#suddenly overwhelmed with memories while drawing geralt

[twiistedgalaxies]

Three Times Jaskier Didn’t Seem Quite Human

(And one time Geralt asked too many questions.)

      “Jaskier isn’t human,” Yennefer stated bluntly, swishing a wine glass in her right hand.

      Geralt blinked, “What?”  This gave Yennefer pause. She knew that her on and off again lover was oblivious, but she hadn’t realized it was quite to this extent. Jaskier gave her a pained, pleading look from the other end of the table. She ignored him.

      “You seriously haven’t noticed?” she continued with a huff.

      “...No?” Geralt’s brows furrowed together in confusion. The nerve of these idiots. Yennefer had half a mind to just state the obvious, to keep these two from continuing to dance around the subject, possibly until the end of time.

      But it was much more fun to gently direct Geralt to the answer and watch his bard squirm. Yennefer took a sip of her wine, mentally cursing her high alcohol tolerance, “You’ve been travelling with the man for decades,” Geralt’s face was blank, the puzzle pieces not fitting into place, “He hasn’t aged, Geralt.”

      “That doesn’t mean anything,” he protested, though from the way his eyes shifted towards his companion he was clearly thinking it over. If they were not at such a high profile party Yennefer would have strangled him. He opened his mouth to say something else, but it was at that exact moment that Jaskier decided to pick up his lute and perform for the crowd - granted, it was what he had been invited to do, but Yennefer sent him a withering glare anyways. She was met with a cheeky wink. Oh if looks could kill. 

      “I could prove it to you, you know? A few well placed detection spells and-”

      Geralt shook his head, “He’ll tell me when he’s ready.”

      “You two are hopeless,” Yennefer sighed.

-@~*^*~@-

      It had been after a particularly difficult hunt, when Jaskier had to dress his companion’s wounds for the umpteenth time. Geralt sat upon a stool in the center of their tiny room at the inn. He looked more irritated than usual as Jaskier gave him what was essentially a sponge bath around where a kikimore had stabbed his shoulder with one of it’s spindly arms. Jaskier winced, it was too close to important organs for comfort. Humming as he worked, Jaskier tried to stitch shut what he could and thoroughly bandage the rest. The wolf medallion on Geralt’s chest thrummed contentedly each time the bard’s delicate hands drew near.

      “Where did you learn?” he asked suddenly, his gruff voice cutting through the peaceful quiet.

      “Hm?” Jaskier hummed, ignoring the Witcher’s grunt of pain as he applied one of his many salves to his shoulder, “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, dear.”

      “The salves, the stitching, all of it,” Jaskier raised an eyebrow at that, but Geralt continued, “It’s a very odd skill for a bard to have.”

      A laugh, Geralt had to bite back a hiss as Jaskier’s touches grew less gentle. He clearly wanted him to drop it. “What? Do you think that I was helpless before you came along with your bulging muscles and witchery glares?”

      The witcher shook his head, silver hair sending droplets of water in the air, “No it’s not that,” the bard had certainly proved capable and skilled many times over, “It’s just, were you a healer before you became a bard?”

      Jaskier froze, seemingly caught in a memory, “Something like that,” he began to bandage Geralt’s shoulder, “This kikimore did quite the number on you, didn’t it?”

      Geralt gave him a look of disbelief because obviously.

      “Come on, come on, give me the details, I can’t write my ballads off of just grunts and intrusive questions now can I?”

-@~*^*~@-

      Jaskier had tagged along on what was supposed to be a minor contract. Nilfgaard had stormed a small town, leaving destruction and countless corpses in their wake. Corpses that were perfect for every Alghoul in a three mile radius. 

      He and Geralt were engaged in their usual banter (which consisted mostly of Jaskier rambling about whatever was on his mind, punctuated with the occasional grunt from his witcher), when a sudden, piercing screech rang through the air. It was high pitched, shrill, and caused Jaskier to clutch his head as he let out a groan of pain. 

      Meanwhile, Geralt immediately leapt into action, drawing his silver sword as a pack of the necrophages surrounded them. He was able to take out several, his sword and the ghouls creating a smooth, gory dance. It all seemed to be going well before an Alghoul caught Geralt off guard, leaping onto his back while extending its spines. This sent Geralt off balance, and he was quickly overwhelmed. His sword got knocked out of his hands in the scuffle and he thought that this, however stupid it may be, would be what would kill him. 

      A cry of rage. Slashing, tearing. Suddenly the weight that was dragging Geralt to the ground grew lighter. He felt something wet and sticky. Geralt looked up to see Jaskier standing over him, holding Geralt’s silver sword, out of breath, and covered in Alghoul viscera.

      The bard looked down at himself, annoyance on his admittedly handsome features, “That was my favorite tunic too!” The tunic in question, once baby blue (like his eyes which were now flashing gold, what the fuck?) was now stained red and black. Jaskier brushed a bit of entrails off his shoulder, visibly disgusted.

      “Huh?” Geralt said, intelligently.

-@~*^*~@-

      The pair was making their way north, Jaskier strumming on his lute and Geralt sat atop Roach. The dirt road was a tunnel bordered by a wall of towering trees, whose orange and red canopies blocked out the sun, casting the duo in dappled shade. 

      Jaskier strummed a few chords in the major key, before he spoke, “Geralt, are you doing alright?” His face was soft and forget-me-not eyes distant like they often grew when he was lost in thought. Geralt shot him a confused look. “It’s just that, you’ve seemed rather distracted lately.”

      “Hm?”

      “I,” Jaskier sighed, collecting himself, “It’s just with the kikimore and the alghouls, and just last week when you forgot your potions in Roach’s saddlebags. I’ve never seen you get like this before, what’s going on?”

      “It’s nothing.” Geralt replied, gaze sliding to anywhere but his bard.

      Jaskier reached up, intertwining his lithe fingers with Geralt’s own, “I’m worried about you, Love.”

      Geralt huffed, he could never resist the man’s pouting lips and puppy-dog eyes, “Yen and I had a conversation at that party a few months ago.”

      He felt the bard tense, “Is that so?” There was a long, uncomfortable silence between them. Jaskier must have realized Geralt, man of few words that he is, wasn’t going to elaborate any further, so he spoke, “What did you two talk about?”

      “She said you aren’t human and I just thought about it more and… it makes too much sense,” Geralt began, feeling awkward as he tried to find the words to explain, “The way you don’t age, your medical knowledge (even of witcher potions!), how you know your way around a sword and how your eyes gleamed-”

      “Geralt, as you know I have an impeccable skincare routine and-”

      He frowned, “Don’t give me that shit, bard.”

      Jaskier sighed, “You really want to know?” A nod. “Okay, well, here goes nothing.” The bard let go of the witcher’s hand, and pulled off a golden ring that, now that Geralt thought about it, he had never seen the man without. A shimmer fell over the bard’s body, like a statue being unveiled. The first thing Geralt noticed was his eyes, they were a sickening, piercing yellow. His face was marred by countless scars, from claws, burns, knives, and magic. Jaskier’s build underneath the glamour more closely resembled Geralt’s, though he retained his shorter stature. The bard smiled sardonically at the witcher’s shocked expression, “Like what you see?”

      Geralt’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, “How?”

      “You’d probably know me better as Julian,” Jaskier’s eyes got that distant look to them again, his face was downcast, an unusual expression for someone who typically embodied sunshine, “I was in the Griffin school, before we were attacked,” a joyless laugh, “I had never wanted to be a witcher, ya know? Wasn’t cut out for it. But my father, Viscount Pankratz himself, couldn’t pay a witcher for his contract, so he offered me up instead. I failed as a noble, so maybe I wouldn’t fail as a witcher. He was wrong, of course, I spent most of my time writing poems instead of studying Signs. Singing instead of sparring. After the trials I spent a few years on the path before I grew sick of it and returned to Kaer Seren.”

