you.”

“I know. And I’m not asking to be, Yen. I don’t-” He breaks off with a huff, trying to say the right words and feeling like an utter failure. “ Fuck , I’m not good at this.” He takes a deep breath before trying again. “I didn’t want you to be hurt, and in trying to help I just made it all worse. I didn’t intend to bind you, or trap you, or trick you, though I understand that what I intended and what happened are different. I’m sorry, Yennefer. I want you in my life, even if we’re not together, you... you are important to me, and I value your friendship.” The words feel foreign even to his ear, and he feels strangely exposed for all they’re tucked into the back corner of an inn with a majority of patrons either asleep upstairs or under the bar.

Yennefer is watching him with a calculating gaze, and he finds himself dropping his head under the heat of it. “That girl is good for you. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that many words in one go. Or one week.” She lets out a huff of sad laughter, shaking her head and taking a drink. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you, or that we’re friends again. That girl has power, Geralt, real power. I can practically smell the chaos coming off her, and if I can so can someone else. You need to get her somewhere safe, and fast.”

“Hm. We’re heading North, into Kaedwen.” No one’s around to hear, but he still doesn’t like saying their destination aloud. “You’re welcome to travel with us.  

She’s shaking her head. “I have business to finish before I can disappear in the mountains all winter. You should travel first to Oxenfurt, then East to Kaedewen. If you take the Dezernov road you’ll-”

“Wait, stop, why would I go to Oxenfurt?”

“Because that’s where Jaskier is.” Yennefer says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Your Child Surprise is right, Geralt, it’s important we’re together. All of us , your ridiculously enamoured companion included. Why isn’t he with you, anyway? I thought you two were tied at the waist.”

“I haven’t seen him since the dragon hunt” Geralt finally manages, barely above a growl. “And we’re not going looking for him. He’s better off far away from this mess.”

“What happened between you two, lovers quarrel?” She’s teasing, but it stings, and he pours them both another cup before downing his in one go.

“Fuck off, Yenn.”

“Tell me what happened, Geralt.” Her tone brokers no argument and he desperately wants to avoid starting one, so he tells her what happened on the mountain and the terrible things he said. When he’s finished she does not look happy, and it’s a long time before she says anything.

“You’re going to find him.” She holds up a hand before he can protest. “He’s in her dreams, which means he’s important somehow. And since you’ve obviously forgotten this, let me remind you that Nilfguaard is looking for anyone with information about the two of you and that absolutely includes the man known as ‘the White Wolf’s bard’. They will hurt him for information, and he will give it.” He starts to defend Jaskier before she interrupts. “I don’t care how loyal a friend he is, I’ve seen how far they’re willing to go to get to her. It will not end well for our flamboyant friend.”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to him, and thinking of it now makes him physically ill. Of course Jaskier would be a target, the whole damn continent knows of their connection. Even now Geralt is still dragging him into danger.

“I can’t Yenn. He won’t come, you know he won’t. He’s better away from me.”

“Are you fucking stupid? They will break him, Geralt. Into a million pieces, and if you ever get him back he will be a shell of what he was. Like it or not, he isn’t safe by himself.” He can hear the edge in her voice, the exhaustion and resignation and fear , and not for the first time that night Geralt wonders just what had happened since he last saw her. “And you’re selling him short if you don’t think he’ll forgive you.”

“I told you what I said, Yenn, he won’t-”

“He’s known you for over two decades, I guarantee you’ve had stupider and crueler arguments. The only difference this time is that you need to be the one who apologizes first.” She’s right, because Yennefer is almost always right, but he says nothing. They finish their drink in silence, but it’s not a tense quiet. When they’re done they make their way up to the room Ciri’s sleeping soundly in. Geralt gives Yennefer the second bed, laying out his pallet on the floor between the beds and the door. He watches as she falls asleep, and something deep inside him settles for the first time in over a year. In the morning they make plans to meet again in Yspaden in a few months' time, and then make the perilous trek to Kaer Morhen together. Yennefer gives Ciri a tight hug goodbye and Geralt realizes that somehow without him noticing the two had developed a fierce bond, and he’s glad to feel like there’s someone else to help care for her. He is graced with a short nod and an almost smile from the sorceress, which is more than he was expecting. When he’s packing up their room he finds a full coin purse and a note left on her bed. It’s written on parchment in her familiar script, just six words: Find Professor Julian Pancratz, Oxenfurt University.

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They ride hard and Geralt does his best to ignore the poet creating new songs about his good looks. Nonexistent as they may be.

By the time they reach the town, it takes a matter of minutes to locate the inn Yennefer selected. Perhaps because it's one of two, and the other smells of urine all the way from across the road.

The other inn has a stable and a conspicuous lack of puddles surrounding it. Yennefer would always choose the nicest inn, regardless of how incognito they need to be. He leads Roach towards that one, Dandelion on his heels. He’s not speaking to the bard, too worried about getting back to Ciri. And not having to have a conversation about his appearance ever again. Utter ridiculousness. He lets Dandelion go in first, taking both horses to settle them in the stables. The hay is fresh and clear of mold. He doles out some oats for Roach and sees Yennefer’s newest mount alongside Ciri’s Kelpie. Roach whickers softly at the other horses in greeting and then headbutts him, causing him to stagger back a little. Stroking her cheek for a few seconds and scratching along her jaw, he frees her from her tack, carefully hanging it before taking his time brushing her down. When her mane and tail are free of burs and tangles, he moves on to Dandelion’s horse. The fat beast gives him very little trouble, happier to stuff its face into the feed than to be groomed.

The horses cared for, he lifts his head, nostrils flaring. He can smell Ciri and Yen, gooseberries and lilac, and then Dandelion’s unwashed self. The bard will smell differently, soon, probably more like cedar and then whatever oils he’s been using on the wood of his lute. He follows his nose, glaring when someone comes up to stop him from mounting the stairs. The maid backs away, and he continues up in search of his companions.

Geralt has more or less forgotten Dandelion's promise to inform Yennefer of his earlier self-deprecation. He feels a dull sense of panic start low in his stomach that slowly crawls up into his throat, tightening it when he remembers about halfway up the stairs. He knows he’s walking into some kind of trap of his own making no matter what he does. Odds are Dandelion will have gotten himself all worked up trying to convince Yennefer to disabuse him of the fact he’s ugly. What Dandelion doesn’t understand is that Yennefer has never been a woman to pretty the truth, or to lie. Although, perhaps the sorceress will be in a good mood, having gotten a good laugh out of the bard before Geralt even gets to the rooms. That might help.

Geralt takes a breath before continuing up the last few steps, misery coiling low in his gut. Whatever madness had gotten into the bard that morning was just going to end in humiliation for the witcher, rather than vindication for the bard. Perhaps he could take a room with Ciri and just avoid his lovers entirely until the whole issue blows over. Glumly, he reflects that is entirely unlikely seeing as how Dandelion is like a starved cur with a bone once he decides to dig his heels in. And Yen....Yen likes to win.

He pauses on the landing, head tilted, listening. His witcher’s enhanced hearing allows him to hear through the doors relatively easily, and he focuses on the sound of Ciri’s voice. While he isn’t close enough to understand her every word, her tone is concerned. Nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply again, taking in their scents, he can smell the bitter tang that tells him not all is well. Throat squeezing and stomach curdling in dread, he goes to the door, takes one last pause to be sure, and pushes the door open.  

Not expecting the scene that greets him when he enters the room, he takes a step back when Ciri slams into him, wrapping her arms tight around his middle. "Dandelion says you've got a poor opinion of yourself and it's our job to disabuse you of it. Yen says he's a moron."

Geralt snorts since he agrees with Yen but Dandelion is staring at him morosely and he doesn't want to hurt the bard worse. Yennefer's mocking had probably been quite thorough. Then he catches her glance and recoils slightly. She's angry. At him. He opens his mouth to speak but realizes he has no idea what he's done wrong.

The sorceress crosses the floor in two steps and raises her hand as if she intends to slap him. He freezes, and then notes she's dropped her hand.

"You ... Geralt. All this time? You've really felt that all this time? I know you try and play the fool when you think it will benefit you, but I never thought you believed it. Or the things people say about witchers. Am I a monster Geralt? Because I am no longer entirely human? You were a boy once, until you passed the trials. Then you became a Witcher. A ‘horrible mutation’, as you like to say. But you're still human, Geralt. You still..." She looks at him fiercely. "I don't know what to do with you. Or say to you," she tells him softly, cupping his cheek. He pulls away, unwilling to meet her eyes. She knows he doesn’t think of her as a monster, or a mutation. Even if she isn’t fully human, and that’s why her magic is so strong. The pain he’s holding onto cuts her. "Do you really think all the women lining up to fuck you want to do it because they're daring themselves to fuck a tame monster?"

She sees the accession in his eyes. "Geralt. You're quite handsome. And anything but tame. Or a monster." She curls her fingers into his hair, dragging his head down to press his forehead to hers. "Either you think I am a monster, too, or blind, if you think I would debase myself to fuck you. If I saw you how you saw yourself."

He stares at her, pupils enlarging as he takes in the details of her face.

"Geralt. I love you. And I know you love me. Do you think I would attach myself to someone truly hideous and inhuman? Regardless of the personal gain." She lets him pull even farther away, knowing that he is deeply uncomfortable and unable to have this conversation with her. "No one finds you ugly. Those that fear your hair and eyes are fools. Have you never seen the light catch them? They light up like liquid gold. There's nothing monstrous in them."

He stares at her in confusion, stunned. "Yen, we don't need to, uh...There’s no point to any of this. It doesn’t change what I am." His throat is tight and he finds he just wants to leave the room. "I'll go ask the owner to have a bath drawn for you," he says and turns on his heel to go.

He hears Dandelion protest, and Yen hush him. He chooses not to listen as he hears Ciri's voice rise in confusion and hurt. Yennefer hushes her, and he tries not to hear anything more.

"You scared our Witcher," she sounds faintly amused. Even if her mind is turning over how to best help Geralt. Currently, she feels letting him go lick his wounds is the best option. If they push him too hard, he’ll just get angry and none of it will matter. Once he shuts down it’s all over.

"I had no idea. You didn't either, did you? With all your mind reading,” Dandelion shakes his head in frustration. “How can he see himself like that?”

