#oh man jask hitting his head or his nose or something so he wakes up bloody

[julek]

7) “are we breaking up?” 💕

The ring burns in Geralt's hand.

He's had it for so long, hidden at the bottom of his bag, two old shirts wrapped around it for good measure. He's looked at it on starless nights and turned it on his finger over and over again for long winters. He's written hundreds of pages under candlelight in Vesemir's library while staring at it, watching the shapes it cast on the walls where the light met its stone.

He's finally ready. His brothers have gone hunting with Vesemir, the candles are lit, and there's a bottle of his best wine cooling in the snow.

Absolutely nothing could go wrong.

Pocketing the ring and putting on a confident smile, he walks over to where Jaskier is napping in front of the fire. He takes a minute to drink him in, the soft slope of his nose golden pink against the furs he's wrapped himself around, his curls mussed and tangled against the pillow. He crouches by his side.

"Jask."

One blue eye cracks open. Then closed. "Mm."

Geralt smiles. "Jask, come on."

"Hmmmmmm." Jaskier screws his eyes shut. "We're closed. Come back later."

Geralt bites his lip, thinking of a way to wake him up that doesn’t involve pouring frozen water directly onto his face. "Jask," he says again, rubbing his stubbled cheek against Jaskier's face.

Third time's the charm.

"Ugh," Jaskier complains, sitting up and bringing the blankets up with him as well. He blinks once, twice, then squints at Geralt. "What."

Okay, not the perfect opening Geralt expected. He can make it work, though. "I need to talk to you."

At that, Jaskier is a little more awake. His eyes are wide and Geralt can feel the way his scent changes, but he can't quite put his finger on what it is. Jaskier makes some room for him to sit, and Geralt nods. "Right."

His heart is pounding, and he suddenly forgets every sonnet and ballad he spent months quoting to Lambert as practice, forgets every eloquent sentence Eskel suggested to him as they fenced. He clears his throat, then takes in a deep breath.

Jaskier's looking at him with curiosity and something else he can't quite decipher, so he takes his hands in his. "Jaskier," he stars.

After a moment, and because Geralt hasn't said anything else, Jaskier squeezes his hands. "Yes?"

He clears his throat again. Gods, it hadn't been as hard when he practiced with Vesemir. "You have been by my side for a long time." Okay, not a bad start. "I didn't want your company at first, didn't need it."

Jaskier's face does a complicated thing, so he hurries to continue. "You were loud and reckless and annoying, and more often than not I had to save you from cuckolded husbands and revenge-seeking fathers," he chuckles. "And it took us a while to get to where we are."

Jaskier's eyes are shining as he looks up at him. Perfect, Geralt thinks. I knew I've always been a romantic deep down.

He gets bolder. "I brought you to Kaer Morhen this winter, after many years of someone," he says, and thinks of Lambert's merciless teasing, "pestering me to let you come. But I think it is time I tell you the truth about my feelings."

Geralt's about to bring the ring out of his pocket when a sob escapes Jaskier's mouth. He looks up, confused. "Jaskier?"

Jaskier isn't looking at him, tears running down his cheeks. "Are—" he sniffs, "are we breaking up?"

Geralt freezes in his seat. Breaking up? Where did Jaskier get the idea—

Oh.

He springs into action. "No, no, no," he soothes, taking Jaskier in his arms, loathing the way his tears keep falling. "No, Jask— Gods, I'm an idiot. I'm not breaking up with you." He reaches into his pocket, pulls the ring out. "I'm asking you to marry me."

"You—" Jaskier lets out a strangled sob and tries to speak, but his tears don't let him, so Geralt pulls him against his chest, whispering sweet nothings in his ear until Jaskier's breathing evens out.

Once he can, Jaskier pulls back. "That was you asking me to marry you?"

"Um." Geralt's still holding the ring, and he aims for a smile. "Yes?"

Jaskier covers his flushed face with his hands, muttering into them. "—the most tactless Witcher in the entire Continent, yes." He takes a deep breath. "You— I—" He closes his eyes. "You know what? Just— go on. What were you saying?"

Geralt swallows, tentatively reaches out for Jaskier's hand. He has a feeling he's sleeping in the stables tonight. "Um." He swallows again. "I was about to tell you about my feelings. For you."

Jaskier nods and pats his hand. "Yes, yes. That."

Taking in a deep breath, Geralt steels himself. "What I was trying to say," he starts, "was that I didn't always see you for who you were. For who you are." Jaskier smiles at that, and Geralt squeezes his hand. "Kind. Loving. Brave."

He rubs the stone on the ring with his thumb. "I do now," he says, looking into Jaskier's eyes, drowning in that blue. "And, contrary to what I made you believe a few seconds ago, I can't get enough of you."

Jaskier sniffs. "I love you," Geralt murmurs in the low light, plain and simple. True. "I never wish to be parted from you."

There's a beat of silence. Then—

"You ridiculous, foolish man!" Jaskier exclaims, swatting at his chest. His grin is blinding. "That was all you needed to say! None of that You were nothing but a parasite, I hated you at first glance—"

"I don't believe I said—"

Jaskier's laughter is infectious. Geralt hears it against his chest as he pulls him into his arms. "I love you, you fool." Jaskier looks up at him. "Ugh, I can't believe you did that."

Geralt lets out a laugh, relieved. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you I practiced that, would you?"

Jaskier laughs again, bright and so, so lovely. Geralt loves him too much. "I fear for whoever had to be the pretend recipient of that so-called declaration of love."