      Geralt hummed, encouraging Jaskier to continue.

      “I was made to look after the students, I had to patch up their wounds and keep them from blowing themselves up with alchemy. I loved the little rascals, which is why..” Jaskier trailed off, fingers tracing the grooves in his lute.

      “It’s okay,” Geralt said, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

      He shook his head hurriedly, “No, no I want to, I have to,” his voice cracked, “I left after the trials killed them. All of them. I couldn’t bear to be a part of it. A part of everything. So I ran, like a coward,” He spat out that last word like a curse.

      The pair stopped. Geralt placed his gloved hand on the bard’s shoulder, a rare gesture of affection and reassurance.

      “Eventually, I found a mage and spent my life’s savings on a well-made glamour and the lute the elves at Posada so lovingly destroyed. It wasn’t until I had graduated from Oxenfurt that I found out what happened in Kaer Seren.”

      “Why didn’t you tell me?” Geralt asked, his voice gentle.

      Jaskier’s face flushed red with shame, “I was afraid. Afraid of what you would think of me. That you’d hate me.”

      Geralt frowned, “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”

      At that, Jaskier laughed, “Just look at me! I’m an ugly fuck-up.”

      “No,” Geralt said resolutely.

      “Huh?”

      “I said no. Do you know how many times you’ve saved my life? Made long nights on the path easier to bear? I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you,” Geralt continued, looking Jaskier directly in the eyes. He didn’t reply to that, just slipped his ring back on and hugged his arms to his chest.

      The rest of the day’s journey was spent in silence.

A/N:  I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave a comment, I love hearing feedback. I had one hell of a time writing this, I originally had only written the first scene, and it took a few months for my single window's screensaver brain cell to finally hit a corner and figure out how to continue and finish the story.

Ao3

#The Witcher #The Witcher netflix #the witcher fanfiction #fanfiction #fic #ao3 #ff.net #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #witcher!jaskier #feral jaskier #yennefer #dandelion #netflix #non-human jaskier

[oxbridge-quality-fanfiction-co]

The Lovelorn Monster

Welcome to my first Modern AU, which I wrote for @lovelyrita1967  It’s a Geraskier Romcom with extra suffering and gore! Also, it’s a Christmas fic as @booichiboo requested. 16k, M.

You can read it on AO3.

Summary: It's been many months since the mountain incident. Jaskier is alone on Christmas day. His lovely, old house has somehow become a monster-infested hellhole. Now it seems there might be a way to kill two birds with one stone. Only deciding what actually needs killing is much more complicated than that.

cw: blood, so much blood, also a lot of angst (although there’s a happy ending), suicide references, some Geraskier disagreements and heartbreak. No sex, but there’s a fair bit of angsty cuddling and some much less angsty kissing.

*********************************************** 

When I am laid, am laid in earth, May my wrongs create

No trouble, no trouble in thy breast;

Remember me, remember me, but ah! forget my fate.

Remember me, but ah! forget my fate.

Dido’s Lament, Henry Purcell, adapted from The Aeneid

Jaskier stared at his beautiful, tall, richly dressed Christmas tree with pride and a wistful smile. Each ornament was a souvenir or a gift. This tradition gave his decorations deep meaning, but also made him reluctant to come anywhere near the tree this year.

Memories. He had a cardboard box full of them. There was a delicately carved wooden heart covered in rich, red paint he received from Countess de Stael. Then his favourite - a perfect, tiny copy of his lute he had ordered to celebrate his first successful performance for the royals. He even had a little doll that a sibele, a demon who steals children, was using to lure a baby when Geralt cut off her head.

Geralt never approved of Jaskier keeping the toy, let alone using it as an ornament. ‘I don’t need keepsakes to remind me of the last time I killed something,’ his gruff voice would say.

Well, this year it’s going up. Jaskier picked a spot for the doll with a rebellious toss of his hair. It was quite a nasty, clumsily knitted thing. Seeing it on the tree succeeded mostly in creating an uncomfortable lump in his throat as he imagined Geralt sitting on his living room sofa, relaxed, with a snide smile, some acerbic remark already forming in his head.

Perhaps Geralt would ignore the doll. ‘You just love making yourself sentimental,’ he’d say instead, seemingly no connection, just a short, judgmental glance at the tree.

And Jaskier did, actually. No shame in that. It had its benefits. In his mind, Geralt could easily become just the memory of a perfect, lost friend, regardless of how he would feel about the prospect. He was the hero Jaskier once traveled with, no more, no less. They parted ways for perfectly rational reasons.

‘Just give me a couple of years,’ he said to the imaginary Geralt in his mind and smiled with pride. Being the storyteller meant being in control.

Then he noticed a little ornament shaped like a golden dragon lying at the bottom of the box. The sight made him freeze for a moment. He shook off the memory and ignored the draw towards his phone which has been intensifying over the last couple of days.

Everything was going fine. The phone was just playing music, lying perfectly innocently on the windowsill as it should. It was set on shuffle, and Annie Lennox’s “Dido's Lament” was on, a little bit ominous, but also somehow appropriate.

He hummed with the music while hanging up a few golden baubles. As he started to sing, another voice joined in, a distant echo of his hum, a gentle, female timbre following along quietly. It made him smile, eyes suddenly attracted to the window. It was already getting dark, and the Christmas lights he put up outside were reflecting in the glass. A weird glow by the evergreen shrubs made the snow underneath them shine delicately.

The decorations were nearly complete. There was a comforting smell of cinnamon and apples coming from the kitchen. Also, he still had some surprisingly successful homemade ginger biscuits left.

The golden dragon was the last thing he hung on the tree. He flinched a little as he did, but it was where it belonged. Then he moved away to admire his finished work. ‘Better late than never,’ he whispered to himself.

At that exact moment, the next song started to play. Jaskier instantly recognised it and stared at his phone as if it personally insulted him.

‘It's been a blue holiday since you've been gone,’ Aretha Franklin started to sing.

‘Oh, no you don’t,’ Jaskier whispered while walking calmly towards his phone.

‘Oh darling, won't you hurry, hurry home,’ she continued undisturbed.

He actually liked the song and was starting to wonder if he was overreacting.

‘It's been a blue… a blue holiday. And I'm all alone.’

No, he wasn’t.

‘My dear I need your love to keep… to keep me warm.’

Yeah, sure, like that was ever an option, he thought to himself.

‘I cry when I hear the chapel bells ring… And sometimes I cry all through the night.’

Fuck. Jaskier’s fingerprint lock was a little wonky.

‘Won't you please come home and make my… make my holiday bright.’

Finally, he managed to skip a couple of songs, and quickly discovered he actually preferred some silence this time. He took a deep breath and decided it was time to focus on cooking. That should be comforting enough.

As soon as he turned towards the kitchen he heard a weird, buzzing sound, and then a high, disembodied laugh. Lights flickered. There was a loud crash, a cavalcade of many little objects falling all at once, baubles suddenly bouncing off his furniture. A glass ball he bought at a little Christmas market in Vizima rolled in between his feet.

He swore under his breath and turned back. All the ornaments were lying on his wooden floor, and only the Christmas lights remained. A small dark shape with sharp horns moved along the wall and then disappeared behind the sofa, still giggling to itself.

Jaskier stared at the naked tree, feeling a bit hopeless. Then he climbed up the sofa pillows and looked into the tight space between the wall and the backrest.

Two small, red eyes stared back.

‘Proud of yourself?’ he asked with irritation and heard only a quiet hiss in response. ‘You know what? Fuck you. Sincerely, fuck you.’ He pointed at the thing, his eyes narrowing. ‘No more biscuits for you. You’re going down,’ he threatened, a surprising and, by all accounts, disproportionate amount of uncurbed fury in his voice, hand shaking slightly.