"I suppose I should say I'm surprised you were able to catch anything I missed. But I am thankful you saw it when I did not. He sees such beauty in the world around him I hadn't thought he saw none in himself." She waves a hand to forestall the bard's indignant protest. "I know he sees himself as less. I just hadn't thought it ran even deeper than that. I know he hates being different, I know he feels he doesn't deserve all that he does. I didn't know how deep all that hatred ran."

Ciri looks at Yennefer. "You've called me ugly. Why is it such a bad thing to be ugly?"

"Do you think Geralt is ugly?" Yennefer asks.

"No. I suppose he looks like any other man, other than the hair and eyes. At least until he does that smile of his. The one he uses when he's being threatening. Not his real smile. Would I have come to look like him had I kept training to be a Witcher?"

"If you survived the trials of the grasses, you might have had, yes. As it is, you'll stay how you are."

Geralt stumps up the stairs, knowing a few moments later tubs will be brought up. This is the kind of inn where one doesn't go down to the tub. He hopes Yennefer has the coin to pay for it. He doesn't. And neither does the bard. For all perhaps he could sing up supper at least. Yen booked two rooms. So he heads into the other, before deciding he can't stand it. He heads back to the other room, pausing at the door he shakes his head. Since when does he feel fear? Witchers don't feel. Once he's opened the door and glanced around, he sees the bard and sorceress focus on him.

"He called you a she-devil," he says abruptly, hoping to shift focus on that. Holding out his hand for Ciri, she jumps up and takes it and lets him lead her from the room.

Before Dandelion can puff up and pick a fight with Geralt Yen holds a hand up, indicating he should let Geralt escape. "I've called you much worse. Both to your face and behind your back."

"And I you."

"So no harm done then. We've put it aside for him before. And quite frankly 'she-devil' is one of the kinder things I've been called."

Ciri allows Geralt to curl up with her on top of the linens. They haven't bathed so there's no point in getting under them. She remembers when he first found her at the farm. He'd promised they would be together. And the only way she had slept was at his side. Perhaps he needs her now like she needed him; to chase away the nightmares. Unexpectedly soothed by his repeated stroking of her hair, she drifts off contentedly. Geralt finds himself calmer as the girl eases into sleep. Her heart beats against his, quicker but no less powerful. Her small hands grip the leathers of his jerkin and he's glad to know even if he falls asleep, she will be there when he wakes. Safe, in his arms.

When a knock at the door wakes them, Ciri pulls away and palms her dagger as Geralt stands to answer. He listens for a moment, heightened senses hearing nothing amiss as he pulls open the door to allow the tub to be brought in. Next door he sees another one going into Yennefer's room.

The maid gives him a look when she sees Ciri sitting on the edge of his bed. "This is a respectable place, sir," she says softly as her fellows start to leave. She dumps a stack of towels with a cake of soap onto the small chest.

"It isn't like that," Geralt growls, surprised by the disgust he feels at the idea. "She is my d- apprentice. I teach her a trade. I do not bed her. You will not suggest that again."

The maid, utterly terrified, mumbles her apologies and flees.

Ciri hears the catch in his voice and feels a hint of wonder. He was going to say daughter, she's sure. "You've scared them so now they won't bring any water," she tells him accusingly.

"They'll bring it to Yen. Besides you'll bathe in her rooms anyway."  He cocks his head to the side, listening as he hears heavy footsteps up the stairs and the slosh of water. "They're bringing it now. Best hurry, don't keep her waiting." He shoos the cub into the next room after checking nothing is amiss. Other than his dignity.

Dandelion heads into the room with the Witcher, leaving the women to bathe peace. "She's going to make us sick insisting we bathe every chance she gets."

Geralt grunts as he begins working his leather armor loose enough to remove, “That’s all bullshit, no one caught sick of bathing.”. Buckets of water still arrive at their room despite Ciri's reservations. It's even still hot.

“Plenty of people have!”

“Hm,” Geralt replies rather than have another fruitless conversation.

Once the servants have all left Geralt watches lazily as Dandelion strips and sinks into the tub. The bard scrubs himself quickly and ducks his head multiple times to rinse his hair.

"Why is it I always help you bathe and not the other way around?"

"You've never asked," the Witcher points out.  

"Well then I'm asking now, come scrub my back "

Geralt gets up from the bed with a grunt. His leg still aches. Picking up a handful of soap flakes he raises his eyebrows in annoyance until Dandelion leans forward to make it possible to rub his back. Unsure of what to do exactly, he does his best to recall and replicate how Dandelion helps him. After working the soap around he carefully kneads the bard's neck and shoulders. He's afraid to hurt the other man. He freezes when Dandelion groans.

"Oh, don't stop, not yet," the bard protests.

"The water will be cold," Geralt says patiently.

"You always say witchers don't feel things," he points out, looking to push at Geralt again. To keep trying to force him into admitting he isn’t abnormal like he thinks.

"I can feel physical things Dandelion," his voice takes a hard edge. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t tolerate the discomfort. There’d been plenty of monsters in fetid bogs, piles of filth and trash, swamps… and he’d tackled them all without a second thought. Without giving in to the revulsion that would have stopped a normal man from even approaching the monster. He’d pushed past shit and filth to kill things, as needed. Taken his coin from revolted aldermen and other terrified townsfolk. It always cut to see the hatred and mistrust in their eyes as he showed proof of the monster’s death. He’d done it for them. And for the coin since one has to have coin to live on. The assumption he enjoys killing for the sake of killing is what cuts him the most. That he’s some barbarian monster who loves killing and has found a way to profit off it.

"I know. I know you feel pain." Dandelion tips his head up to look at Geralt.  He reads the hurt there and purses his lips. "I wasn't mocking you or trying to hurt you earlier. What I said I said in earnest. I like your eyes." He reaches up to touch Geralt's cheek and slide his fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him in close. “Geralt, I know you feel things. I know you can feel discomfort, and pleasure, and pain, and all of that.”

Rather than reply, Geralt shuts his eyes.

"Have you truly never seen it? You truly don't believe me? Geralt..."

Unsure why those cornflower blue eyes are regarding him so sadly, and at a loss for how to fix it, he presses his lips gently to the bard's. Dandelion pulls away after a moment, and Geralt stares at him helplessly. What’s he supposed to do?

"I wish you fit in here with me," Dandelion sighs. "I'll get out before the water is cold. No sense in making you suffer more than you make yourself already."

Once standing he dries off quickly and watches Geralt slide into the tub uncomfortably. His knees are forced to bend up near his chest. The Witcher rubs at his leg, face carefully blank but Dandelion notices the signs of pain all the same. The way his jaw juts forward just a bit, his eyebrows have a slight crinkle and his shoulders are tense.

"I can help you with that," he offers, gesturing at Geralt's knee.

"I don't think you can," Geralt says heavily.

"Then I can wash your hair," he gets up half dressed, trousers still unbuckled and his shirt waiting for him on the bed. It takes a moment or so to work soap through the witcher's hair, turning it from a greyish white back to milk. It takes a few rinses to get all the soap out and by the end of it Geralt feels much better. He's come to realize he quite enjoys having his scalp massaged. He's never had a problem enjoying physical attention. Not many people are willing to touch him with any kind of kindness or affection, so when someone is, he can barely stop himself from leaning into it. Eyes closed, he tilts his head up when Dandelion stops, opening them slowly and checking on the other man. Somewhat concerned by Dandelion's expression he finishes scrubbing up without help, and gets out of the tub, even though he’s not sure he’s ready to leave the warmth of the water. Or pull himself away from the bard’s gentle fingers.

Drying himself roughly, he drags on breeches and pulls the bard away from the lip of the tub to sit with him on the bed. "I don't like the look on your face," Geralt says quietly, not sure how to go about fixing this. Usually his only long-term interactions of a romantic nature were with Yen, and she had no problem speaking her mind. He rarely hurt her feelings so badly she turned morose. Not to say they didn't have their fights. There was just usually more loud voices and fucking after. Or going their separate ways.

"Well unfortunately it's just how my face looks right now. I'm quite tired you know."

"You were happier earlier."

"Do you truly not feel emotion Geralt? Can you truly say that? You can only feel the physical things? A hand on your skin, cold water clutching at you, and nothing else?"

"Dandelion..."

"Can you look at me right now and truly say you don't know what it is to have feelings? Anger? Happiness? Amusement? .... Love?" He says the last word in barely more than a whisper. They’ve talked about it before, but each time it seems like Dandelion never gains any ground and Geralt goes right back to refusing to admit anything.

Geralt searches for words to explain what it's like. He'd been made to not care. To not fear. To do things that regular humans were too good for. Such as fighting a monster in a moat of waste. What normal man would do that simply because that's all he exists for? His throat squeezes because he knows answering this wrong will end badly. And everything is so new and he's not ready to lose it. He likes being caught between the bard and sorceress, he likes how together they make him feel something he has no name for, but he’s sure it’s something good.

"I... Dandelion, you're asking me something I can't even answer for myself," he says pleadingly. "I know I'm not empty inside, I'm not devoid of all things, but I don't ... I don't feel as you do. I'm a m-"

"Don't say that to me either. I won't stand for it any more than she does." Dandelion starts when a knock sounds at the door.

Ciri pokes her head in, tousled locks of hair still damp. "Yennefer was wondering if you would go order food to be brought up. Since you're the least conspicuous of us," She asks Dandelion politely. He accedes to her request and Geralt sits uncomfortably on the bed, feeling lost.

Ciri comes over, "Put on your shirt and I'll fix your hair again. Like before."

"Can you bring the comb in here?"

"Yen says hiding from her won't make the problem go away."

He raises a brow.

"She said if you tried to hide in here to tell you that," the girl shrugs. "If this is all about your looks then I don't understand any of it. But all the same Yennefer hates that headband you use, so let me fix your hair back so there's nothing else for you two to gripe over."

"Like chickens in the coop," he suggests.

She glances at him, “Some monsters wear human skin, and they’re far more terrifying than any other kind I’ve seen.” Shaking her head, a little, she shrugs and heads back to the other room. A little shaken, the voice hadn’t quite been hers, and she’d looked at him with an intensity he’s unused to. The girl has magic, he knows. Geralt tugs his shirt on but doesn't tuck it in before following his cub to the other room. He sits on the bed and allows Ciri to brush out and tie back his hair. It's soothing.