"Hmm," Geralt says, and presses a kiss to Jaskier's cheek. Jaskier turns and catches his lips in a tender kiss, full of laughter and longing and love.

"So?" Geralt says when they part.

Jaskier's dopey grin doesn't waver. "So what?"

Geralt presents him the ring. "Will you?"

Jaskier gapes, taking a proper look at the ring, watching it glint in the firelight. Then, he looks at Geralt with a smirk. "I don't believe I heard a question yet."

"Jask," Geralt groans, but looking at Jaskier's shit-eating grin makes his heart feel lighter. He smiles his softest smile and whispers, "Will you marry me?"

Jaskier's left eyebrow rises, and he puts on a ridiculous considering face. Then, earnest, he says, "Yes."

There's the sound of a bottle popping open behind him, and it makes them turn.

"Shit!" comes Lambert's shout-whisper.

"I told you to be quiet," chides Eskel, and Geralt can hear Vesemir's quiet laugh as well.

"You were supposed to be hunting!" He yells, and, at last, from behind a curtain emerge the Wolves. "You weren't supposed to be here."

Lambert's hands are sticky with the wine he's holding in his hands. "By the way your proposal went, I wouldn't be too worried about clearing the space to consummate your love right here in the hall."

"Lambert," Eskel says, hitting his arm.

Geralt looks at Jaskier. "Sorry." He glares at his brothers. "They were supposed to be gone."

Lambert cackles. "Gods know what would've happened if we'd left you truly alone!" He elbows Eskel in the side. "Bet you pretty boy would've made Jaskier pack his bags somehow."

Taking Geralt's hand, Jaskier clears his throat. "It was a beautiful proposal," he says, and only laughs a little bit. "Very original."

Vesemir joins in. "Son," he rumbles, nodding at Geralt. "Give him the ring."

"Oh." Geralt looks at Jaskier, who puts out his left hand expectantly. He kisses his ring finger before sliding the small silver ring in, the plain but imposing stone shining against his tanned skin. "There."

This time, Geralt's sure that the tears that escape Jaskier's eyes are happy ones. He kisses each one away, bringing the bard into his arms once more.

"I love you," he whispers into his hair. Jaskier says it back against his jaw. They stay in each other's arms for a while, reveling in the warmth of their love, of their embrace.

"Yes, yes, love conquers all, we know,” Lambert says, "but we're not getting any younger, the wine isn't getting any cooler—"

Geralt clicks his tongue, and Jaskier laughs as Lambert keeps listing reasons as to why they should stop making pretty eyes at each other and get their asses to Vesemir's congratulatory dinner. Shaking his head, Geralt stands up. He offers Jaskier his hand. "Are you coming?"

Jaskier's ring scratches Geralt's hand as he takes it. It's a pleasant feeling.

"Always."

#mywriting #i hope you like it! i had loads of fun #thank you for the prompt <3 #geraskier fic #geraskier fluff #answered #anonymous

[samstree]

Hug a Witcher Day (3/4)

In which Jaskier goes missing in the spring. Can Geralt finally realize his feelings for the bard in the middle of a crisis?

(hurt/comfort, soft geraskier, 3k, rated T, cw: mentions of a canon-era plague, sick children, and a citywide lockdown.)

part 1, part 2, read on AO3

The third year since Jaskier invented Hug a Witcher Day, Geralt all but forgets about it completely.

He steps into the Two Weatherfish, where they agreed to meet, and realizes that the bard isn’t here. Or in the entire city of Ard Carraigh. No one has seen any trace of the famous bard who won’t quit singing praises for witchers.

Geralt pushes down the slight panic in his chest as he steps out of the last tavern in the city, and decides to just head for Oxenfurt.

It’s not like Jaskier has been the most reliable companion in the past, often distracted by dalliances or even anything shiny and new. One time he wandered off to watch a local celebration and Geralt found him hours later next to a lake, with thousands of lanterns floating above the water, illuminating the night sky like burning stars peppered on a dark canvas.

The soft, orange light spilled over Jaskier’s features, his eyes gleaming like the stars too.

Geralt snorts despite himself. There’s no doubt the bard is just delayed by someone who caught his eye and decided that a promise to a witcher isn’t all that important—the same witcher who he keeps claiming to be his best friend.

Geralt isn’t sure how to feel about that, or how to react when he finally sees Jaskier. Perhaps he will cease to talk about hunts for a while, leave the bard hanging, just so he can get a taste of the same frustration.

The pettiness remains in Geralt’s mind up until he steps into the academy and rampant fear licks up his chest.

Essi is the one who meets him at the gates, worry deep between her brows and rambling about how Jaskier never made it to the yule ball like he should. In her hands are two letters, clearly Jaskier’s handiwork judging from the neat curves and flourish, talking about his excitement to see his ‘Little Eye’ perform again, and how unfortunately his travel would be delayed due to an unexpected ailment.

Don’t you fret, poppet, for I am sure to beat this sickness within days. The promise of listening to your new ballad is already doing wonders for my health! It is a shame that my stay in Vizima is soured thus. The city, so beautifully rich in culture…

“Vizima,” Essi says frantically. “A plague broke out in the city last winter. Smallpox.”

A buzz begins to ring by Geralt’s ear, muffling out Essi’s voice and leaving only the thundering of his own heartbeat.

“They told me King Foltest sealed the gate to stop the spread, and…and no one has heard from anyone inside since then. Geralt, please, you are a witcher. Aren’t you immune to human sickness? That’s what Jaskier told me, isn’t that right?”