For a moment Jaskier seemed overwhelmed. He took a couple of very deep breaths, then coughed a little and his eyes watered. ‘Right,’ he said to himself, his attempts to calm down obviously failing. He stretched his neck, then rolled his shoulders, releasing the tension with a sigh. ‘Right,’ he repeated as his expression switched to resolve.

He squeezed his phone with newly found determination, and then fiddled with it nervously for much longer than he originally planned.

Finally, he clicked on his least favourite icon of all - the phone app.

The signal was ringing loud in his ears. Time slowed down. He was just about to hang up when he heard a deep voice on the other side. ‘Yes?’

‘Vesemir,’ Jaskier announced, jovially. ‘Merry Christmas!’ He listened to Vesemir return the greeting and massaged his temples nervously. ‘Yes, thank you. Erm… I was just wondering… No, no, I am not going to hang up. Whatever gives you that idea?’ He laughed nervously. ‘I do need help. It’s a dreadful emergency. No… Of course, I would have called otherwise. Yes, it’s quiet because I’m at home. No, I have not been drinking. I am most definitely sober. Yes, yes, yes… No, I do realise… I actually do have a monster that needs to be… witchered? No, it’s not just one, actually… It’s- it’s a couple of things, really. I know it’s Christmas. Yes, I see your point. But… isn’t Geralt working anyway?’

He waited as the line went quiet for a while. ‘Yes, I did just ask for Geralt,’ he confirmed.

No response. Vesemir must have moved away from the phone, and there was a sound of distant chatter. When he returned his voice was hesitant. ‘You’re sure about this?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I definitely want Geralt here. As soon as possible would be grand,’ Jaskier confirmed again, surprised at how confident he sounded.

‘Fine,’ Vesemir said finally, before hanging up right away, voice a bit more irritated than the situation justified.

Jaskier put the phone away and tried to force himself to breathe again.

You can read the rest on AO3.

********************************************

Extra thanks to @ohmybgosh @variousnoises

@thelastsock​ @jaskierswolf​ @rawrkinjd​ @katesierra​ @gilbert-von-kneecap​ @stinastar​ @carmillacarmine​ @ro-the-bard-writer​ @ikeptupwiththejoneses​ @purpleonionofsex​ @marvagon​ @fontegagrilledcheese​ @sarah-midnight​ @geraskierficrecs​ @renfribrooks​ @darknessyuu​ @comfortabletextiles​ @gosh-diddley-darnit​ @ohjules​ @short-potato​ @anie6142​ 

@valdomarx​ I know you don’t read Modern AUs but this one has a wyvern, a rusalka and Geralt is still a witcher. Also, I love you. That’s my argument.

#geraskier #geraskier fanfic #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fandom #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #Geralt #geralt x dandelion #the witcher #geralt x julian #Geralt x Jaskier #Jaskier #jaskier loves geralt #geralt loves jaskier #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fandom #the witcher and the bard #witcher modern au

[brasskier]

Inspired by @valdomarx, @therogueheart, and that one anon, here’s a post-mountain Deaf!Jaskier story. Read it under the cut below or find it on my ao3 here.

Geralt stumbled upon Jaskier for the first time since the dragon hunt early the next spring, at a crowded market a week or two northeast of Oxenfurt. He'd stopped into town to stock up on supplies and maybe pick up a contract or two before moving along. If asked, he'd insist it was a series of hunts that brought him so close to the Academy, that he might as well follow the coin. And if he happened to run into his bard (ex-bard?), and happened to have the opportunity to apologize, and the bard happened to choose to follow him again? Well, so be it. 

He smelled Jaskier before he could see him, head perking up and eyes searching the crowd for the flash of a colorful doublet and that soft brown hair. The market was teeming, thrumming with chatter, and just as vivacious as Jaskier himself. 

"You goin' ta buy that or not?" The stall keeper asked, jarring him back to his abandoned transaction. He dropped a few coins on the stall, pocketed the herb, and disappeared without so much as a grunt. Weaving through the throngs of people, he relied on smell - on that familiar chamomile and saffron - until he finally spotted a glint of emerald green, and the strap of a lute. He watched from a distance.

Jaskier's hands were flashing about as dramatic as ever, glancing back and forth between the balding man tending the stall and another man standing beside him. His companion was as flamboyant as he was, dressed in a regal blue and arms waving about just as exaggeratedly. But then Geralt realized he couldn't hear Jaskier, which was unusual, because the bard had never in the two decades he'd known him been able to keep his voice down. The crowd was certainly cacophonous, but not that loud.

"Jaskier?" He drew a little closer and called his name tentatively. The bard didn't seem to react, carrying on with whatever he was doing. He tried again, a little louder, and then a third time, increasingly forcefully. He was getting irritated now - how dare he pretend to not hear me - and was tempted to simply move on. With a heavy sigh, he approached even further, lingering just a few paces behind him. "Jaskier?" 

"Think someone's calling you," the stall keeper announced, jerking his head in Geralt's direction, and Jaskier waved his hands again before turning to follow the man's gaze. He blanched when his eyes finally met Geralt's, mouth hung open and hands dropping to his side.

"Geralt?" He squeaked out finally, dragging a hand up to his heart. There was an unusual quality to his voice, Geralt was quick to note. Not hoarse, like he'd heard him after many a late-night performance. Just different. 

"Jaskier," he repeated, casting his gaze down to the russet dirt at his feet. 

"Gods," Jaskier breathed. "Just - melitele's tits - I just…" He trailed off, wringing his hands together. Geralt couldn’t help but think he looked like one of the stray fawns that would occasionally stumble upon his campsite and linger frozen for a few moments, cast in the firelight and trembling with fear.

"It's okay, I know." He kept his eyes trained at his feet, trying to pin down the bard’s tone. The way Jaskier produced certain sounds, dragged over his vowels, a little bit of its usual edge missing. He must be overwhelmed, Geralt concluded, but he wasn't particularly convinced. "I'm sorry." He waited patiently, uncertainly, for either his acceptance or rejection. 

"I need you to look at me," he said instead, surprising Geralt. He did as he was told, lifting his chin to face him. "Can you repeat that?" 

"I'm sorry," he reiterated. He felt frustration welling again - he got his apology, does he really need me to repeat it? - but he quickly quashed it. 

"Thank you, Geralt." He could see the emotion brimming in Jaskier's eyes. "We have a lot of catching up to do." Jaskier glanced sideways for a moment, fidgeting with one of his rings. "Perhaps we could share a drink? There's a tavern not far from here." He jerked his head to the right. Geralt grunted, and Jaskier raised an expectant eyebrow.

"Sounds good," he clarified. He was becoming increasingly convinced that Jaskier was toying with him for pleasure's sake. He knew full well how to interpret the Witcher's grunts, after all. And yet the expression drawn across his face looked impressively genuine. Humans are weird.

Jaskier uttered his thanks to the stall keeper and turned to face his companion - who'd been waiting patiently behind him - again. He wagged his hands about wordlessly, and it finally dawned on Geralt that this was not his usual theatricality - this was common sign language, and he wondered when exactly Jaskier had picked it up.

Jaskier was quiet most of the way to the tavern but seemed to perk up once they were seated - in the far back corner, Jaskier's choice. Geralt spoke first, determined to get this apology over with and behind him.

"I'm sorry about what happened." Jaskier tilted his head as he listened, chin resting on folded hands. "What I said was wrong. I shouldn't have blamed you, and…" he exhaled sharply, as if apologizing - or, more specifically, being honest and vulnerable - caused him actual pain. "The best blessing life has given me is finding you again." Jaskier's head tilted impossibly further, and then came the tears, and - fuck - did Geralt say the wrong thing?