Yennefer is busily completing her grooming regimen and the room smells of lilac and gooseberries. He closes his eyes until he hears footsteps approach and cool fingers slip under his chin. He looks up at her, unconcerned. He's so very tired.

"Maybe you wouldn't be as exhausted if you two hadn't dallied about like rutting dogs at daybreak?" She suggests lightly. Not that she minds, she started that. If nothing else she hopes he found some satisfaction in it. He’s in some kind of turmoil and she respects him enough to not pry intentionally to find out why. She can’t help getting some thoughts, or flashes of feelings, but she doesn’t have to go digging.

"Or perhaps several nights with no bed, not enough food, and constantly having to change course and split up to avoid the Nilfgaardian army wears on a person after a while."

"Then rest. Food will be here soon enough and you'll feel more yourself." She kisses his forehead.

He frowns slightly, he'd expected her to pick up where Dandelion had left off. Or just to be more tempestuous in general. Ciri has busied herself with unpacking and laying out her and Yennefer's clothing. "It'll need a clothes press," she complains.

Geralt chooses to let them dicker over how to pack better and leans against the headboard with his eyes closed until sleep claims him. When Dandelion joins him, he shifts to accommodate them both better. The bard chooses to drop his head into Geralt's lap, an arm thrown over his legs.

When the food is brought up on trays, they fall ravenously upon it. Rolls of warm bread packed with seeds disappear alongside a hearty lamb stew within minutes.

Geralt crawls wearily into bed after, unsurprised no one feels much like joining him. All their fine words about him, and when he could use the comfort, they’re all too busy. Not that he’s said anything or done anything to indicate he wants company.

"Don't wallow," Yennefer tells him sharply. "Not everyone can sleep just because they're bored or having a fit of self-pity." She has no intention of putting up with him having a fit over nothing. They’re not as tired as he is, and she’s not ready to lie down.

Unable to come up with anything sufficiently nasty to say in response, he simply gets up and goes into the other room to sleep in peace. Grateful to hear Ciri's slippers on the wooden floor behind him, he hadn't asked her to come but he's still struggling to allow her out of his sight. Splitting up had been agonizing.

"You didn't used to sleep this much; I had hoped you might help continue my training."

"In the morning," he agrees. After shedding his boots, he works his way under the linens and tries to find a way to sleep that will ease his aching leg. He feels like it's sucking the life out of him, the way the pain always presses on him. Always there in the back of his mind, aching unceasingly until it flares into sharp blooms of agony.

He shifts around in the bed, trying to find a comfortable way to rest. He’s so exhausted. Why is it so hard to get settled? He grumbles to himself, shifting around miserably.

"What's wrong?" Ciri asks sharply, heading over to the bed and setting down the book she'd brought. He hadn't even noticed it earlier. He wonders vaguely how long he'd been twisting around for her to notice. Minutes? Hours?

He doesn’t have an answer for her. His leg hurts, what of it? He’ll get settled and he’ll get some rest and it will be fine. There’s no reason for her to be worried. He’s been in pain for months now, ever since… ever since the tower fell. Ever since Vilgefortz, ever since he almost lost Ciri forever.

"I'm getting Yen," Ciri tells him and he wonders if he didn't answer her. His head aches and he feels befuddled. Was the food poisoned? No, Ciri is fine. Alert with her wits about her. What if he had made the maid mad and she only poisoned his food? No, not possible she couldn’t know who would eat what plate. Upon further deliberation it turns out he doesn't much care if the food was poisoned, if it'll make his leg stop aching.

Yen hurries in with Ciri on her heels, feeling genuine fear when her witcher doesn't turn to the door when she opens it. Dandelion is right behind her.

"Witchers can't get sick, can they?" He asks worriedly.

"They're very strong, but I suppose it's possible. Geralt isn't exactly an open book of Witcher lore."

“Yennefer, he was twisting around like he was in pain,” Ciri reminds her.

"Was he conscious when you left?"

"Yes," Ciri tells her. "Maybe not lucid but he knew I was talking to him."

"It's that damn leg of his," Dandelion suggests. "It was bothering him in the bath earlier. It's been bothering him constantly just about."

Yennefer knows their voices should wake him up. "He wouldn't faint from a sore leg," she snaps, lightly shaking him. "Get up," she tells him.

When he still fails to rouse, she pulls the blankets down a bit, running her hands over him. "Geralt," she shakes him gently. She looks at Ciri, “Nothing’s broken,” she reassures her. His muscles are hard and tense, she knows he’s suffering. But she’s not finding any bruising or any points that make him twitch. “Geralt, wake up,” she puts an edge into her voice. He very much doesn’t like being told what to do.

"Leave off," he wakes enough to glare at her, or try to. His eyes unfocused. "I'm cold," he tells her vaguely before reclaiming the blankets from her. Yen runs her hands over forehead and neck. "He's freezing. Ciri, take your book and curl up beside him, keep him warm. I'll see if there's any bed warmers." She feels a touch of worry, but perhaps if he's in a bleak enough mood it affects his physical health. They'd certainly upset him earlier. And Dandelion had kept pressing. She felt it was good to let Geralt suffer a little here and there, at least about his supposed lack of feelings. It's easy enough to remember the wide range of feelings he has. Telling her he loves her, before sex, instead of only after. Unlike some. The anger and hurt he's capable of carrying. She hurries down the stairs, wondering what spells might work should his condition worsen.

He'd almost died thanks to the beating he took from Vilgefortz. Had tramped out of Brokilon half healed to go find Ciri. Gone through hell and armies to get to her. Perhaps he's just worn himself out and his body is taking time to finish healing.

Dandelion settles with his lute against Geralt's side. He'll try and help keep Geralt warm, too. Ciri reads quietly as Yennefer comes back in unsure of how to help.

"They'll bring up the bed warmers shortly," she informs them, glancing briefly at the lump under the blankets.  There's not much she can do just yet. She's avoiding using magic in case anyone were to notice. It looks like they're keeping him about as warm as they can. "Must you do that?" she asks, referring to his lute.

"Not all of us can get whatever we want by spreading our legs."

"But you're so good at it. How else do you find patrons for that drivel you call music?"

"You need a nap," he huffs, and picks up his lute with a jangle of strings and leaves the room. He'll drum up some business and gather some news. And hopefully the Witcher will be awake and the witch will be in a better mood.

Not much seems to help keep him warm, and while she does her best to get a look at his leg, he resists her even while sleeping. Finally, giving up on getting him to cooperate, she doses him with poppy syrup which at least eases the pain he’s in. Dandelion is worried the poppy will stop him from waking at all and Yennefer has no interest in debating the point with him. If Geralt is in pain, then the pain needs to be eased. With his witcher’s immunity to most poisons and drugs, the poppy won’t last even a quarter of the time it should have. He’ll be hurting again soon enough.

They spend the night tense and worried, only to find in the morning Geralt is awake, if a little groggy. Breakfast passes quickly as they prepare to move on. There’s some arguing between them about whether to risk staying and letting Geralt rest longer, or if it’s better to move on in case more soldiers pass through. It’s Ciri who suggests in a trembling voice that they take Geralt back to Kaer Morhen. If he’s sick, perhaps Old Vesemir would know what it was and be able to cure him.

When he’s lucid, Geralt mostly grumbles that he’s fine, and they should move on as soon as possible. He seems more aware throughout the day, only to fall heavily asleep after dinner, body tense with pain.

“We have to be far enough away that I can risk a portal without alerting anyone, and I’ll get us as close to the keep grounds as possible.”

“Yennefer, what if he can’t make it long enough to wait for this ‘right time to portal’?”

“He’ll be fine, he’s strong. His heartbeat is still steady, he’s still competent when he’s conscious. Sleep seems to help revive him somewhat. He feeds himself when he’s awake. I don’t see why another day or so of travel is a risk.” She does inwardly wonder if she should have paid him more mind weeks ago when he’d told her he hadn’t felt right. She’d assumed roughing it with that much stress had just been a bad combination for all of them, and not anything to be concerned about.

“And if Vesemir can’t help him?”

“I am not entirely sure we need Vesemir in the first place,” she points out. “However, there’s enough low level magic thrumming all through Kaer Morhen that I should be able to hide most of what I’m doing.”

“And if that’s true why haven’t we gone back there, before?”

“In case they went looking for Ciri there. Where else would a witcher take a child of surprise, Dandelion? Novigrad? No, we’ve had no intention of causing a second sacking of the keep. But perhaps we’ll have to take the risk.”

“Don’t they think she’s dead?”

“They did. But it’s not as if Geralt looking for Rience didn’t cause some problems. Somehow, someone caught on to what he was doing and found the firm helping him. Ciri told me one of her dreams, and I checked into it. They’re dead. I suspect they found some proof of her. Not to mention her being teleported half across the globe did nothing to help us keep her location a secret. Geralt would rather be dead than risk her again, but I have to hope that no one can get back to the keep or that people think she’s elsewhere.”

“Then let’s get him moving first thing tomorrow.”

“We will.”

#the witcher #wiedzmin #geralt of rivia #gerlion #yenralt #geraltxjaskierxyennefer #yenneralt #geraskefer #geraskier #cirilla of cintra #my fic #geralt z rivii

[mslanna]

This Is The Best Day Ever

I started a modern day Witcher AU and I don’t think it’ll go anywhere. So have a start if you like. Jaskier has an emo punk band and Ciri drags her dad along as chaperone to see them...

"Dad!" Cirilla wailed in indignation. "I am almost fourteen! I can go to a concert on my own."

"Over my dead body." Geralt crossed his arms. The he looked his wife. Yennefer's grin said clearly that she would not be the one accompanying Ciri.

"Alright. I'll get us tickets."

"You will only embarrass me," Ciri objected.

"He won't," Yennefer assured her. "Your dad is too tall to stand in the first row with you. So he will be a good boy and keep at the side."

"Are you sure?" Ciri was not convinced.

"Or we all just stay at home," Geralt offered.

"No." Ciri decided instantaneously. "Oh my god, I don't know what to wear! I need to call Dara right now."