“I…yes.” The lump in Geralt’s throat stops any other words from getting out. His blood runs cold in the warm breeze of Oxenfurt’s spring.

“Please, Geralt, you must find him. I need to know. The university won’t allow me to go, but I…I must know. No matter what happened to him.”

The implication hangs in the air.

Tears well up in blues eyes too similar to Jaskier’s. Essi would be my sister in another life, Jaskier once commented adoringly and it’s only standing right here that Geralt can truly see the identical fierceness in her eyes.

As if Geralt needs her to ask. As if he isn’t willing to charge into the land of the dead if it means Jaskier gets out of it unscathed.

“Of course, Essi,” he promises solemnly. Her clutch on his forearm is so tight that any other man would be bruised by the force. “I promise.”

“Keep him safe, if it’s not too late.”

In his near-century long life, Geralt has rarely felt cold, unrelenting fear as he does when Essi breaks into sobs.

 *

The sickness in Vizima casts a gloomy cloud over the sky, choking Geralt’s breaths. The streets are eerily empty. Only a few people will pass through in a frenzy every now and then.

Geralt’s legs take him right through the main streets, to the far corner of the city, where countless makeshift tents are set up and stretching towards the edge of the woods. If anyone has indeed fallen to the disease, that’s the most likely place they will be sent to. If anyone passes, that’s also where they keep the records so friends and families can look for their names.

Bile rises in his throat at the idea of looking through stacks of books for Jaskier’s name.

Geralt walks between hundreds of beds of one tent after another. Some healers throw him an odd look but carry on with their work, the flash of their white scrubs weaving through the busy establishment.

Against all odds, a pang of relief hits Geralt when he notices how the patients are well-treated by healers who seem to know what they are doing. The fever is brought down with a soaked cloth and a minty salve is applied for the irritation on the skin.

He searches and searches, until the sun is almost down, when—

A soft tune is carried over by the gentle breeze of spring.

And there Jaskier is, kneeling next to a little boy on a bed and humming a lullaby that Geralt only remembers vaguely. The bard is wearing the same white scrub like every carer at this camp, his brown hair slightly ruffled, and dark circles are hanging under his eyes. Geralt can see how tired he is by the hunch of his shoulders and the barely-there quiver in his singing, by his unkept stubble and the smile that’s dangerously close to falling.

And yet, he makes the most beautiful sight in the world.

Geralt stands there, drinking in the presence of his bard. The languid heartbeat of a witcher picks up, fluttering and almost bursting out of his chest.

Jaskier runs his fingers through the boy’s hair when the lullaby comes to an end. He tucks in the blanket and slowly pulls himself up, his knees creaking from the strain.

Blue eyes meet Geralt and Jaskier’s shock morphs into unbridled, blazing joy. Within the blink of an eye, the bard is standing right in front of Geralt.

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathes oh so carefully like he’s scared of waking from a dream. “What are you doing here? Wait, you don’t have any protec—oh right! Witcher biology. Can’t catch anything from us.” The bard lets out a sigh and his shoulders drop in relief. “How did you get through the gate? Punched another guard, didn’t—”

“You are okay,” Geralt says, dumbly.

“I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” Jaskier frowns. “Geralt, why did you come to Vizima in the middle of a plague? Not that I’m complaining about seeing you, but how exactly did you find me?”

Geralt doesn’t want to look away from Jaskier’s face—ideally for a long time to come, but he needs to rummage through his pack for the crumpled letters.

“You sent these to Essi last winter.”

Jaskier takes the letters, flattens the frayed edges before reading his own words.

“Yes, I did tell her…” Cold horror takes Jaskier aback. “Shit. She must think—Oh, Geralt, that wasn’t it! I only caught a stomach bug. It was never the pox! But then…they locked the city gate so fast and everything was in chaos for weeks. I couldn’t get more letters out. Oh, I wish I could take it back! I didn’t think—”

“You damn well didn’t.”

The words come out a lot harsher than Geralt intended, and Jaskier flinches back. Geralt pinches at the bridge of his nose, feeling contrite at his untimely outburst.

“No, Jask—I’m not…” he heaves out a sigh. “She didn’t even know if you were alive for months.”

Neither did I.

“I’m so sorry.” Jaskier is close to tears. “She must be worried sick.”

“She is.”

I was.

“And you too, Geralt. Please forgive me.” Jaskier’s chin wobbles, his arms hovering between the two of them as if he wants to put them around Geralt. “I want to ask you not to be cross with me again, but that seems to be all I do.”

“Jaskier…”

Geralt calls out when he finds not even an ounce of anger in his heart, not when he just spent weeks fearing the worst, not when Jaskier is standing right in front of him, safe and hale, his eyes flowing with guilt.

Jaskier might just be the death of him.

“Fuck. Just don’t pull this again.” Geralt softens his tone, knowing how unfair the request is when such things are out of Jaskier’s control, but the bard replies in earnest.

“I won’t. I swear.”

Exhaustion washes over the bard once again, making him look a lot older than he is. From the looks of it, Jaskier has been working in these camps for months and the last thing he needs is an unsupportive friend.

And Geralt doesn’t intend to become one.

“And you are dressed like this because?” Geralt nudges Jaskier in the shoulder to ease the apprehension on his face.