"That's awfully sweet, Geralt," Jaskier eventually choked out, and he relaxed a little. "I'm sorry, I just--" He dragged a hand across his face. "That was so kind." He sniffled into his sleeve before finally re-righting himself. "I guess I'm just a tad sentimental." Geralt forced the best smile he could manage across his lips. "Gods, it's been so long. Go on, tell me everything you've been up to." 

"Not much," he replied between sips of ale. "I'll tell you everything later." He chided himself as soon as the words left his mouth for just assuming there might be a later. "How have you been?" 

"Hmm?" He sighed, fighting hard to keep from rolling his eyes.

"How have you been?" Jaskier seemed to spark to life again at this. 

"Oh," he said simply, pushing his hair behind his ear and chewing on his lip. "Well, I returned to Oxenfurt, taught for the winter. I just headed out, actually. I've been a bit preoccupied." He leaned in closer, stared past Geralt at the wall behind him. "I, uhh, I got sick, coming down from the mountain." Geralt hummed, drawing a slow sip of his ale. "I mean, I kinda woke up sick, but then there was the dragon and…" He rubbed his thumb against the rough wood of the table. "Well, I was a little distracted. I don't even really remember making it off the mountain, to be honest."

"I'm sorry I didn't notice." Geralt might as well get all his apologies over with at this point, he thought. Jaskier waved a hand to hush him.

"I woke up at a healer's. Apparently someone had found me not far out of town and dragged me in." He let out a shaky exhale. "He said I'd had an infection in… In my brain." Geralt watched him with a sour mix of pity and regret, unable to shake the feeling that he should've been there. The image of Jaskier, waxy pale and slumped unconscious, trembling in a stranger’s arms, burned into his mind.  "Anyway, I'm lucky I survived. But my hearing did not." Oh. Fuck. Suddenly the pieces slid into place - the sign language, the strange quality to his voice, the incessant requests for Geralt to repeat himself. 

"Fuck, Jask, I'm sorry." He rarely shortened Jaskier's name, but he knew the bard liked the nickname, and it was the least he could do for him. His mind reeled with regret. He should've been there. A random stranger shouldn't have been the one to find him and rescue him. If he'd known, he'd have never - no. No, what he did was wrong outside of the context of what'd happened next, and he was not about to qualify it. Jaskier, for his part, seemed relatively unfazed.

"Nothing you could've done about it, really," he insisted, running his finger along the rim of his glass. "The healer said I just needed to fight it off on my own." This did absolutely fuck all to ease the guilt gnawing in Geralt's gut. Questions swirled in his head - how was Jaskier going to sing or play anymore? Could he still compose even? How was he going to survive; that was how he procured coin, after all? Was he… was he happy? Did he blame Geralt?

"I know, I just… can you still sing?" This question seemed to amuse Jaskier, who laughed heartily. 

"Yes, Geralt, I can still deliver my fillingless pie." Geralt couldn't tell if he was serious or not, and while he used to be able to read his voice a little more consistently, he was unsure now and kicking himself for not making a better study of the bard's facial expressions and body language when they'd been together. 

"You know I didn't…" 

"I know. I know you didn't mean that." They sat in silence for a beat while Geralt wracked his brain for his next question.

"How? Do you sing, I mean, if you can't hear. How are you even talking to me?" He shrunk behind his tankard, suddenly embarrassed by the utter lack of tact that'd never bothered him before. 

"Well, one of the perks of teaching at a premier Academy is access to some of the finest physicians this side of Nilfgaard. I'll be honest, it took a lot of work to relearn how to sing and speak; I was mute for most of my travels back to Oxenfurt, mostly out of shame." Geralt's stomach churned, imagining Jaskier entirely and utterly silent. That wasn't the bard he knew. His Jaskier never shut up, mouth constantly running faster than a horse, always a story to tell or a song to share or a joke to crack. And certainly never worried about whether anyone else wanted or needed to hear him. Jaskier was not quiet. "But fortunately I still have a tiny bit of my hearing - on the lower end, mostly, which is good for you. Plus I have decades of muscle memory, so it wasn't so bad. And as for right now? I'm mostly lipreading, though the pitch of your voice is helpful." Geralt couldn't tell whether he was being genuine or just trying to placate him. "It's just different. Have to feel it more than hear it, which if you ask me more musicians should try."

"I'm glad," Geralt gritted out, nodding at the bartender to bring another round of ale. "That you can still sing." Jaskier beamed.

"I knew you always liked my singing," he declared triumphantly, arms folded across his chest.

"Did you already know common sign?" Geralt asked instead of retorting with something snarky; let the bard have his victory.

"A tiny bit, but the language professor at the Academy was fantastic at teaching me." Geralt closed his eyes and tried to envision the odds and ends of common sign he'd picked up over his years of travel. "I made a lot of Deaf friends; they've been so supportive of me." With a sigh, Geralt decided to give it a try.

"I know a little," he signed, tentative and deliberate. Jaskier's eyes lit up.

"You do?" He signed back, eyebrows raised and grin spread across his face. 

"Not much. I can…" His hands slowed, wracking his brain for the sign for learn. He sighed again and said it aloud instead. There he goes again, assuming Jaskier will stick around long enough to warrant learning more. Jaskier teared up again, and he cursed inwardly, wondering for what must've been the trillionth time that afternoon if he'd messed up. 

"You'd do that? For me?" Jaskier squeaked, pawing at his eyes with a hand tucked in his sleeve. 

"Of course." For a moment Jaskier looked like he might fling himself across the table and into his arms, but instead he fidgeted in his seat. 

"That's enough about me now, isn't it?" Jaskier asked, always a master at changing the topic when he grew bored with it. "Tell me about your hunts." He leaned over, fished around in his pack, and plucked out his notebook and pen. 

"First was an infestation of drowners," Geralt began, taking extra care to face Jaskier as he spoke, and pausing when he went to scribble something in his notes. They spent the next hour like this until, just as Geralt was beginning to wonder if the bard was going to force him to talk all night, Jaskier was tugged to the front of the tavern while excited patrons clamored for a performance. Jaskier obliged, as always, and Geralt watched, as always.  

When Jaskier dropped back into his seat, shuffling his lute unceremoniously to the floor beside him, Geralt expected him to bid him a hurried goodnight, get on his way, and leave. Just a nice day catching up shared between two friends (?), and decidedly not the start of their next joint adventure. But instead of any of that, Jaskier called to the bartender for another mug, busied himself fixing his hair and his doublet.

"Told you I could still sing," he said with a wink as the bartender deposited his ale on the table in front of him. "And something to eat, please," he added before returning his attention to Geralt. 

"I never doubted you," Geralt's reply came easily. It was, perhaps, the truth.

"Now then, would you say it has more or less filling now?" He leaned forward on his elbows, cheeky grin and narrowed eyes, and even Geralt could recognize the facetiousness of his words. Before Geralt could answer, he waved a hand, as if dismissing himself. "So, where were you? Something about a missing cow?" Geralt nodded, leaning back in his seat.

"So the boy told me his father would pay me, if I could find the cow. So I said, 'how much?'" He continued on with his tales, no matter how excruciatingly mundane they felt to him, until Jaskier's head dips forward and then picks back up for a third time. "Think it might be time for you to get some sleep?" He asked, and Jaskier blinked away the sleep in his eyes.

"Yeah, probably," he muttered, scrubbing at his face with one hand, the other dipping down to reach his lute. "Are you staying overnight?" He asked, and immediately flushed at the confused look he received from Geralt. "I just mean… I don't… you can't leave before I get to say hi to Roach." 

"It's too dark now. I'll get a room at the inn." Jaskier’s face lit up, and he followed him in rising to his feet. "Just have to grab Roach first," he said when they finally made it out the door and into the cool early-spring night. 