Geralt watched his daughter rush from the room, hand already groping for her mobile. "I hope you know what you are doing," he said to his wife.

"Of course I am." Yennefer smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "After all it is not I who is going to an emo punk concert with our daughter."

Geralt grunted. She had him there.

                                        *            *                *

Looking over the crowd streaming into the venue, Geralt was regretting his decision already. There was way too much black for a crowd that age and way to few parents. As soon as he had made sure Cirilla know hoe to signal to him to get her out of the crowd, the girl had run off. Now and then he could see her blonde curls bopping up in the crowd trying to squeeze three hundred people into the first row.

Had he known what kind of music Buttercups, Almost Dandelions made, he would have taken steps to ensure Cirilla did not get into that. Now he and Yennefer had to put a foot down to keep her from dyeing her hair black.

There was nowhere to get a drink and nowhere to sit down either. Grumbling Geralt stood at the side of the hall, leaning against the bare wall. The noise wasn't as bad as expected. The supporting act was doing okay taking into consideration that the whole hall was full of people who had come to see somebody else entirely.

The moment the lights went out in anticipation of the main act, the noise did turn out unbearable. No more concerts without era plugs, Geralt decided. He would have to think of a way Ciri could not remove them though. He grunted.  Something to occupy his mind with for the next hour.

If one could think over this noise that was. A single spotlight had come up, raising the pitch of the screaming at least one octave.

Then a sliver of a person stepped into the light and caused the noise-death of the universe. It was probably Mr Buttercup himself. Again, Geralt would have expected a little more yellow on the guy. With his elaborate outfit, he would have been at home on any gothic ren fair. Dark hair hung into his eyes, black outlined the eyes heavily.

The general screaming slowly converged into a coherent chant of 'Jaskier'. The man on the stage smiled slightly and stummed a minor chord. The hall fell silent in a heart beat.

"Hello," Jaskier smiled into the microphone, lips almost touching the metal. His hand came up from the guitar, cupping the microphone with the plectrum between his index finger and thumb. "How are you feeling tonight?"

It was an invitation for the maelstrom of noise to return. Geralt prodded his right ear, trying to hold on to a shred of his sense of hearing. He needn't have bothered. A lazy chord later the stage lit up with more spot lights, revealing the remainder of the bouquet and the music started for real.

If you wanted to call it music. If you could actually discern any of it from the tapestry of screaming it was fighting against. Geralt hoped Cirilla had better acoustics in the front row with fewer screaming teenagers between her and the band. He doubted it.

Jaskier knew how to handle a crowd though. Even if it was a crowd of hormone-addled teenagers. The singer managed to quite them all down for a slow number about lonely white wolves. Quite a feat. Ignoring the occasional howl imitation.

Geralt could have done with a few more ballads. The hall was almost bearably noisy and Jaskier actually had an agreeable singing voice. He was admittedly difficult to hear above the roaring crowd.

Geralt wondered how Ciri was doing in the squash zone. But so far she hadn't signalled for extraction. She was probably so high on hormones that reality would take a day or two to get back through to her. Such was life. Adolescence happened only once. Something to be grateful for, no doubt.

The concert dragged on. Geralt did his best to no peer at his watch. He certainly didn't stop tapping the beat guiltily with a foot. Taking the overall youth music scene into consideration, this could have gone a lot worse.

The last song came on. Geralt applauded because it was finally over. The audience disagreed vocally. Waves of noise broke against the stage, taking bodies with it. Medics kept pulling people from the crowd. The lights did not go on. With a sigh Geralt resigned to the encore. And the second encore which led to the crowd howling the song about the wolf again and which got them a third encore.

Geralt peered at his watch after all and had to realise he hadn't lost as much time of his life as he had thought. The crowd was bouncing in unison, accelerating towards a shattering crescendo. He didn't wait for that when a familiar figure was lifted over the heads of the fans, drifting towards the medics. Long blonde locks trailed behind her.

Getting to the front of the hall, even at the very side was difficult. Small bodies blocked the way and there was no way to push them aside without risking serious damage. Cirilla was carried away to the other side of the stage, too. Cursing, Geralt reversed direction. He was just getting to where he had been on the other side of the hall, when the lights did come on. That did not actually convince the audience to scatter appropriately or make his way towards the stage any easier.

By the time he reached the barricade, all medical personnel had vanished. Reaching out, Geralt grabbed the next stage hand passing by. "Where are the children?"

The stage hand understood without needing further encouragement. He pointed to a door a little further down the hall. But when Geralt started to move in that direction, he did try to stop him. "You can't go backstage," he said valiantly.

"Yeah?" Geralt tilted his head. "Watch me."

To the horror of everybody watching, he climbed over the barricade, storming off to the indicated. A security man approaching him was grabbed by the arm. "Good," Geralt growled. "You know the way to medical. I want my daughter. Now."

After a few turns, Geralt suspected that this was not the way to the medical part at all. Shoving the security guard away with a frustrated grunt, he stormed back down the corridor. Signs would have been helpful. Maybe they had been taken down again already.

Judging from the steps speeding up behind him, the security guard had decided to take up pursuit. Geralt stepped it up a notch, turning around a few corners in the hopes of finally finding the medic and maybe losing the tail.

A door opened and another small black figure stepped into his path. Geralt pushed it away. At least he tried to, only to find his hand taken hold off, trapped neatly on the chest it had pushed against.

"Now if that isn't my song come to life," Jaskier said agreeably. He waved the guard away lazily giving Geralt a second once-over.

Geralt snorted. "Where is my daughter?"

"I have not taken on any daughters," the singer replied easily. "But when we find her, I might be open to a few grateful words."

"Useless," Geralt growled, barely keeping from rolling his eyes.

"Says the man with a hammer to the screw," Jaskier said.

"What do you want?"

"I?" The singer laughed. "It was you who barraged into my place, laying hand on me. Let's get that correct for starters."

"I am only looking for my daughter." Geralt freed his hand.

"And if you stopped your boorish behaviour for just long enough to let me take the lead, I am certain we would have arrived where the medics put up care long ago." Jaskier began to walk slowly, giving Geralt time to make up his mind. "You realise there is a central information point in front of the hall where you can get escorted to you daughter if she's in medical care, right?"

Geralt grunted non-committal.

"Of course this is the much more scenic route," Jaskier kept the conversation going as if Geralt was actually participating. "You get to see me after all. A much more charming company than a medical escort."

Another snort.

"You are most eloquent. A pity that our journey shall soon come to an end. Allow me to write a song about it."

Geralt stopped short, forcing the smaller man to take a step back under the force of the index finger rammed into his chest. "Don't you dare." Taking a deep breath he stepped back. The only thing worthy of song way Cirilla and his wife. But he would certainly not encourage the obnoxious. fool.

"You're right." Jaskier puled at his black shirt. "I'd never get all those elaborate grunts right."

Geralt took another deep breath and forced a neutral expression. "I will now get-"

"Your daughter, yes yes," Jaskier interrupted. "She should be here any moment now. I had sent for her."

"You what?"

"It's my place for tonight." Jaskier winked. "Has to have a few perks."

At that very moment, light footfall became audible down the corridor and around a corner.

"Ciri?" Geralt called ignoring Jaskier who was still explaining something.

"Dad!" Cirilla bounded around the corner towards her father.

He softened visibly. Seeing his daughter well and happy brought a lenient expression to his face. The love for his Ciri was written over Geralt's face in warm, fuzzy letters of insurmountable size.

At his side, Jaskier fell silent.

In the corridor, Cirilla stopped in mid-step. "Dad?" Her eyes wandered from her father to the singer standing next to him, a whirlwind of emotions crossing over her whole figure.

"Well, the family resemblance is obviously," Jaskier squinted, "somewhere."

"Dad?" Cirilla asked, the question dripping from her gaze into her tone.

"Oh, that, yeah." Geralt shrugged. "He ran into me when I was looking for you. Can't shake him." Geralt chose to ignore the indignant gasp from Jaskier as well as the unbelieving one from his daughter.

"That is-" Ciri couldn't finish.

"Yeah. Oh, right." Geralt put on the barest minimum of manners. "Jaskier, this is my daughter Cirilla. Ciri, this, well Jaskier. Does he have a last name? Do you have a last name? Do we need that?"

"Pleased to meet you," Cirilla got out.

Jaskier took the offered hand with a bow indicating a kiss on the back of it. "I can see your father passed on all his eloquence and manners to you."

Ciri blushed and caught between the urge to hid behind her father and bravely stand where she was, clutched at his side. Geralt dropped a protective arm over her shoulders automatically.

"We must leave," he growled pointedly.

"Oh, there you are again with no manners at all." Jaskier huffed. "Tell you father that this is very bad manners indeed, Cirilla. We have only just met and there he goes leaving already. Is he always impossible like that? I bet he is."

Ciri nodded a teenagers awareness of their parent's inherent cringyness on her expression.

"Her mother is waiting for us."

"Oh and now he is blaming it all on you mother." Jaskier lowered his tone consiprationally. "Does your mother know he does that?"

Ciri giggled and nodded.

"Well, that's probably okay then. And we will not leave her waiting. You go to the entrance," he waved in the general direction behind him, "and I'll be there in a moment. Decide on the take-out you want."

"We will certainly not have take-out for dinner or with you." Geralt put his foot down. It helped that he did not see Ciri's face.

"Rude," Jaskier replied.

Ciri nodded and took a brave step away from her father. "But he did buy me a guitar," she finally said, after fishing for a redeeming trait.

"So you are playing the guitar?" Jaskier asked Cirilla. "We must have a jam session then!"

"It is half past ten," Geralt cut the idea off.

"True." Jaskier's shoulders slumped shortly before he brightened suspiciously. "We will have to do that another time then, won't we?"

It was most dirty manoeuvre Geralt had ever seen. But the way Ciri's eyes lit up at the mere thought of playing guitar with her musical hero. Who would have the heart to quench that light?

"Take out is still standing, though," the singer said taking Cirilla's hand. "What do you feel like and where do you get it in this city?" When they reached Geralt, Jaskier just took the tall man's hand as well and kept walking. "As I said, wait at the entrance, security is informed. What do you think about Italian?"

"Why not." Ciri looked up at her father.

Geralt was a walking storm cloud, held in check by nothing but his daughter's elation. "I do not think that will help with me being upset."