“Funny you should ask.” The bard presses his lips into a thin line before continuing. “I may have lied—nay, implied—that the seven degrees I acquired at Oxenfurt included…medicine. Hold on! Before you judge, I do know how to care for pox patients. I caught it as a child too and that’s why I’ve been fine this whole time.”

“Hmm. But you don’t have the—”

“The scars. No thanks to my grandmother’s secret healing salve that she insisted on keeping secret. It worked like a charm back then, almost like magic. We’ve been trying to replicate from whatever I remember. The mint is helping a little but something is still missing. Oh, well.” The bard rubs his fingers at the hem of his scrub. “Perhaps that explains all these crazy rumors about her heritage, with all her herbs and teas that always miraculously cured everybody. Honestly, I don’t even blame them.”

Geralt muses the possibility of Jaskier’s grandmother not being completely human and makes a silent decision to unpack it later.

“Then I guess your personal experience should come in handy if we are going to stay here for a while.”

“We? You are staying?”

“The exits are still closed.” Geralt tilts his head in nonchalance. “Might as well lend them a hand.”

And never take his eyes off of Jaskier again.

“That’s…wonderful, in a terrible, terrible way. Being trapped in the same place during a plague. Gods, that sounds like something out of the cheesiest romance novel.” Jaskier gasps as soon as the words are out. The smile on his face blossoms into a heated blush.

“Just promise me one thing, Jask.”

“What?” The cornflower blue eyes uncharacteristically avoid Geralt in a vain attempt to hide how flustered he is.

Don’t scare me like this again.

Don’t get taken from me.

Don’t leave me.

“Read less romance novels. Once this blows over,” Geralt answers, finally.

The fluttering in his chest returns, although this time for a completely different reason. The reason not being how adorable Jaskier looks embarrassed and rosy-cheeked.

No. Definitely not.

 *

“Little Simon asleep?”

Geralt asks as he stokes the fire, watching Jaskier struggle out of the sweat-soaked scrub and throw it into the laundry pile. The bard sits down next to him on the log with a groan and leans into his arm.

“As flattered as I am that he can’t fall asleep without my songs, it does get a bit taxing to sing every night while kneeling on the floor.”

“The kid is sick. Can’t blame him for having bad taste in music.”

The jab would have landed better if he isn’t wrapping his arm around Jaskier so that he can rest his head on Geralt’s shoulder. The days are too long even with most of the patients released home, and it’s been taking a toll on Jaskier.

“Cruel to me when I’m down, huh?”

Under Geralt’s palm, it’s unmistakable that Jaskier’s arm isn’t as thick as it once was, and he really doesn’t want to think about how the sharp of Jaskier’s jaw is becoming more prominent by the day.

Geralt rubs gently up and down Jaskier’s bicep to draw a contented purr out of him.

“Hmm. Now you’re forgiven.” Jaskier nuzzles into the crook of Geralt’s neck so his muscles loosen under the ministration. “It’s so unfair that a shift never wears you out like the rest of us, my dear. So unfair that you don’t need as much food too. I’d kill for some witcher superpowers these days.”

“Trust me, you won’t like what they cost.”

The late summer heat, mixed with the smell of sweat in Jaskier’s hair, should make it extremely uncomfortable to be sitting so close, but Geralt only finds it calming to have Jaskier sagging against him.

Jaskier’s thinning shoulder is too worrisome. Geralt will have to leave him most of the dinner rations again. Excuses are so easy to find, once Geralt realized that Jaskier never questions what he’s told about witcher biology, trusting every word from Geralt’s mouth. It’s just a little lie, a little exaggeration.

The bard is rubbing off on him.

“Simon is among the last ones here,” Jaskier says tiredly into Geralt’s neck. “It will soon be over. They are saying everyone can go in a month or so.”

“We can go even now.”

The prospect of traveling again stirs up something hopeful under Geralt’s skin, prickling with excitement, but he knows more patience is required for now.

“Nah, I should at least see little Simon home. You were right that the boy has suffered enough. The fever is terrible. Even I still have nightmares about it after so many years. It’s excruciating, almost like death is trying to mock you. One moment a fire burns through your whole body, the next it swallows you whole into this…nothingness, cold and alone.”

Geralt tightens his hold and breathes in the melancholic scent emanating from Jaskier’s skin.

“It was my grandmother, again. She sang the same lullaby to me every night, kept me sane. It’s helping little Simon too.”

“It’s in elvish,” Geralt murmurs absently when Jaskier is close to drifting off. The bard’s leveled breathing fans over the collar of Geralt’s neck.

“…hmm?”

“Nothing. Maybe for later.”

Geralt’s fingers reach the side of Jaskier’s head and thread between the soft brown locks, keeping his drooping head in place for the nap. When he looks down to where Jaskier casually drapes over half of his body, the two of them almost melding into one, Geralt is suddenly hit with how much their relationship has changed over the past few years, and at the same time, how it feels completely natural like puzzles fitting into place.

This newfound intimacy should scare Geralt, but strangely, it doesn’t. Maybe it’s because the witcher has learned long ago to treasure his bard as a companion and friend, to protect him and care for him, even without ever admitting it out loud.

Maybe he should.

And what would he even say? Geralt is equally elated and stumped at the thought of the two of them growing into something more. If the fluttering in his chest is a result of loving Jaskier, the bard deserves to know, and he deserves the best words.

Geralt scoffs softly when he realizes that he’d kill for something completely opposite. Not the strength of a witcher, but the silver tongue of a bard, the ability to weave the most beautiful prose to describe what Jaskier means to him.