"M'kay," Jaskier hummed with a fond smile. He rested a hand on Geralt's shoulder. "I'll see you in the morning." It was a firm statement, certain and unquestioning. 

"See you then," Geralt replied, heading back to the stable where he'd docked Roach so he could bring her closer to the inn. And he, too, was certain. 

#the witcher #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #henry cavill #joey batey #mountain breakup #deaf jaskier #deaf character #fanfiction #the witcher netflix #ao3

[flowercrown-bard]

A new us will begin (7/ 11)

word count: 9k

AO3

part 1   / part 2 / part 3  / part 4  / part 5 / part 6 / part 8

Content warning: being overwhelmed by being in a crowd, (implied character death (kind of?))

Geralt stared at him, his mind simultaneously freezing and racing. He didn’t even realise how long he must have just stood there unmoving, until Dandy shifted uncomfortably.

Geralt shook his head to snap out of his stupor.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rougher than intended. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to scare you before. I- “ His fingers twitched, suddenly unsure what to do with himself. “I’m sure you want to leave this place.”

A look of relief flittered over Dandy’s face and he nodded curtly. “Yeah, that would be for the best.”

He shuffled again, the hand that wasn’t holding the cane fiddling with the hem of his doublet. “I… I know you just saved me now, but could you…”

He trailed off, pressing his lips into a thin line. His discomfort was so blatantly obvious that Geralt instinctively took a step back, holding his hands out in front of him out of habit, even though he now knew how nonsensical that gesture was. It was all he could do to show people that he wasn’t a threat to them. It wouldn’t work on Dandy.

“Of course,” Geralt rasped out. “I won’t force my presence on you. I understand that you’re uncomfortable with me after I just –“

He was interrupted by a sharp huff coming from Dandy. “What? No, that’s not – I asked you to stay, didn’t I?”

“I…yes?”

Dandy’s throat visibly bobbed as he swallowed. “Well, you see, the thing is… gods, I can’t believe how stupid I was that I didn’t notice that something was wrong earlier, but I usually don’t really go places alone if I don’t know my way around.” His hand tightened around his cane and his tone became slightly cynical, when he added, “Fillip – if that even was his real name – told me where he was going to take me, but somehow I doubt that’s actually where we are now.”

“Oh.” Geralt blinked, his brows drawing together like storm clouds. Of course. That must have been why Fillip had taken that long and undoubtedly complicated route to get here instead of taking the direct way – so that Dandy wouldn’t be able to just flee and find his way back. “Do you want me to take you home?” Dandy flinched and Geralt cursed himself. “I mean your home.”

An abyss opened up in Geralt’s chest that widened with every second that Dandy hesitated.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said softly. “I would go back to the tavern and tell one of your friends to come get you, but I don’t want you to be alone out here. Just in case –“

“Yeah, no, I really don’t want that either.” Dandy gave a strained laugh.

But he didn’t say he wanted to come with Geralt. Not that Geralt could blame him. He took a shaky breath.

“I know you don’t have any reason to trust me. Especially after what just happened.” Geralt clenched his fists to keep them from trembling with fury and left-over terror again. “But I swear on my life, I won’t hurt you. I would rather die than let any harm come to you.”

Dandy’s lips twitched weakly. “That’s quite the declaration for a stranger.”

A stranger. That was all Geralt was, all he was going to be, after the sort of first meeting they had. No one in their right mind would want him to stick around after something like that. It was a wonder Dandy hadn’t already scrambled back to get away from him.

Geralt forced all restrained hurt out of his voice, when he replied, “I had a friend who loved dramatic speeches. He always told me to speak more.”

Dandy let out a surprised laugh. “He sounds like a smart man. You do have a lovely voice. It would be a shame not to use it.”

Geralt’s throat went dry. “He was. A smart man. And the biggest idiot I knew.”

“Oh.” The tension that had slowly ebbed away from Dandy, returned in full force. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… Well, I guess he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to let himself get lured away by some charming man, huh?”

It was clear that Dandy was aiming for a joke, but judging from the strain in his voice, he was well aware that he missed by a mile.

Geralt softened. “Yes, actually, he would. You wouldn’t believe how often he got in trouble because of a pretty face – sometimes his own, sometimes other people’s.” His voice took on a more serious note. “But not a single time that he was attacked for it, was his fault. Just as what happened today wasn’t yours. The men who attacked you are to blame and no one else. You’re not stupid for trusting people and if anyone tells you that it’s your own fault if someone tries to take advantage of you, you tell them that they are dead wrong.”

Dandy’s face did something complicated, but then he gave Geralt a crooked smile. “I really have no idea what those men were talking about when they called you a monster. If you ask me, you sound more like a hero. Act like one too.”

Geralt’s heart sped up at those all too familiar words. After years and years of being spat at, being insulted and chased away, hearing words so similar to those Jaskier had always told him, was like rubbing a soothing balm on a wound.

“I’m no hero. Just tried to do the right thing.” He shifted on his feet. “If you’ll let me, I’d like to do the right thing again and bring you home safely. Judging from your clothes, you must be living in the richer part of town?”

Dandy let out a startled laugh. “No. Absolutely not. But I’ll tell Clarisse that you said the costumes she makes look expensive. But I probably should stop wearing them after rehearsals, huh?”

Geralt’s brows shot up. “So you weren’t lying? You really are an actor?”

Dandy’s grin got wider. “I would be offended that you haven’t heard of our troupe, but since you so gallantly saved me, I shall forgive you for now.” He hesitated, his plastered on confidence wavering a little. “But I would appreciate if you could bring me back to the tavern? I just…I’d really like to be with my friends again.”

Geralt led him back without further delay. He didn’t take Dandy’s arm as Fillip had done before, but he made sure to made his footfalls louder and to keep talking so that Dandy would now always know where he was and how to follow him, while his cane moved before him, sometimes catching on irregular cobblestones or the walls of houses.

As they walked, Dandy visibly relaxed, even reciting his big monologue of the play they were going to perform the next day, when Geralt asked about it, more to distract Dandy from any dark thoughts than anything else. He tried his best to follow Dandy as he told him about what it was like being an actor, but most of it was nothing Geralt could find a meaningful reply to.

Dandy didn’t appear bothered by that. In fact, by the time they were close enough that even Dandy could hear the noise coming from the tavern, he looked almost as happy as he had back with his friends.

Despite the terror that had brought them here, Geralt wished he could stay in that moment forever; just the two of them walking together, talking and him being allowed to watch Dandy brighten when Geralt managed to say something the actor deemed funny.

He wished he could stay with him, wished that when they entered the tavern and his friends hugged Dandy close, Geralt could be one of them. But as the red-haired woman from before took Dandy in her arms, the actor began trembling again, a piercing reminder of what had happened. He had been apprehensive of asking Geralt to walk him back, there was no doubt in Geralt’s mind that now that he was surrounded by his friends again, Dandy would want Geralt as far gone as possible.

So Geralt explained what had happened to the redhead, Nadine, as quickly as he could and left Dandy in his friends’ care, without forcing him to say another word to him. Part of it was the selfless need to see Dandy throw off that discomfort from before. The bigger, selfish part of Geralt knew he would break, if he had to listen to Dandy say goodbye to him, final and cutting like a knife.

Still, Geralt didn’t go back to Roach again as he had planned, neither did he search for a cheap inn. He lingered in the shadows near the tavern, making sure no more danger would come near Dandy.

Shortly after Geralt had left the tavern, Dandy and his friends followed, going back to their home, where no harm could to him.

It should have calmed Geralt to know that Dandy was in caring hands and yet he couldn’t banish the worry and the memory of that short terrifying moment when he had thought he might be too late again.

This night, Geralt didn’t get a wink of sleep, patrolling the streets and thinking of how, no matter how briefly, Dandy had seemed to be happy to be in his presence. It was a memory Geralt would treasure when he was out on the Path again, lonely, but comforted by the knowledge that Dandy wasn’t just as alone.