"Maybe it will do something about you being so depressing?" Jaskier took a step backwards, putting Cirilla's hand into that of her father. "I'll be only a moment."

A few steps later, Cirilla had found the joke and started laughing.

"I'll call Yen and give her a heads up," Geralt rumbled, knowing he was beaten.

#the witcher #the witcher fic #modern day au #it was fun while it lasted #geralt of rivia #jaskier

[mordoriscalling]

Homecoming

(A follow-up to my fic “Stay or Sail Away”, which is available on AO3 or here on tumblr). Jaskier sees Geralt for the first time after many months of Geralt's final deployment. It breaks his brain and dooms his heart. (Not that it isn't doomed anyway).

You can find this story on AO3 too.

The large crowd around them is full of noises: exclamations full of joy and relief, voices raised in excitement, loud calls of many names, hushed whispers and choked sobs. Small groups of people rejoice as they greet their loved ones returning from the long deployment while others still wait, their impatience almost buzzing in the air.

Jaskier stands amidst all the chaos, slightly dazed. He’s quite sure he has never witnessed such magnitude of sheer emotion ever before in his life, even during his own concerts. Motion, tears and happiness are everywhere around, mingling with smiles and embraces, which creates a certain feel that is just so deeply touching – it strikes the very core of it means to be human, Jaskier thinks as he tries to memorize it. Weren’t he distracted by other thoughts, he would write down the words in his head right away; the moment is more than worthy of a song.

He’s restless, anticipation and anxiety both twisting his gut. The wait drags on and on, torturously so, while the crew keeps disembarking. Rationally, Jaskier understands why this is taking so long – the ship (a destroyer, Ciri explained) is pretty damn big, so the crew is obviously large as well. However, reason is now more out of his reach than usual, which equals considerably far away, and he fidgets. Cirilla at his left isn’t still either, but her movements show only excitement. Yennefer at his right just stands in place, seemingly unaffected, her dazzling eyes observing the top of the platform steadily. Jaskier lets out a shaky breath, envying her the confidence a bit.

Ciri must’ve sensed his distress because she grins up at him and reassures, “Don’t worry, Jaskier, dad is coming. He just always deboards last.”

Jaskier nods with a bit of a forced smile but says nothing. Yen glances at him but appears to withhold a comment about his uncharacteristic silence. Normally he would boast that Geralt’s dearest witch of an ex-wife is growing soft on him but nervousness constricts his throat too much.

The problem is, the things he’s afraid of make little sense. He has evidence to disprove his fears, and lots of it; every video call with Geralt showed him as much. Throughout the goddamned eleven months of Geralt’s deployment, may they ever be cursed, the two of them always arranged a video call at least once a week. Jaskier was busy with a tour and Geralt had a lot of duties, but they both made an effort. The video calls quickly turned into a precious time that allowed them to get to know each other better – the few weeks of knowing each other in person before the deployment weren’t enough to keep their resolve alive – and Jaskier found himself falling in love so fast it was foolish even to himself. His silly heart was defenceless against Geralt’s caring nature, dry humour and sharp wit, though. He wrote Geralt a song only a month after his departure. Others quickly followed the first one. After he sent each recording to Geralt, the man would thank Jaskier so very earnestly during a video call. The “thank you, siren” murmured with those searing eyes looking at him had Jaskier fucking swooning every time. Geralt’s words fuelled Jaskier’s creativity even more and, at this point, he has enough songs for a whole album that should probably be titled “Lovesickness, Pining and Longing: Please Don’t Fall for A Sailor”.

And yet, for all their bonding over conversations, the growing repertoire of inner jokes and shared stories, the very satisfying and never-too frequent phone sex, the warmth in Geralt’s gaze and his reassurances with actual words that “I want this, Jaskier”, Jaskier still doubts. As he waits among the bustling crowd, awful what-ifs keep replaying in his head: what if Geralt has, in fact, changed his mind? What if Jaskier only dreamed the fondness? What if Geralt leaves him after he discovers all Jaskier’s flaws? What if –

“Dad!” Ciri shouts at the top of her lungs.

Jaskier winces at the deafening shriek (Cirilla has quite a set of lungs). When he looks up, he... oh.

There Geralt is, beautiful like a vision from Jaskier's dreams. He descends from the platform a step behind two other men, no one else following him. Geralt carries big bags in both his hands as if they weighed nothing, and Jaskier almost cries because of the sweet relief and heady joy of actually seeing him. Geralt isn’t wearing the ceremonial uniform that Jaskier knows from his Facebook profile picture. Instead, it’s the uniform for general duties. The black trousers and the navy jersey with shoulder pads hug his body beautifully. A white collar and a bit of a black tie peek out from under the pullover, and the white cap on his head looks criminally good on him. Jaskier knows that he's probably one of the most thirsty people on the planet but this, the sight of Geralt wearing all that, leaving a huge ship with a crew more than a hundred people strong that he commanded for almost a year, takes his libido to a whole another level.

There’s nothing like discovering you have a competence kink as you stand between a certain very competent person’s daughter and ex-wife, Jaskier thinks.

Since his brain is broken, Jaskier can only wait and stare, drinking in the sight of him. It soothes the powerful, throbbing ache in his heart after so many months without Geralt. Jaskier watches him reach the bottom of the platform, where he’s stopped by the two men walking before him. They salute him, then start clapping. Suddenly, all the members of the crew scattered in the crowd break into cheers and applause.

“Why are they clapping?” Jaskier asks, bemused.

“I think they’re thanking him for his service,” Yennefer replies as she claps too, a rare warm smile lighting up her face.

Jaskier and Ciri immediately join the cheering as loudly as they can (and they do make a lot of noise, considering that he's a singer and Cirilla has the ability her voice into a megaphone). Jaskier has to fight down a laugh as he applauds; from a short distance away that the platform is, he can see Geralt’s grumpy expression. It's so endearing because it's so Geralt - he isn't the type of man to be happy with this kind of recognition.

When the cheers finally die down, Geralt nods in thanks and a few moments later, his feet finally touch land. As if on cue, Cirilla darts off, making her way through the crowd with what seems to be practised ease. The people standing around him and Yen obscure the view but Jaskier can clearly imagine what’s happening: Ciri calling for her father until she sees him, him opening his arms for her, her rushing to his side, the two hugging tight.

It takes a few minutes for Ciri to bring Geralt to them. When the man appears, Jaskier’s does shed a tear this time. Eleven fucking months and Geralt is here finally, ending the nightmare of such a long wait. The endless, empty, hopeless days filled with longing and worry are over - Geralt is back for good. Jaskier wants to hold him and never let go again, but it’s Yennefer who gets to go to him first. She has every right to it, after all, as Ciri’s mother and Geralt’s former spouse. Yen strides towards Ciri and Geralt, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek. The people around observe the commander with his family as the three talk with smiles on their faces.

Jaskier looks at them, too, and wonders, not for the first time, if he has any place in this beautiful family at all. Two gorgeous parents and a lovely teenage daughter – where would he fit?

(Now that he looks at Geralt and Yennefer, his raging bisexual soul wails in want and utter confusion over which one of them he finds hotter).

Then, Geralt’s sun-like eyes are on him, and all is silent. Time slows down as Jaskier sees Geralt walk up to him until they’re not even a foot apart. Jaskier doesn’t touch him even though he so wants to, too afraid he’ll find this is all a dream. He takes in all of Geralt's wrinkles, his slight stubble, the cleft oh his chin, and more tears escape. When Jaskier looks back into his eyes, Geralt's gaze is burning with so much emotion reflecting his own that all the air is knocked out of his lungs.

“Hey,” he greets Geralt breathlessly.

There’s a tiny, precious smile on Geralt’s lips, and his eyes crinkle at the corners in the way that Jaskier adores. “Hey, my siren,” he replies in a murmur.

At the nickname, warmth blooms in Jaskier’s chest and his tears start flowing freely. “I see you answered my call at last, sailor,” he teases, grinning and crying simultaneously like a mess he is.

Geralt huffs a little laugh, then reaches out and brushes his knuckles against Jaskier’s tear-stained cheek. Jaskier almost falls apart at the contact - it proves this is real. Quickly grabbing Geralt’s hand with both his own, he steadies it so that it keeps touching his face, grounding him. Geralt starts brushing his thumb over his skin and Jaskier has to close his eyes, overwhelmed, breathing in and out. So many words are at the tip of his tongue that he says nothing.

“Yes,” Geralt answers. The low, husky rumble of his voice reaches Jaskier’s ears, enveloping him like a warm blanket. “Now I’m home.”

#geraskier #the wticher #the witcher fanfiction #modern au #the Sailor and the Singer AU #myfic

[mordoriscalling]

Life (of) Surprise (5/6)

Jaskier lies to his family about being engaged to Geralt for the second time… and there are way too many surprises involved.

Part 4 of the Singer and the Sailor AU that no one asked for but I wrote anyway (again).

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

V - A Surprise Is Executed

Jaskier is so very in love as his niece sits in his lap.

Zofia couldn’t be more perfect. She’s so curious about everything, so cheerful and full of awe, like a tiny, beautiful sunbeam. From her father Nasir, she got her eyes almost as dark as coal, her medium-brown skin and her raven-black hair, while she resembles her mother – Jaskier’s sister Amelia – in angelic facial features and a mop of curls atop her head. She turns one-year-old tomorrow, which funnily falls on his and Geralt’s wedding day, and Jaskier couldn’t love her more.

With immense fascination, Zofia plays with Jaskier’s necklaces, tugging at them and trying to put them into her mouth. When Jaskier tells her not to do that, she looks up at him, seemingly surprised to find him there, but then recognition dawns on her face and she smiles.

“Unca!” she exclaims excitedly.

Jaskier melts.

“That’s me, Zosia,” he replies, his voice wavering. “I’m your uncle Jaskier.”

Zofia flashes him one more smile before her attention is caught by the floral pattern of his shirt. She grabs at the material and he giggles, explaining the names of the flowers to her. The girl tries to repeat some of the words he says, failing hilariously. As Jaskier laughs at her attempts, he hears another person chuckling too.

It’s only then that he realises that Yennefer has been here with them the whole time.