The summer cicadas are singing with renewed vigor, the sizzling sound disrupting his train of thought. For now, Geralt will need to content himself in simply being with Jaskier.

And, perhaps, in pressing a tiny kiss into his soft brown hair as well. Under the night sky, only the stars will know.

--

I didn't know plague doctor Jaskier could be a thing until I started writing this chapter, and the ending just had to make way for it. Sorry that the chapter count has gone up. I promise hugs are cuddles are on the way!  <3

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @birdsflyhome @dapandapod @artisanbaguette

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #soft geralt #hug a witcher day #soft jaskier #cw: plague #guess this should be a warning #protective geralt #essi daven #jaskier sings to children

[imfallingdown-icantwakeup]

Seven for Secret, Never to be Told

Fishmonger’s Daughter 

Chapter Five

Taglist: @chipster-21, @ultracolorfulnerdcollection, @cthylla-rlyeh  @a-banana-for-your-thoughts

Word count: 4287

A/n: So I was over half way done with a request and this... happened. Let me know how it is, this is my first time writing a... flavorful? chapter? Idk I tried! Thanks in advance guys!!!

         Annoyance.

         Annoyance was clawing its way through my stomach and settling in my chest before spilling from my mouth loudly in front of Jaskier.

         “Birds? We’re following birds.”

         “Technically, you’re following me,” Jaskier places his chin at my shoulder, mouth close to my ear as he talks a touch quieter than normal. I tighten the reins in my grip as his warm words pass my neck fondly, causing a flush to rise in their wake. “I’m following Geralt and Geralt is following the birds.”

         “I don’t give a flying fuck about technicalities.” I complain once more, grip ever tightening as his hands find purchase snugly against my middle, pressing me to the front of his chest firmly as he reaches around himself, our thighs rubbing together with every action. The sudden change in position has me visibly blushing red, the only sound I can hear in cadence with his voice was my own racing heart. I feel something placed between us before he’s suddenly pushing me away, something hard pressed into the small of my back. Was that-

         No-

        “That’s a great line, quite magnificent actually. Do you mind if I use that?” He asks, his voice sounding off as I hear his pages shuffle. He uses my back as a table as he scribbles into his book, the sensation making me feel dizzy for a moment before I remembered how to breathe. Space. Something outside the perverse number of hormones flowing through him and into me at his touch in various places. It was all encompassing, as if I was blinded at the sun.

         A flash of silver flashes in front of me, the light reflecting off Geralt’s surprisingly neat hair in the mid-morning sun. That’s right. We are following Mister Grouchy-Pants-Witcher.

        “Geralt, why are we following birds?” I ask obnoxiously as I urge Hamish faster, so we are riding along our companion. One more reason to keep the hormones in check.

        “They’re scavengers. We could use the extra coin.” His voice is hard when he speaks. He keeps his eyes up as I shake my head at him, a small scoff falling from my lips. We continue for a moment, Jaskier writing and Geralt looking towards the pale morning sky. I wait for him to follow up with anything before I sigh dramatically, leaning back onto Jask, interrupting his song-making.

         “How dull. I don’t see how the two can be-oh.” The smell hits before I see Geralt jump off a nervous Roach, hands making a weird figure, muttering under his breath as an otherworldly calmness eases over her. Hamish isn’t as squeamish as the mare, walking behind Geralt just fine as he moves some over hanging vegetation, taking a deep breath before leading the way through.

        The scene before me is sickening and I bring a hand to my mouth in disgust. A young girl in blue lay without her face and neck, her clothes bloody and torn. The man beside her, either a lover or relative. You could see where the animals in the forest had started picking at the decaying flesh.

        Geralt walks towards the man while Jaskier ends up by the woman, leaving me in my perch. I keep my eyes on the stoic man, watching how he works. He’s methodical in his steps, only touching what he must before moving on. His gaze flickers to me as he reaches down, snatching a leather pouch from the corpse.

        “Are you sure that you want to continue with this adventure?” Geralt asks as he stands, going through the man’s contents as I look at him fully. He seemed unfazed, almost numb to the situation as he continued. I bristle at his small quip sent my way, a glare burning a hole in the side of his head while he surveys the entire layout before him, trying to read the papers.

        “This rose, Elowyn. Is it just me or does it look familiar?” Jask asks as he comes beside me, his hand touching my calf to gain my attention. My gaze never falters from Geralt although he still hasn’t looked at me and I raise a hand to Jaskier for a moment. The fire never dies, oh no; she slowly simmers in my blood and splats from my mouth like a boiling pot bubbled over.

        “Excuse me?” I press Geralt, Hamish taking a step forward as my feet dig into him. Geralt pockets the coin and a piece of paper, placing the man’s belongings back on his person before he turns towards me sighing lightly. He lifts the man’s hand while crouched, holding up the blue decaying appendage. He places it down gently before he walks over to the woman, flipping her over as I gag slightly at the swollen flesh, looking away before my insides came into the out.

        “I didn’t stutter- “

        “Elowyn, look.” Jaskier presses as he holds a rose up. I glance at it quickly before shooing him away, hopping off the Ham as I point a finger in Geralt’s direction. The ground sways beneath my feet as I turn to Geralt and the body. I push through the feeling as a holy fire takes rage inside me. This man had the audacity-

        “If we have a problem, then you say, you know use words? You say something to m- “I’m cut off by a loud piercing shriek and it causes me to cover my ears. I feel Jaskier grab my arm from behind, pulling me closer as I instinctually move towards him.