--

Geralt told himself he would stay away, that it would be better for Dandy that way. He had everything he could want. There was no need for a witcher to come in and mess his life up.

And yet, the next evening, Geralt found himself staring at one of the numerous posters he found in the city, impossible to miss, now that he was looking for them. Colourful letters and a quickly drawn picture advertised a play. Right front and centre of the rough drawing was a man in a hat, leaning on a cane and giving a roguish smile, teasing Geralt and tempting him to throw caution and reason in the wind and come see him again.

He should resist. No good would come off going to see Dandy again, but Geralt’s feet carried him to the spacious marketplace, as written on the poster, even while his mind told him that he would find nothing but disappointment and hurt if he saw Dandy again.

In his hand, he clutched the hat Dandy had lost in that alley, when he had been hit. Geralt had gone back there, just to see if his attackers were around, and his heart had stuttered when he’d seen the hat lying there on the ground, dirtied and discarded. Without thinking, he had bent down to take it. If nothing else, he should return it to the players. It didn’t even need to be to Dandy directly. He could just go to the woman sitting behind a small desk at the entrance of the marketplace, hand it to her and disappear again.

But he needed to see. He needed to know for sure that Dandy was feeling better. That was the only reason why he went to the woman selling tickets for the play and pulled out one of the precious few coins in his possession.

His stomach nearly growled at the thought alone of how little coin he had left. Watching a play wasn’t an expense he could afford, not if he wanted to be able to eat anything warm and nutritious.

His fist closed around the silver coin and with determined steps, he walked towards the woman.

“One ticket, please.”

The woman looked up at him with a welcoming smile. A smile, that froze on her face when she took him in. Her eyes widened and he could hear her sharp intake of breath.

His jaw clenched. Out of instinct, he hunched his shoulders and tried his best to relax his face, but he was painfully aware of the fact that he couldn’t hide who and what he was. Decades without Jaskier’s songs to soften the public’s opinion hadn’t done the way he was treated and perceived much good.

Pointedly casually, Geralt held out the coin.

He told himself that he didn’t panic when the woman shook her head.

“We won’t take your coin.”

His heart sank. He should go. He should just give her the hat, excuse himself and go. The last thing he needed was to cause a scene.

“It’s as good a coin as anyone else’s.”

He cursed himself even as the words tumbled out of his mouth, but he couldn’t stop himself. He had known that there was a very real chance that he wouldn’t get to see Dandy again, but being told that he should go when he was so close, was like a punch in the gut.

He could feel more than he saw the people behind him in the line growing impatient, some even starting to whisper to each other in irritation. It wasn’t hard to guess whose side they would be on if Geralt kept insisting to be allowed to pass.

The last thing Dandy needed was Geralt chasing away other audience members with his presence.

An icy chill ran down his spine. Dandy. What if he had asked the rest of his friends to keep him away because he didn’t want Geralt anywhere near him? Yesterday, Geralt had been able to make himself believe that Dandy looking happy around him had been real. Now, he was forced to confront the truth: That the actor had just been relieved that nothing worse had happened and if he had smiled at what Geralt had said, that had likely just happened out of a sense of obligation or fear of what would happen if he pissed Geralt off.

Geralt wouldn’t blame Dandy if he had wanted to make sure that Geralt stayed away from him.

A taken aback “Oh” from the woman in front of him interrupted his grim thoughts. “That’s not what I meant. Of course your coin is just as good. I meant that you don’t have to pay to watch our play.”

Geralt’s brows shot up. He couldn’t have heard this right. “What do you mean?”

The woman tilted her head to the side and eyed him critically, before nodding to herself and leaning closer.

“You’re the one who helped our Dandy yesterday, aren’t you? Nadine told me what happened and said if a man with white hair and…well, she pretty much described you and said if you came by, I shouldn’t make you pay.”

“He’s alright then?” The idea of a witcher being allowed entrance anywhere without pay felt surreal, but the only thing Geralt’s mind latched on was that brief mention of the person he wanted more than anything to be close to again. “Dandy?”

“He’s fine. Thanks to you.” The woman’s lips twitched and she gave Geralt a conspiratorial look, as if he’d have any idea what she wanted to tell him with that. “A bit nervous, though. More so than the usual nerves before a performance. He’s been fidgety all day.”

Geralt’s face fell. “He’s still afraid? Did anyone bother him again?” Is it me he’s afraid of?

The woman waved her hand through the air dismissively. “Oh no. He keeps telling everyone who’s willing to listen, how he has a mysterious protector now.” She winked at Geralt. “But you can ask him about it after the play yourself. Now, not to be rude, but you’re kind of holding up the line.”

Geralt startled. He had almost forgotten about the people waiting impatiently behind him. With one last grateful nod to the woman, he went past her and joined the crowd that was already gathered on the marketplace.

Geralt’s nerves spiked up and his breath started to come short. There were too many people around him. He pushed his way to the back of the crowd, but even there, he was surrounded by chattering, pushing and the smell of sweat that clung to the mass of bodies.

Geralt had avoided crowds for so long that he had almost forgotten how much he hated it. The only thing that had always soothed his mind and had made being in a crowd worth it, had been Jaskier’s hand in his, grounding him, and the smile he would always give him for indulging Jaskier like that.

Only now, he didn’t have Jaskier with him.

Geralt was left to grow more and more anxious, as he tried to focus all of his senses on finding Dandy, but he couldn’t catch so much as a glimpse of him, even as he stared at the colourful wagon that had been converted into a place where actors could hide until they had to make their entrance onto the stage.

Finally, the play began. Geralt perked up, only to sag in disappointment, when it wasn’t Dandy presenting the prologue, but the red-haired woman from the day before. She was good, as were the other actors that soon joined her, but Geralt paid only half-attention to them or the plot, too distracted by trying to spy Dandy somewhere.

He shouldn’t have worried about missing him. As soon as the doors to the wagon opened and Dandy pushed the curtain separating it from the stage to the side with a dramatic flourish, he drew all eyes onto himself.

Geralt couldn’t help but suck in the air sharply, when Dandy strode over the stage, all confidence and cockiness. He navigated the stage perfectly, his cane almost melting into his motions with how self-assured he presented himself. It was clear that he knew his place as well as the other actor’s places like the back of his hand. Nothing was left of the scared man from yesterday, who had been lost and reliant on others to guide him through the labyrinth that was the city. No, the person who was on stage now, was someone completely different. This was who Dandy was meant to be. He commanded the stage, wrapped the audience around his little finger as if it was nothing.

Some of his expressions still looked a little unnatural and he didn’t always look at where the other actor’s eyes were perfectly, but somehow Dandy managed to turn that into a look of arrogance or shy avoidance. It was clear how much he had practiced to perfect this performance and how much he loved playing the cocky pirate captain.

While Jaskier had been able to get any crowd to clap and stomp in rhythm with his songs, Dandy had the gift of making a hush fall over the crowd. Not a single person in the audience dared to risk missing even a second of his performance by talking. Geralt fared no better. He couldn’t have looked away if he had wanted to. He was mesmerised.

And how could he not be? Up there on the stage, Dandy was beautiful, confident and so breathtakingly and unapologetically happy.

A warm and fuzzy feeling spread through Geralt’s chest as he watched, though he winced and felt a spike of guilt shoot up, when he noticed that Dandy did his best to take it easy on his back when he danced through the fight-choreographies or had to bend down.

But even so, there was no doubt that Dandy gave it his all. Even with the hat missing from his costume, he melted into the role of the pirate. So much so that even Geralt found himself invested in the play, and not only for the need to see what exactly it was that Dandy did that he loved so much.