They are sitting in the comfortable armchairs in the music room in his house. Amelia has gone out shopping together with Rozalia, Ciri and Dara, leaving her daughter in Jaskier and Yennefer’s care. Not that Jaskier cannot be trusted with small children by himself. Yennefer is just a... coincidental backup. She only came here to drop Ciri off so that she would hang out with Dara. Really.

As Jaskier tears his eyes away from Zofia, he’s surprised to find Yennefer gazing at him and his niece... wistfully. The emotion is gone the moment she notices him looking.

“We didn’t get to meet Ciri when she was this little,” she says defensively.

“Would you like to hold her, then?” he offers.

Yennefer’s gaze turns sharp, lightning-like, but before Jaskier can start rambling and take it back, she answers, “Yes.”

He takes Zofia into his arms and carries her to put her in Yennefer’s lap. The girl fusses and begins crying, scared by the closeness of a person she doesn’t recognise. Jaskier crouches at Yennefer’s side and tries to talk to Zofia soothingly. When that doesn't work, he shows her his necklaces and this, at least, distracts her enough to stop her weeping.

When Zofia calms somewhat, Yennefer puts her hand on the girl’s back. Zofia looks up at her and Yennefer smiles so warmly, so beautifully, that Jaskier’s heart flutters a little bit. She talks to Jaskier’s niece in such a soft, gentle voice that Jaskier just sits down right there at her feet and watches her, stunned.

“You’re a sweet child, aren’t you, little Zosia?” Yennefer croons, still smiling, when Zofia touches her locks with a delighted giggle.  

“My, my,” Jaskier murmurs, with a certain degree of awe he finds himself unable to conceal, “When one bears witness to you like this, it is not a hardship to believe that you have a heart.”

Yennefer snorts. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she replies, not looking away from Zofia.

“Of course!” he laments. “Her affections are held by but the chosen few and alas, I’m not among them. With me, she knows no mercy! Woe me, for she swore to strike me with a near-fatal blow. After all, she’s stolen the heart of my very own guardian angel!”

What he means is Yennefer’s recent relationship with his long-time agent, Triss. Yennefer doesn’t show an ounce of shame about that.

“If you think that everyone’s thoughts revolve around you,” she answers, allowing Zofia to play with the rings on her fingers, “Then I’m slightly concerned for your mental well-being, starlet.”

“Concerned, she says!” Jaskier exclaims. “You wouldn’t be concerned about me even if I were on the brink of death. Such is my miserable fate, despised by the world’s most powerful woman!”

Yennefer sighs in a way painfully long-suffering. “Your dramatics are exhausting, starlet, and I refuse to suffer them. Leave it for tomorrow.”

It is then that it hits him.

“Oh my god,” Jaskier breathes out. “I’m marrying Geralt tomorrow.”

Yennefer gives a very Geralt-like hmm. “Who would’ve thought.”

“Oh c’mon,” he protests, “I’m quite a catch!”

She raises one perfect eyebrow. “It baffles me that some people seem to think so, and Geralt most of all.”

“You’re just bitter, witch,” Jaskier grumbles.

Yennefer actually chuckles at that, her violet eyes glimmering with amusement. Zofia gets bored of sitting in her lap and tries to get off, so Yennefer puts her on the floor. The girl reaches out for Jaskier. He takes her little hands in his, helping her stand up. They make a slow round around the room until Zofia decides to head back to the armchairs, sit on the carpet and play with one of Jaskier’s Gucci slippers.

All throughout, Yennefer watches her with that gorgeous, affectionate smile. Jaskier can see why Geralt was mad about her.

“You two are a very unlikely pair,” Yennefer remarks when Zofia crawls to her and inspects her shoes.

“Yes, well.” He shrugs. “Opposites attract, and all that. I like to think that we’re two puzzle pieces. A perfect fit.”

“Puzzle pieces!” she repeats, barking a harsh laugh. “Oh, starlet, if only it was this easy.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he bristles.

“Don’t be foolish,” she chides. “A real relationship starts after three years. Before that, it’s just a romantic comedy.”

Jaskier purses his lips but doesn’t argue; she did spend almost a decade married to Geralt.

“Any advice, then?” he asks jokingly.

Yennefer actually considers it.

“Always be kind to each other,” she tells him, her face twisting with echoes of old, deep pain.

Jaskier only nods. They don’t speak for some time, focusing on Zofia. The girl starts getting moody after not seeing her mum around for such a long while. It’s a miracle she hasn’t got upset much earlier anyway. Thankfully, Amelia and the rest return a few minutes later.

“I think you haven’t shown us the wedding rings,” Yennefer says apropos of nothing after she returns Zofia to the safety of Amelia’s arms.

Jaskier blinks in surprise, realising that she’s right. He and Geralt had them made only two weeks ago. They decided on two silver bands, as gold felt too impersonal, both with a satin finish, Jaskier’s ring additionally encrusted with diamonds. Since Geralt entrusted them to him for safekeeping (and possibly also because Dara is their ring bearer anyway), Jaskier’s been, delicately put, protective of them. He only allowed anyone to see them in pictures.

“I haven’t, actually,” he admits. “Do you want to see them?”

Everyone nods. Reluctantly, Jaskier heads to his bedroom, where the box with the rings is hidden deep in a drawer of his bedside table. He’s more than certain to find them there. His heart stops when he discovers that they’ve somehow disappeared.

Gut-twisting panic rises within him. With shaking hands, Jaskier rakes all the drawers, then looks everywhere in the bedroom, but the box is gone.

“Fuck,” he curses with feeling. “Fuck, fuck fuckitty fuck!”

He more or less runs to the kitchen, where the rest waits.

“I’ve lost them!” he cries. “Help me look!”

Without another look at them, Jaskier goes about rummaging through the whole place frantically. Living room, the two guest rooms, the bathrooms – and still, nothing. He whimpers, wondering how’s Geralt going to react. He’s going to be disappointed, of course, but not surprised maybe, Jaskier did fuck up greatly once already. God, what if –

“Jaskier!” Ciri calls from the living room.

“They’re here!” Dara.

Jaskier rushes to them and sees the rings, resting in their box, on the coffee table, which baffles him so much that he stops dead in his tracks. He’s sure they weren’t there when he searched the room a few minutes ago.

“What,” he says, “the f – hell.”

Dara giggles. Ciri does too. Suddenly, everyone else is in the room, laughing hysterically.

“What’s so funny?” Jaskier demands. “This isn’t funny!”

Between one wheeze and another, Rozalia chokes out, “Of course you haven’t lost them!”

“You guard them like a dragon guards its hoard!” Amelia adds. “It wasn’t easy to take them away from you.”

Letting out a scandalised gasp, Jaskier points an accusing finger in the general direction of his sisters and Yennefer. “You – !”

“Your panic was extremely gratifying,” Yennefer says with a shit-eating grin.

“I hate you,” he grouses, shooting the three devious women a sulky look. “Why would you do that to me?! It wasn’t funny!”

“It was,” Dara objects. Ciri nods in agreement.

“Not you too!” Jaskier complains, throwing his hands up in the air. “You’re supposed to be on my side, young man! I’m surrounded by trai –”

“Just look on the inside of the rings, Julek,” Roza sighs tiredly.

He frowns, taking the bands to inspect them. “There’s nothing on the inside –”

There is, in fact, something on the inside of the rings. An engraving in small, elegant cursive, which wasn't there even a few hours ago.

Lead me, dearest, to the coast of tomorrow

Jaskier swallows hard, his throat suddenly tight. It’s such a sweet sentiment – his own lyric, the words he wrote for Geralt, in Geralt’s favourite song of his, with a lovely twist.

For a good minute, Jaskier is rendered speechless. When he finally manages to speak, he looks at his sisters and whispers hoarsely, “Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank us,” Amelia replies. “This was Yen’s idea.”

Jaskier stares at Yennefer, his mouth hanging open.

“The rings were lacking,” she explains with disdain that he sees right through.

Before Jaskier knows what he’s doing, he’s moving. He sweeps her into a tight hug, ignoring her protests about it.

“Oh, witch,” he murmurs to her, “You’re so wonderful.”

“That I am,” she replies. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He chuckles, giddy all of the sudden. Yennefer shoves him away.

Jaskier laughs harder and blows her a kiss, enjoying her disgust.

#myfic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #modern au #the Sailor and the Singer AU

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze pt.1/25

Geralt swore as he knocked into his bedside table, hopping from one foot to the other as he tried to pull on his socks. He’d have a nasty bruise on his shin by that evening but he’d had worse, a lot worse. Across his chest was a web of puckered scar tissue that he’d had ever since he was a child. He growled under his breath and pulled his shirt on hurriedly.

“Geralt!!” Ciri shouted from downstairs. “Come on! We’re gonna be late!”

He glanced at the clock and swore again. She was right. It had taken so long to get her dressed and sat down eating breakfast that he’d lost track of time. He pulled half his hair back into a black hair tie and stared back at his reflection in the mirror. He looked passable.

“Coming, Princess.” He called back to his young ward.

He’d known Ciri since she was born, and he’d known her parents well before the accident. Pavetta and Duny had been two of the kindest people he’d had the pleasure to have known and he’d been honoured when they’d asked him to become Ciri’s Godfather. Of course, at the time, he’d only ever expected his duties to be a sort of uncle figure in her life. No one could have predicted they would have been taken from the Earth so soon. Ciri had spent the next few years with her Grandmother, during which time Geralt had barely seen his Goddaughter. He and Calanthe had never really seen eye to eye and the elder woman had decided Geralt was a bad influence on her granddaughter’s life.

Still, Geralt had been sad when he’d received the call at the beginning of summer that the woman and her husband Eist had passed away and Ciri would become his ward. Calanthe had been a fierce woman and Geralt found he had a lot of respect for her, despite their differences.

And now he was raising a child as a single father.

It wasn’t where he’d seen his life going but Ciri had brightened up his lonely existence considerably and he would not change having her in his life for the world. He’d not realised just how lonely he was before Ciri had moved in with him. His life had just been work, sleep, eat repeat. He worked hard to afford his house and then never actually spent any time there because he was always working or at the pub with Lambert, Eskel and Renfri. Since Ciri, he’d realised it was alright to spend time staying still at home.