        “Quiet.” Geralt chides as if I can speak right now. I swallow my fear after a moment, gathering myself as Geralt stares off into the trees around us. His eyes were narrowed, and you could tell that even though he was five feet away from us physically, he wasn’t there with is in that moment.

        The mask of a Witcher fell over his face as I glance down to where Jaskier and I are grabbing each other’s arms tightly, looking around the greenery myself. The air grows stagnant as Geralt stills, his gaze set over my shoulder as I am faced towards him. Jaskier gasps lightly before he turns his back towards whatever he was facing and grips my arm tighter, turning me towards his chest pressing my head to his chest. One hand stayed behind my head, and I could hear his heart beat hard and fast-and-

        Jaskier was scared.

        “Hello, there.” Geralt grumbles as he looks over our shoulder, causing me to go still. He holds his hand out to Jaskier and I, stilling us entirely. Didn’t matter if he told me to run at that point, because I wasn’t going anywhere, I could hardly breathe as the moments seemed to drag on into forever. It’s a moment before I hear a woman’s giggle from behind me before Geralt is shoving past us suddenly, his hair a streak of white as he runs. It takes me a moment to assess that something has happened before I look up at Jaskier, eyes large as I grip his shirt tighter.

        “The fuck was that?” I ask as he drags me to the Ham, shoving me into the saddle before he mounts the horse behind me, grabbing the reins and running after Geralt. I could feel his heart pound through my back when he pressed into me. It was beating hard, but not as fast-no longer scared. Jaskier takes a deep breath, his nose pressed into the side of my head as he leans down to mutter quietly into my ear.

        “My next song, come on. Let’s go after him, Elowyn.” Jaskier whines, his voice airy as he’s already weaving Hamish through the foliage, the Witcher’s hair a beacon of white through the green forest.

        “But Roach, we can’t just leave- “

        “Nu-uh. No one touches Roach; she’ll be fine. Let’s go. We’re wasting time and he’s always so damn stingy- “

        “There he is you bumbling baby. He’s standing in front of a gate.” I pinch Jaskier’s arm as it stays encircled around me, Hamish coming to a stop next to Geralt. Jaskier dismounts, hand out to help me off. I take it as I slide down, coming to stand between the two men as Jaskier ties Hamish to a tree nearby, leaving Geralt and I alone for an awkward moment. I caught my breath as we stood there, shaking off the moment’s haze before moving onto the next. “Where are we, Geralt?”

        “Quiet.” He shushes, stalking towards the gate before opening it slowly. I follow behind him, eyes taking in the overgrown greenery and the fallen nettles, looking at the three walls surrounding an open courtyard closing in a mansion. The living space seemed to try to blend into the forest outside the walls, the mansion taking on ivy, dirty damp patches with chipping plaster. The shutters were drawn closed, as was the door.

          “What are you doing?” Geralt threw Roach’s reins over a pillar by the gate, the gravel crunching under our feet as we make our way inside. Geralt stills at my words before walking towards a path, the fountains he passed seemed to be more interesting than myself.

        “Shut up. Either stay behind me or stay by the horses quietly, I don’t give a shit. But you need to shut. Up.” Geralt hisses over his shoulder, body tense. I halt at the harshness of his tone, the icy words freezing me to the spot as I gape at him.

        “Okay. We’ll be quiet, won’t we Elowyn?” Jaskier assures from behind me, voice grasp on my elbow. I nod my head meekly at Geralt even though he was paying me no mind, his anger stunning me. I sigh as I walk over to the roses quietly, taking note to keep my further inquiries to myself. I look at the richcolor of the rose bush before me. Indigo faded into a deep purple, and it was hypnotizing. I find myself leaned over to smell them, a warm sense flooding me at the almost-typical rose smell, only more intense and with-

         “Happy birthday. Ely!” Maddox said as he handed me a gorgeous dark blue rose. I smiled broadly at him while I grabbed it with clumsy hands, the drinks from tonight catching up with me.

        “Thank you, Maddy. Smells pretty.” I tell him as I shove the rose in his face, rather violently, trying to show him how pretty she smelled. 

         “Geralt. Geralt, these roses. I’ve- Jaskier you’re right. I ha-ah!” I jump back with a shriek as the shutters open and close violently, making me fall on my ass. I feel Jaskier pulling me up as I look around for Geralt, my hand going to his grip on my arm as I scan the courtyard having heard a slight crunch of gravel.

        I barely turn to catch a glimpse of Geralt’s right hand arching to grab his blade, his left yanking his belt causing the sword to jump into his grasp. It sings in the air as it moves in a half circle, pointed towards a raging man-beast creature that was charging towards us. Gravel sprayed everywhere around us, pelting us as he screeched to a halt some feet away from the blade, growling at the Witcher.

        Geralt never flinches, glaring down his blade at the bear-like head. The creature thing was almost all man, other than the head being a beast. It was in the shape of a bear with pointed ears, a pair of wild eyes and crooked teeth with a wicked tongue all surrounded by a mane of gangly looking hair.

        “Flee, mortal man!” The monster roared, flapping his paw-like hands but not moving from the spot, “I’ll devour you! Tear you to pieces!” His voice was booming around us, the shutters clacking around Jaskier and I. Geralt didn’t move, didn’t lower his sword. “Are you deaf, man? Away with you!” His voice seemed to waver under Geralt’s gaze as the creature screamed at him frantically. He made a sound that was somewhere between the squeal of a branded pig and a stag’s bellowing roar, the shutters rattling and clatter as the noise thunders around us. Plaster falls from the sills, the roof having moved from his voice. Geralt never flinches and continues to stare.