And he could see why he did. The story was enrapturing. A pirate playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse, with constantly changing roles and stakes. He evaded the knight searching for him time and time again, more often than not with a flirty quip on his lips and a wink for the knight before the pirate escaped just in time.

Dandy played the pirate pouring all his heart into it. And with it, he played the audience as easily as a child’s recorder.

When Dandy acted ruthless and lifted his voice to a furious shout, gasps went through the audience. When Dandy spoke softly to the knight in a rare moment of vulnerability, Geralt noticed more than one pair of lovers search for their partner’s hand or share a look. When Dandy tilted the knights chin up with the sword he held in the hand that wasn’t occupied with his holding his cane, Geralt felt an unexpected tingling down the back of his neck and he had to swallow to get himself to stop imagining himself in the knight’s place.

But then the scene shifted and Geralt felt as if a rug was pulled out from under him. The pirate got captured by the knight and thrown into a prison. The set design was only minimalistic and had Geralt been less invested, he might have scoffed at how nothing like an actual prison the stage looked, not without the cagey walls that made you think you were suffocating or the lack of light that made it impossible to tell what time of day it was.

But none of that mattered. Because there Dandy was, cowering on the stage all alone, shackled and trembling all over. In that moment, he looked so damn similar to how he had been yesterday, that it took all of Geralt’s will power to remind himself that Dandy was just acting, that his pain-streaked face was nothing but the mask of the character he played. And yet, Geralt’s heart broke for him and he wanted nothing more than to take Dandy into his arms and hold him close until his tears dried and his gasping breath turned into laughter.

Then the knight appeared on the other side of the prop door, speaking to the pirate through it in a stern and rough voice, but the look on Dandy’s face as the pirate heard the voice and realised he wasn’t alone, made it seem as if the voice was the most beautiful and most comforting thing he had ever heard.

The knight lifted a prop torch. It didn’t shine a real light, but Dandy turned towards it nonetheless, creating the illusion of being gifted with unexpected light in a hopelessly dark place.

Geralt’s heart skipped a beat. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the look of utter bliss and hope on Dandy’s face.

Was this how Yarrow had looked when Geralt had finally given up on remaining silent? Had he looked just as hopeless and broken as Dandy had before, when Geralt had fallen silent again?

And then Dandy spoke up again and Geralt found it impossible to breathe. He knew that monologue. It was the same one Dandy had presented in the most dramatic fashion to Geralt the day before.

It was different today. This was no grandiose speech. It was a desperate plea of a broken man. Dandy knew exactly how to use his voice to pierce the hearts of the audience. People sobbed and held their loved ones’ closer as Dandy spoke now. But Geralt was certain that none of them felt as much in that moment as he did. Not a single person could understand the turmoil of emotion welling up in him at Dandy’s words.

He hadn’t understood yesterday, but now, seeing Dandy in that make-believe cell, it shifted everything, made Geralt feel like he was right next to him, on the other side of a wall, too far away to touch, too stubborn to listen to his pleas.

Because that’s what it was. While yesterday Dandy had made it seem as if his words were playful and tempting, there was now no doubt that he was begging. Begging for the knight to stay with him, to leave his life of glory and righteousness behind and join him on the sea, far away from anyone who put them in shackles or told them that they had to be enemies. He begged for the knight to see him as more than the unwanted criminal that the law painted him as. There was a broken smile on his face, as he said that he knew well enough that there were no dragons to fight out on the sea, but there were leviathans and all kinds of other sea monsters that he needed help fighting. He could use a man who knew how to use his sword. More than that, he could use a friend.

And the knight…the knight remained silent. Geralt felt himself leaning closer to the stage, tense as if readying himself for a fight and terrified of what the answer might be.

Don’t do it! he almost screamed at the actor playing the knight. You will shatter him if you say it!

But he knew what the answer would be, had known it long before the pirate had ever started begging. He had known it, ever since he realised just how close this scene was to the moment he still regretted decades later.

“We’re not friends.”

The knight left and took the light with him, leaving the pirate alone in his cell, awaiting the law’s judgement that he knew wouldn’t let him out of that cell alive. The pirate’s last words, before the knight watched him climb the gallows was, “We could have been friends. In a different life.”

--

Geralt didn’t hear the roaring applause. He didn’t see the actors all coming together onstage to take their bows. It felt as if his head had been stuffed with cotton, muffling the world around him.

All he could think of were those last lines. In a different life.

Did Dandy know? Did he somehow understand who he was and was trying to get a message to Geralt? It wasn’t likely, but the possibility made his heart speed up and sent a tingle of anticipation down his back.

Slowly, the crowd dispersed. Geralt didn’t even notice that he was among the last few who lingered awkwardly while the rest of the audience was already making their way home, until that laughter he had heard the day before reached his ears again. Somewhere backstage, Dandy was joking with his friends again.

Geralt’s throat went dry. He didn’t know what to do. That happened frustratingly often lately. He knew what he wanted to do, what every fibre of his being screamed at him to do. But there was no guarantee Dandy even wanted to meet him again. The chance of him truly knowing who he was to Geralt was too small to sway Geralt’s mind. Who was to say Dandy would want him here if he knew, anyway? Because if Dandy knew, then what exactly would he remember? Dying in Geralt’s arms. Dying alone and sick and waiting for a man who would never come.

And if he didn’t remember? If the play had been pure coincidence? Then Dandy would only know him as a brute who lurked in dark alleys, a man who reminded him of the violence of the day before, and who had shown that he wasn’t above hurting people. He had made Dandy fear for his life while he had had no idea if Geralt was friend or foe. None of that made Geralt appear in any way trustworthy.

Whether Dandy remembered anything of his past lives or not, he had every reason to despise him.

But Geralt actually had a reason to talk to him. If not to spent more time with him, then at least to return the hat to him. It was a weak excuse and he knew it, but the woman at the entrance had implied that he should go see Dandy and she wouldn’t have said that if she believed it could harm Dandy in any way, would she?

Though his heart was pounding against his ribs in time with his mind telling him repeatedly that this was a bad idea, Geralt walked towards the stage, where Nadine was just putting away some props.

Before Geralt could speak up, she lifted her head. A brow rose, not in surprise, but almost looking pleased.

“I was wondering if you’d show up,” she said, not bothering to interrupt her work while she spoke. “I take it you’re looking for Dandy?”

“Unless he doesn’t wish to meet me.” Geralt rubbed his thumb over the nail of his index finger, as big a show of nervousness as he allowed himself. “I don’t want to bother him.”

Nadine faltered and turned to face Geralt fully. Geralt felt oddly vulnerable under her scrutiny. But whatever she was seeing must have satisfied her, for she gave him a small nod of approval.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t be. He’s not helping clean up the stage anyway and as long as he’s busy talking - or doing whatever else takes both your fancy  - with you, at least he won’t be able to bother the rest of us.” Despite her harsh sounding words, her tone was warm and fond. It did something strange to Geralt’s chest to know that Dandy had found himself with friends whom he was comfortable enough with to let them tease him. “He’s behind the stage, you can’t miss him.”

Geralt nodded his thanks, but before he could make his way to Dandy, Nadine called after him again, “Don’t touch anything. The props are fragile.” When she caught Geralt’s eye, she added quieter but in a practiced tone of authority and intimidation, “I mean it. Don’t break anything.”

They both knew she wasn’t talking about props. Geralt returned her serious look and inclined his head. This time, when he continued on his way, he wasn’t stopped.

Nadine was right. It was impossible to miss Dandy. He was lounging comfortably on a box while another actor with shoulder-length dark hair tried to shoo him off so they could stow away his props.

The other actor looked up when Geralt came closer, their eyes going wide and darting between Geralt and Dandy.

“Oh,” they said awkwardly. “I, uh, I guess I can put my stuff away later. I’ll leave you to it.”