He shook his head and made his way down the stairs. It was Ciri’s first day at school and then he’d have to make his way to the station for the start of his shift. Vesemir had been very understanding and now allowed Geralt to work his shifts around his young ward. He now started after the school run, and he would only do on-call or evenings if Yen or one of the wolf pack was around to babysit over night.

“Geralt!” Ciri called again and ran out of the kitchen. She had her shoes on but the laces were flying and Geralt only just reached the bottom of the stairs in time to catch her as she tripped. Her hair flew out behind her in a cloud of ashen blonde and he was hit by the scent of her floral shampoo. He chuckled. Lilacs. Just like Yen. Ciri had probably chosen her shampoo to mimic Yennefer’s after his ex had spent the week with them over the summer.

“Got ya!” He chuckled as he pulled her into a hug. She hugged him back tightly, she always did, and he stroked his fingers through her long ashen hair. “Be careful, Princess.” He dropped her down on the bottom step and tied her laces, explaining what he was doing as he looped the laces round. She watched carefully, sticking her tongue out in concentration. “You can have a go tomorrow.”

“Let’s go!” She whined and pulled him by the hand towards the door.

“Wait.” He ruffled her hair and gestured towards his own boots, sitting down to pull them on.

“Hmmph.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and pouted at him. “We’re gonna be late on my first day! Everyone is gonna laugh at me.”

Geralt’s eyes snapped up from where he was tying his own shoelaces at the sudden vulnerability in the young girl’s voice. He frowned and tilted his head as he tried to search for the answers in her bright green eyes.

“Why?” He huffed when he found no answer.

Ciri shifted awkwardly and scraped her feet on the floor. “They did at my old school.”

Geralt tensed and he felt a bubble of rage in his chest as he finished off his laces. “Why?”

But Ciri couldn’t find the words. Her eyes filled with tears and she spun round to avoid his gaze. He stood up and pulled the young girl into another hug and kissed her hair. “They won’t laugh, little Lion Cub, and you must tell me or your teacher if they do. Promise?”

Ciri nodded against his chest and then wiped the tears away. The next minute it was as if the whole moment had never happened and she plastered a smile on her face and pulled Geralt determinedly towards the door. He grabbed his keys off their hook and let himself be pulled towards his old truck.

“Come on!” She trilled and he let himself smile at her newfound excitement.

He made a note to check in with Yen to see if she knew whether Ciri had had any problems at her old school. After the death of both her parents and her grandparents, Ciri was bound to have been the odd one out and Geralt knew from experience how cruel kids could be when you were the odd one out.

The drive went without any further incident. Ciri was happily chatting away about all the new things she couldn’t wait to learn, wondering what her new friends would be like, and her new teachers. Geralt had received an email from the school administrator a few weeks before. Ciri was going to be in Mr Pankratz’s class, otherwise known as Buttercups. All the tutor groups in Ciri’s school were named after flowers. Yen’s tutor group had been called Lilacs before she’d quit teaching a few years ago to focus on her career as an art critic. She’d enjoyed spending time with the children but had found that teaching didn’t suit her and her online art blog had been growing in numbers almost everyday. She’d begun to make a name for herself over the last few years and had been jet-setting all over the world after receiving invitations to all the most prodigious galas and gallery openings.

It had been one of the reasons they’d grown apart. Geralt hadn’t enjoyed the glitz and glamour of Yen’s new life, and she hadn’t been content to stay in the small town for the rest of her life. The spark that had kept bringing them back together after every fight had fizzled out and they’d realised that deep down their relationship had never really meant to last. They were both too headstrong, too stubborn. Still, she knew him better than he knew himself and they stayed in contact. He didn’t have many friends outside of his work life and he didn’t want to lose Yen. He still loved her and she was his best friend. Life without Yennefer Vengerberg would be very dull indeed.

It had been Yennefer who had managed to use her connections with the school to get Ciri a place last minute once she’d moved in with him over the summer. Yennefer was still friendly with the staff and regularly met up with a handful of them when she was in town. Geralt pulled up and parked the car. He helped Ciri pull her rucksack onto her shoulders and held her hand as they headed towards the reception.

A pretty young woman was manning the desk. She had curly dark caramel coloured hair and dark chocolate eyes. Her skin was tanned and her cheeks were painted with a flurry of freckles. He frowned. She seemed vaguely familiar but he couldn’t recall ever meeting her and he was usually pretty good with faces. She smiled brightly when she saw them approach and stood up to shake his hand.

“Mr Rivia?” She asked.

“Hmm.” He nodded. “Call me Geralt.” He added.

“Excellent. I’m Ms Merigold.” She smiled as she released his hand.

Merigold.

That was Yennefer’s best friend’s name. Triss Merigold. They’d never managed to meet up whilst he’d been dating Yennefer, and Geralt had started to suspect that Yen had purposely never introduced them. Maybe she’d been jealous. More likely she’d realised their relationship was never meant to last and there was no point in involving her friends. Geralt had been optimistic and Yennefer had been introduced to all the most important people in his life. He felt a pang of sadness to know she’d never allowed him the same courtesy.

She ticked off Ciri’s name on the clipboard in front of her. Geralt grimaced when he noticed hers was the last name. This single parenting lark was going to be a lot harder than he expected. “Don’t worry. There’s still time.” She turned to Ciri. “And you must be Cirilla?”

Ciri made face and scrunched up her nose at her full name.

“She prefers Ciri.” Geralt explained.

“I’m sorry Ciri. I didn’t know. We’ll make sure all the teacher’s know before you have any classes with them.” Ms Merigold smiled down at his ward. Ciri scowled whilst she considered the other woman’s apology and then her face broke into a bright smile. “You’ll just need to let Mr Pankratz know.”

“Thank you, Ms Merigold!” She beamed.

“Follow me. I’ll show you to Mr Pankratz’s class. You too, Geralt. Jaskier, Mr Pankratz, likes to meet all the parent’s on the first day.” Ms Merigold walked around to their side of the desk and started to make her way through the corridors, pointing out important locations to Ciri on the way, the toilets, the school assembly hall, the dining room.

Ms Merigold stopped in front of a bright yellow door that was covered in kid’s drawings of buttercups. The name ‘Jaskier’ was scrawled out in elegant calligraphy under the thin window pane.

“Here we go. Once you’re done, Mr Rivia, Geralt, if you could drop back to reception and we’ll finish up the paperwork.” Ms Merigold gave Ciri a small wave and wandered back down the corridor.

Geralt took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The music that was floating through the door, halted and Geralt heard a voice through the buttercup covered door.

“Come in!”

Geralt scowled at the cheery tone and pushed the door open. In the middle of the room, surrounding by tiny children, was a sunny looking brunet cradling a guitar in his arms. His face broke into a grin when he saw them. Geralt felt like he’d been punched in the gut as Jaskier’s brilliant blue eyes met his. He’d never seen eyes that blue before. They seemed to shine and glitter in the bright lights of the classroom. He was… radiant.

Geralt tore his gaze away from the teacher and looked around the room. He knew he had a habit of staring too much and with his larger frame he had a tendency to be intimidating. He didn’t want to terrorise Ciri’s new teacher on her first day. It would only make her school life harder for her. Although, Jaskier’s eyes were so captivating and unique, Geralt could hardly be the first person to gawk at him.

“Ahh Mr Rivia! At last. And you must be…”

“Ciri.” Geralt cut the younger man off. “This is Ciri.”

“Ciri!” Jaskier jumped up excitedly and swung his guitar onto his back and extended his hand to the young girl. “Nice to meet you Ciri, I’m Mr Pankratz but everyone calls me Jaskier.”

Ciri giggled and shook Jaskier’s hand. “That’s a funny name.”

“Princess.” Geralt warned in a low voice.

“No no. It’s fine.” Jaskier just waved it off with a charming smile that made Geralt’s stomach flip. He turned back to the children behind him with a wave of his hand. “Right everyone,” Geralt noticed he was making gestures with his hands as he spoke. It looked like sign language not that Geralt was overly familiar.

“I want you all to think of three things that have made you happy this morning and share them with as many people as possible. It can be as simple as having a yummy breakfast, or a parent picking out your favourite top for you to wear. Go!”

He finished off with a final wave of his hands, his tongue sticking out as he concentrated on the last couple of words. A little boy in a beanie was watching him intently until the very end. He had an adult sitting nearby who smiled appreciatively at Jaskier.

The classroom erupted with noise but Jaskier’s eyes just danced with excitement. He’d probably have a hard time calming the children back down but it gave him a chance to talk to Ciri and Geralt without much disturbance. Jaskier turned back to Ciri with a more serious expression. “Jaskier isn’t my real name Ciri, but I chose it. Just like you chose Ciri, right?”

Ciri’s nose scrunched up as she took in what her teacher was saying and then nodded.

“Just because we chose our names, doesn’t make them any less important. A name is a very personal thing Ciri. We should be openminded, yeah?” Jaskier spoke calmly, fixing his blue gaze on the younger girl.

She blushed a little but nodded. “Yeah.”

“Wonderful.” Jaskier trilled happily. “Now, go join the others. Remember I want three things that put a smile on your face this morning. What’s the first one?”

“Cub!” Ciri replied with a laugh.

“Her stuffed lion.” Geralt explained when he saw the flash of confusion on her teacher’s face. He immediately brightened up at Geralt’s explanation and met Geralt’s eyes with a grateful expression.

“That would make me happy too. You’ll have to bring Cub in one day so we can meet them.” Jaskier’s voice was so sincere and genuine that Geralt almost believed that the young man would like nothing more than to meet Ciri’s stuffed toy lion. “Off you go then.”

Ciri scampered off to meet the rest of the class. Geralt watched after her nervously but Ciri was already better than him at making friends and she’d already introduced herself to two of her peers before Geralt turned back to face her teacher.

“Mr Rivia.”

“Geralt.” He insisted.

“Geralt.” Jaskier nodded. Geralt’s name sounded like molten chocolate coming from Jaskier’s mouth. He turned back to watch Ciri so that the teacher couldn’t see the blush that he was fighting down unsuccessfully. “I just wanted to check with you to see if there’s anything we can do to make Ciri’s school life easier. The other children aren’t aware of her, circumstances, shall we say? If she ever needs time off or you think a therapist at school would help her then we can accommodate that. She’s far too young to have known so much death.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nodded. Jaskier wasn’t wrong. “I’ll have a think. Thank you, Jaskier.”