        “Clear off while you’re still in one piece!” He seems less sure of himself when he resumes speaking, his voice not nearly as intimidating as it was in the beginning. “Because if you don’t, then- “

        “Then what?” The Witcher questions. The creature shakes his mane at him, gasping as he tilted a head in curiosity. He started to bare his fangs as Jaskier urged me forward, and I pushed back against his chest at the sight of the creature’s mangled teeth.  His bloodshot eyes dart from Jaskier and I to Geralt, assessing the situation before he turns his attention to the Witcher.

        “Lower your blade, that’s ‘then what’. Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but you are the trespassers here.” He holds a paw up in gesture to the overgrowth around him, a huff leaving him as he flaunts his dwelling. “Maybe holding a blade to a man on his own property is customary from where you come from, but I must say I find it offensive here.”

        “I find it customary to protect myself when someone charges at me with a war cry, screaming how they are going to ‘tear me to pieces’,” Geralt mocks, still unwavering in stance. Jaskier urges me forward again and I take a tentative step forward to our Witcher.

        “Pox on it! First you trespass, then you dare insult me?” The creature roars, eyes glancing our way as we start walking forwards. “And you, woman. Do you wander into everyone’s yard to desecrate their rose bushes?” His tone is harsh and somewhat mocking, shocking me out of my bewilderment. It feels as if a lightning bolt struck me as I realized he was talking to me as if I had lost my head. Jaskier bumps into my back as I stop unexpectedly, blinking at the creature for a moment too long.

        “Excuse me, I was merely admiri- “

         “Pox on it!” He curses again, attention resting on the sword still pointing his way. We walk up to Geralt in the tense silence as the creature and hunter glare as they asses one another stiffly.

              “Geralt, lower your weapon. He’s harmless, look at him. He’s not even trying to attack.” Jaskier mutters as we get closer, nudging him slightly on his shoulder while still gripping my arm. Geralt looks his way for a moment, a sigh leaving his lips. He lowers his arm slowly as Jaskier lets me go beside Geralt, taking a tentative step forward to talk to the creature. “Excuse my friend, he’s a hired hand to guide us through this forest. We are lost travelers, myself a bard with my lovely muse. We found this wall-courtyard… thing and thought-”

               “The highway is to the east, keep your left shoulder to the sunset and you should find it in two hours hike.” The creature brushes off, taking a step towards his door.

               “In two hours, the sun will have fallen, and we will be at the misfortune of anyone out numbering us. Well, anyone who outnumbers my friend at least. Please, sir. For my lady,” Jaskier says, hand reaching out to me as he speaks. I look from him to Geralt, his eyes beckoning me gently as I glance Jaskier’s way again. Jas smiles gently and I find myself moving towards him, a moth drawn to the light. He grabs me by the hand as we stand before the creature, and I tuck myself into his chest when the creature chuckles lowly, bloodshot eyes causing a shiver to run my spine when he lingers his gaze on me a moment too long.

               “Wouldn’t want any hungry animals to get her,” The creature considers as he eyes me suspiciously. Jaskier’s hand snakes around my back, pressing my lower back to him as I stand a bit taller. I take refuge in his strength as I roll my eyes at the beast before me, feeling brave.

               “I’ve seen hungry animals; there is no equivalence between you.” I comment causing Geralt to scoff from behind us.

               “Feisty. You have some spirit, a fitting muse for a bard.” The beast says before walking back to the door, summoning us along. “First, you join me for dinner then we will see where the night leaves us.” Geralt walks in front of me before Jas pulls me along. I float along side him, taking in the overgrown ivy on the statue of a dolphin as we pass it. “This? What is this?” He stops Geralt in his tracks in the doorway of his home, and I can hear the soft melody of jewelry singing through the air. Jaskier keeps me behind him as we stand a foot away from Geralt, giving the more experienced man space.

               “It is the talisman of my guild.” Geralt’s words are as steady as his gaze I noticed as I stand on my tip toes behind Jaskier. The bard huffs in annoyance, moving to the side with a heavy sigh.

                “Which is?”

                “I am a Witcher. I hunt monsters for a price… or guard a man through the forest where I may be led to monsters.” Geralt taunts and I could hear the smirk he wears inflate the air around us, a tense silence falling over us as the beast takes a step closer to Geralt.

                “Hmm. May I?”

                 “Of course.” I hear the chain sing through the air more than see it, Geralt’s broad shoulders cutting off any visual we had. “It is made of pure silver. Quite important for my profession.” The creature grabs the chain of the necklace, almost choking Geralt as he pulls him closer. Geralt grabbed his wrist and I felt the air vanish from my lungs, holding onto Jask’s coat tightly as I watched the scene unfold.

               “Do I have need to be wary? Inviting a monster hunter to a monster’s table?” He tightens his grip, pulling Geralt closer as the hand tightens around his wrist. The creature starts to make a boarish sound as the silence dragged on, Geralt’s attention focused solely on the being before him.

                “No.”

                “Sir, if I may,” I interrupt, walking in front of Jaskier. As I walk by, he wraps an arm around my waist, restricting my advance on the two. “I never properly introduced myself. I am Rose, and this is Dandelion. I think it inappropriate if we weren’t introduced before sitting at your table. After all, that would be offensive,” I lie easily, Jaskier’s hand at my waist tightening as I speak with my hands.

               “Hm. It would.” He releases Geralt without a second thought, a calm washing over him when he realized a lady was present. “My name is Nivellen and I am master of this home. It does whatever I want.” He takes a step closer although Geralt doesn’t move. The beast, Nivellen, holds a hand out. “Pay close attention, woman.” His hand quickly tightens to a fist and all the shutters and doors clamor open with a loud bang causing me to jump. Nivellen growls, seemingly pleased with himself as I laugh at his demonstration of chaos.

            “Are you a wizard, Nivellen?” I ask quietly as he leads us inside. The beast shakes his mane as we enter the foyer, lifting a hand to light the way as we enter a lavish looking home. Along the walls lay expensive looking paper, thick in nature, the soft swirls of blue and yellow giving a distinct home feeling as you walked in.

           “No, the house started listening to me one day. Doing whatever I asked of it. I wasn’t al- it’s quite complicated. Would you like to hear the whole story, Rose?” The fake name sounds rotten as it falls from his mangled lips, his claws extended towards me.

            “Please.”

           “This way, we will talk over dinner.” Nivellen addresses as he walks through an archway, Geralt hot on his heels. I stand as I let him pass, waiting for Jaskier who was behind him. Jas holds me back for a moment, standing close to me while he keeps his grip soft on my arm.

           “Dandelion? Rose?” He asks, eyes light with humor. I scoff lightly as I relax into him, poking him lightly in the shoulder before answering. Jaskier’s hand falls to my own as we stand there, I open and shut my mouth a few times before I feel a flush rise to my cheeks.

           “Well, yes. I use roses in my soap and well…” I say, eyes dropping down to where our hands meet. His fingers are wrapped around my wrist lightly, holding me there as I stand close to his chest. Close enough to smell the soap he used before they left the inn. Dandelions and lavender.

           “Hmm?” He hums, pulling my gaze back up to him while I get lost in reverie. I blush harder under his gaze, flustering about like a fish out of water.

          “You-you smell like dandelions, is all.” I sputter, trying to take a step back to give myself space. To breathe. Jaskier’s grip tightens around my wrist before pulling me flush to his chest, our face inches from one another. His grip stays on my wrist while his other hand wraps around my back, his fingers splayed on the bottom curve of my ribs. He was holding me tight to him as we stand by the wall, I noticed myself gasping for breath at the sudden change in position. Jaskier’s deep rumbling chuckles settle in my core, a deep warmth spreading at his playful smile.

          “You noticed what I use in my soaps?” He whispers, the same smile brightening his eyes. My eyes flash down to his smile, so full of warmth and his tongue sweeps to dampen his cracked lips. I close my eyes as a wet heat envelops me, and I feel his nose dip down to skim my heated cheeks. I giggle at the sensation of his breath as it hits my face, his own chuckles reverberating through my ears, my chest-

         “Well, that just sounds creepy when you put it like tha- “

        “Dandelions and what? What else do I use?” Jaskier demands, hand tightening around my ribs, no space between us as we breath heated air. I smile as I open my eyes and push on his arm, trying to put distance between us and look over his shoulder, giggles escaping through the slight struggle.

          “Jaskier, they’re waiting for us.” I remind him, still straining to see over him as his hold on me tightens. His laughter dances around us as he continue to get in my way, eyes sparkling with such a thirst for more. We locked eyes and I swear I drowned in their depths. As I gazed into his oceans of blue, I could see the stars that graced the night sky; I could hear the angels sing his ballads-

       “Dandelions and?” He coaxes, pulling me close to him once again. I can feel his heart beat hard and fast in his chest as I lean against him. I bring my hands and place them on the inside of the green doublet he wears, next to his mother’s ring he wears bound by leather, and savor the unsteady erratic beating of his heart under my warm palm as a realization hit me. He heart was beating like this before, just like earlier.

      Jaskier was afraid.

      “Lavender,” I whisper, lifting my nose to skim his jaw. I inhale his scent deeply, etch it into my very lungs until they are filled to the point of bursting before exhaling slowly, eyes closed as I seat myself against his chest where he had me happily pinned. “dandelions and lavender.”

      “You are the fucking devil, the unholy angel Himself. Have I told you that today?” He asked as he places his cheek to the top of my head. We stand there hugging one another for a moment, a heat coursing through us before Jaskier clears his throat. I lift my head to look at him and he’s so close. My eyes dart to his mouth once again, I can feel the warmth of his breath fan my li-

      “Did you two get lost?” I faintly hear Geralt call from behind Jaskier’s back. I pry myself from his grip to his chest quickly before I rushed by with a small smile. His gaze follows me, not quite moving from that spot as I try to locate the Witcher and our gracious host.

      I try to ignore the heat that is running through my veins, try calming the blush of my cheeks as I enter the dining room. I see Geralt has already taken a seat to Nivellen’s right. I sit next to our host, causing Geralt to glower slightly at me as I sit across from him, slouching in a very unladylike fashion. I kick him lightly under the table, the adrenaline and excitement of this all coming to a head, trying to conceal the smirk that comes after when he’s glaring at my erratic behavior.

       Jaskier tumbles in not a moment later, chuckling as he threw himself into the seat next to me, flinging his arm around the back of my chair as he got comfortable. He seemed to be on the same high, his hand lazily pinching my shoulder before he smiles broadly, eyes sparkling mischief as he addressed our odd host of the evening.

      “I believe there was something said about dinner?”

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