“So what’s made you happy today, Geralt?” Jaskier asked with a wink.

You.

The word almost escaped his lips and took him off guard.

Instead, he took a deep breath and turned to face the teacher, desperately trying to ignore the smile that seemed to brighten up the whole room, or the way his eyes twinkled as if he knew the most exciting secret.

“Ciri.” He paused. “And the coffee machine.”

Jaskier’s chiming laugh filled the room. “Ah yes the elixir that is coffee. That’s only two things though, come now Geralt even the kids can count to three.”

“Hmm.” Geralt struggled to think. “Ciri was nervous this morning.”

“And that made you happy?” Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him and put a hand on his hip.

“No, of course not. Let me finish.” Geralt almost growled at him before he remembered that this man wasn’t his friend, he was his daughter’s teacher. “She was nervous, and you made her laugh.”

“So, I made you happy?” Jaskier smirked mirthfully.

“No.” This time Geralt did growl the word. He couldn’t help it, this man was just so infuriating. Of course he was. No one could be that beautiful and not be a pain in the arse. “You made Ciri happy. Ciri being happy made me happy.”

“Ciri’s on your list twice.” Jaskier pointed out.

“Problem?” Geralt raised an eyebrow at the younger man.

“No. No. No problem.” Jaskier grinned. “Right. I need to get back to the little devils. Triss, Ms Merigold, will set you up with my email address should you need it, she’ll also need your phone number incase there’s a problem here. I’ll look after Ciri, Geralt. I promise.”

Geralt grunted with a nod and turned to leave the room.

“Wait. Geralt.” Jaskier called. “One last thing.”

Geralt tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at the brunet.

“If we can’t get hold of you. Is there someone else to contact in emergencies?” Jaskier fiddled with the strap of his guitar.

“Hmm. You could try my work. Vesemir, or Yennefer if she’s in town.”

“Vengerberg?”

“That’s right.”

“You know Yennefer Vengerberg?” Jaskier looked at him wide eyed.

“Yes.” Geralt nodded wearily, Jaskier was probably a fan. Yen’s art blog had become something of a sensation after all.

“I met her once. She left before I started here, but she’s become something of a legend amongst the staff. Mr Gynvael speaks very highly of her.” Jaskier explained although the way his gaze drifted awkwardly to the floor made Geralt think there was probably more to that story than Jaskier was letting on.

“Hmm.” Geralt didn’t quite know what to say to that.

Luckily for him one of the children started to cry and Jaskier instantly slipped back into teacher mode, rushing over to where a child had fallen on the floor. “Hey hey. It’s alright. Can you show me what hurts?” Jaskier cooed to the small child.

Geralt smiled at the easy care that Jaskier had with the children. He would be far better at being thrown into single parenthood. Geralt sighed and walked out the classroom. He glanced at his watch and cursed. Vesemir would not be impressed with him. He was much later than he’d anticipated but he could always say it was an exception for the first day.

He pulled out his phone and hit his second speed dial.

Vesemir picked up on the second ring “Ah White Wolf. You’d better have a good explanation.” Vesemir chuckled.

“Ah. Fuck. Yes.” Geralt sighed. “I’m on my way.”

_____________

Geralt ached. His body was tired from running drills with Lambert, Eskel and Renfri all morning. They had also been called out a few times. Nothing major luckily, an unfortunate microwave incident in the local University dorms, a couple of house calls that were easily contained and the hugely stereotypical my cat is stuck in a tree call. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed as he unlocked the door to his flat. He’d barely stepped across the threshold when a blur of ashen blonde hair came flying at him and he caught Ciri in his arms and spun her around.

“Geralt!” She giggled happily as she flew through the air.

“Hi Princess. How was school?” He asked his ward.

“It was great! Mr Jaskier is the best!” She sang happily. “He was telling us all about words that sound the same, and Dara can’t hear properly so Mr Jaskier is teaching us how to speak with our hands!”

“Yeah?” Geralt smiled fondly down at the young girl as he carried them both to the kitchen where Coën was waiting for them both. Geralt nodded at him in greeting. “What words sound the same?” He prompted wondering how much she would have learnt on her first day.

“Yeah! Like bee and tree!” Ciri nattered away happily.

“Hmm. And you were a good girl for Coën when he picked you up from school?” He asked.

Ciri pouted. “I’m always good!”

Geralt chuckled. “Of course.” He turned to her babysitter. “Thanks Coën. Any problems?”

“None at all. She was an angel.” Coën said with a laugh as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “She’s even been teaching me how to sign the alphabet. Ciri, show Geralt how to sign your name.” Coën asked with a gentle smile. Ciri beamed back and scrunched up her nose and she slowly spelled out her name with her hands.

Geralt made a mental note to look up sign language courses online. If one of Ciri’s friends used sign language then it was only a matter of time before they ended up on a playdate and he wanted to be able to communicate with his ward’s friends and support Ciri in her learning.

“That’s good, Ciri.” He praised a little awkwardly. He’d never been particularly open with his feelings but it was something he was working on for her. He knew children needed praise and encouragement so he was trying his best.

The three of them sat in the kitchen for a few minutes whilst Ciri tried to go through the whole alphabet. She forgot a few of the later letters but Coën had already looked them up on his phone and was able to remind her. Geralt’s respect for the teenager grew. He was the son of one of Vesemir’s former colleagues and Vesemir had recommended him as a babysitter once he heard about Calanthe and Eist’s death.

Once Ciri had reached the end of the alphabet, Coën hugged her goodbye and Geralt shook his hand. “I’ll see you both tomorrow then. Bye Ciri!” He called with a wave before picking up his bag and heading to the front door.

“See ya!” Ciri waved him goodbye and then turned her attention back to Geralt. “Did you know nothing sounds like orange?”

“Hmm. I did. Did Mr Jaskier tell you that?” Geralt asked as he lowered Ciri back to the floor and began to root around in the fridge for his dinner.

“Yup! Purple doesn’t have a word rhyme either.” Ciri grinned.

“Hmm. I never thought about that. Mr Jaskier is a clever man.” Geralt smiled softly at the memory of Jaskier’s bright eyes and kind smile.

“He’s the bestest!” Ciri agreed. “but don’t worry, Dad, you’re still my favourite.”

Geralt’s heart stopped in his chest.

“Dad?” He asked quietly.

“Well obviously.” Ciri said with her hands on her hips.

“Come here.” Geralt said and pulled her into a big hug.

“Oh there’s something from Mr Jaskier on the table for you!” Ciri said as she squirmed in his arms.

“Hmm?” Geralt let his daughter go and saw a yellow envelope on the table.

“He said to make sure you saw it.” Ciri insisted.

Geralt flipped the envelope over. He was sealed shut by a small blob of teal wax. Geralt chuckled at the sight of it. He should have known that Ciri’s teacher would be the extravagant type. He opened the envelope carefully, tracing the elegant letters of his name. He’d never known anyone else with such dramatic writing. He wondered if Jaskier wrote on the whiteboard like that or whether he’d made an effort for the letter. Geralt scowled at that. Why would Jaskier make an effort for him? He shook the thought from his mind. He wasn’t special. Jaskier had probably written a letter like this to all the parents.

The writing inside, however, wasn’t nearly as neat. It wasn’t bad but it was definitely more of a scrawl than calligraphy.

  Hi Geralt!  

     Thank you for coming in to see me on Ciri’s first day. I always prefer to meet the parents sooner rather than later so we can work together to give the kids the best start in life that we can. Normally I would send an email at the end of the week to give all the parents an update on their child’s progress and what we’ve learnt but it’s the first day so that’s all a bit exciting isn’t it?  

     Ciri is an absolute delight! She makes friends very easily and seems to have the whole class wrapped around her little finger. She’s even managed to bring one of the shyer kids, Dara, out of his shell. You should be very proud of her.  

     On a more serious note, Ciri has noticed that her family situation isn’t exactly common. Most of the kids in our class have two parents or live with their mother. We had to have a little chat after lunch. She got a bit upset that she didn’t have a mum and dad but we talked about how family is important, especially the ones we choose. If there’s anything I can do to help please let me know. If there are any topics that are best to avoid etc.  

     Anyhoo! Today we learnt about rhyming words and started work on writing our numbers and alphabet. In the morning we learnt a new song together and started learning sign language! A wonderful skill to have, I think, and this afternoon we had to draw one of the things that made us happy. Ciri should have her drawing done by the end of tomorrow! I expect to see all her drawings pinned to the fridge. No slacking, Geralt.  

     I am absolutely thrilled to be teaching Ciri this year! Here’s to the rest of a brilliant year with the Buttercups!  

     Kindest Regards,  

     Jaskier.  

Geralt didn’t realise he was smiling until Ciri peered up at him with a smirk on her face.

“Dad, do you like Mr Jaskier?” She cackled.

“He’s a good teacher, Princess.” He scowled down at her.

“He’s got pretty eyes.” Ciri hummed thoughtfully.

“Cirilla. Go to bed.” Geralt snapped.

“But Dad!” She whined.

“Don’t forget your teeth.” He grunted.

“Urgh. Fine.” She stormed off upstairs in a huff.

Geralt gently traced the letters of Jaskier’s name at the bottom of the paper. Jaskier was a beautiful man, there was no denying that. It was the first thing Geralt had noticed when he’d walked into Ciri’s classroom. You’d have to blind not to notice that, even Yen would probably agree and Jaskier was decidedly not her usual type, and he was kind. He was good with the kids. He talked too much. That much was evident but he’d already won over Ciri and Geralt had been impressed by how he’d handled the sensitive subject of Ciri’s home life, both that morning and in the letter.

That didn’t mean he liked him though.

It was just well-deserved respect.

He pictured Jaskier’s blinding smile and the mischievous glimmer in his eyes. Geralt felt a warmth bubble up in his chest at the thought. He put the letter in his pocket and slumped down into a chair, resting his head on this the table.

“Fuck.”

_______

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#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #triss merigold #cirilla fiona elen riannon #teacher!jaskier #fireman!geralt #modern au #you set my heart ablaze #wolfie's witcher writing #five chapters posted on Ao3 #updates on saturdays