With that, they hurried away. Dandy let out a cheerful laugh and swung his legs back and forth, making dull thuds whenever his feel hit the box.

He didn’t seem to notice that he wasn’t alone.

“Dandy?”

Dandy startled and his one hand tightened around his cane. “Uh, who are you?”

Geralt clenched his jaw. “Fuck. I’m sorry, I forgot – I’m Geralt.”

Dandy stared blankly ahead, the fingers of his free hand drumming a nervous pattern on the box.

“Ah, pleasure to meet you.” A pause. Dandy tilted his head. “Judging from how Mika left, you’re either very intimidating or someone I should probably know.”

Geralt coughed uncomfortably. “To be honest, I’m not sure which one it is either.”

Dandy let out a quiet laugh and leaned back. “So mysterious. You want me to guess? Because I’m warning you, I’m not very good at guessing games.”

“We met yesterday. After…I’m the one who brought you back to the tavern.”

The change in Dandy was instantaneous. As quick as lightning, he jumped up, his teasing and the hint of weariness gone and replaced with a buzzing excitement.

“It’s you! I can’t believe you’re here!” The smile on his face wasn’t as big as Jaskier’s would have been, but the happiness in his voice was brighter than anything Geralt had ever heard before. “Really, I should have guessed it was you. No one else can move that silently.” He huffed. “You’ll have to work on that, if you don’t want me to startle every time you appear.”

Something warm tingled to life in Geralt. Every time. It couldn’t just be Geralt’s foolishly hopeful heart that made those words sound as if Dandy wanted him to come see him again after this, could it?

“Or when you disappear for that matter.” Dandy’s tone shifted into gentle reprimand and he wagged a finger vaguely in Geralt’s direction. “You were gone so quickly yesterday and without saying goodbye too.”

“I’m sorry.” Those words weren’t enough. They didn’t say that Geralt had wanted nothing more than to stay with Dandy, to get to know him, to have Dandy want him there with him. But it was all that his tied tongue allowed him to get out.

Dandy snorted. “You should be.” Amusement snuck into his voice. “I’ll have you know that it was really embarrassing when I stared talking to you, thanking you profusely for saving me, only to have Nadine tell me that you had left an eternity ago. I fear my dignity shall never recover!”

“Not if you keep being that dramatic,” Geralt shot back, before he could stop himself.

He froze, his eyes going wide as he held his breath, awaiting Dandy’s reaction. His slip up that Jaskier would have recognised without difficulty as teasing, must sound like a deadpan insult to anyone else – to Dandy.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said so quickly he nearly stumbled over the word. “I didn’t mean to-“

He was interrupted by a barking laugh coming from Dandy. “Not you too! First my own friends and colleagues tell me I’m too dramatic – can you believe it? Actors telling me I’m too dramatic! – and now even you, Geralt, my hero, are turning against me?”

Geralt shifted his weight, his instinct telling him to deny being a hero, but the way Dandy had said his name made him swallow his words of protest. Instead, he cleared his throat and aimed for something softer with his next words.

“I could make it up to you?”

Dandy’s smile turned into a grin. “Oh? How are you planning to do that? One daring rescue wasn’t enough for you?” His tone became sincere. “Because trust me, I couldn’t ask anything more of you. I owe you my life.”

“No. Trust me, you really don’t.” Geralt forced down the bitterness lacing his words. “No more heroics. But-“ he faltered, looking at the hat in his hand. Standing before Dandy now, made this gesture seem so much more insignificant. “I found your hat. I wanted to return it to you.”

Dandy let out a delighted little noise. “Wait, really?”

“It’s…yeah. I got your hat.”

Geralt waited until Dandy held out his hand to place it in it. Immediately, Dandy went to put it on his head. Geralt snatched his elbow, stopping him. He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks when Dandy made a questioning noise.

“Sorry, it’s just. It’s dirty. And the feather is broken. I tried to clean it best I could, but I don’t think you’d want to put it on like that.”

Dandy’s face did something complicated, but then he tugged his arm free and proceeded to put the hat on.

“I couldn’t possibly scorn such a gift,” he said teasingly, but something else was woven into his voice. Something more. “Now, how do I look?”

Geralt wasn’t sure he could speak. The word he croaked was more a strangled noise than the compliment he had intended to give, but it made Dandy’s lips twitch nonetheless.

“First you give me my hat back and now you give me such a lovely and eloquent compliment? Your generosity knows no bounds.” Coming from anyone else, those words would have sounded like a mockery and would have stung Geralt to the core. But from Dandy, they sounded so much like familiar teasing, as if they had known each other forever, that Geralt relaxed. “I wonder…may I be greedy and ask for one more thing?”

Anything.

“Depends,” Geralt said instead, though he was sure Dandy could hear his real answer in the miniscule tremble of his voice. “What are you asking for?”

Dandy’s smile grew wider. “The thing all artists are asking for. A review.”

“Let me guess, in three words or less?”

The words slipped past Geralt’s lips without thinking, but now that they hung between them, his heart sped up and his eyes zeroed in on Dandy, doing their best to see even the most miniscule shift in his expression that showed that he recognised those words, that they meant something to him.

All Dandy did was lift his brows and twirl his cane a little. Geralt told himself he wasn’t disappointed.

“I wouldn’t complain about more words. But three words does sound like something out of a story, so I’ll take it.”

The corner of Geralt’s lips tugged upwards. “They don’t exist.”

For a moment, Dandy was quiet, then he let out an indignant and altogether dramatic groan. “Really? That’s your review? That’s not – how is that even a review?”

Geralt couldn’t stop the soft fondness from welling up in his chest, as he listened to Dandy’s tirade. “I mean, is that a good thing? Do you think it’s terrible? You truly gave me the one review that is just utterly nondescript.”

Geralt hummed with a smile on his lips that he was sure Dandy could hear. “Do you think inaccuracy is a bad thing?”

Dandy scoffed. “Of course not. I’m not writing a history book, am I?”

“Thankfully not. You’d be terrible at that.”

“Are you implying that I’m good at writing plays then?”

Geralt let out a soft huff. “I didn’t say that.”

Dandy shook his head with a grin that was a bit wonky, but that got its point across all the same. This was the most shit eating expression there was.

“No, you can’t take that back. You definitely implied it.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, just for the sake of doing so. “You can’t prove anything.”

“Don’t need to. I played my fair share of shy young lovers. I know what someone sounds like who desperately tries not to sound like they just gave a compliment.”

Geralt grunted. It was strange imagining Dandy playing a shy character who was careful with their words. Then again, Geralt would have given his right hand to have seen that, if only to know what Dandy looked like when he was in love, even if it was only an act.

“I’ll take your silence as defeat. Which I shall graciously accept,” Dandy said and gave an exaggerated bow. “Now, back to ‘they don’t exist’. Because, you know, that’s not a new epiphany. Those characters and scenarios? They aren’t real. Everyone knows that. And that’s the whole point.” Dandy’s voice got louder with excitement and he stood up a little straighter. His fingers twitched, but they didn’t move otherwise. He probably wanted to use wild gestures as he had on stage, but wasn’t sure he wouldn’t accidentally knock something or someone over, now that nothing had its marks and places like it did during the play.

“You see,” Dandy said and leaned forward a little, “the point is they could exist. They start out as a vague spark of inspiration in the writer’s head and then, for just two hours, the theatre makes them real in the hearts of the audience. If we’ve done our job well, it’s going to stay real for a little while after the performance too. But it’s all about what could be and not what really is.”

Geralt’s brows knitted together as he listened to the explanation. It was clear that this was something Dandy had thought about oftentimes before. Listening to him felt like listening to Jaskier explain metre and the importance of key changes. Geralt didn’t understand a word of what he was saying and he wouldn’t be able to give a satisfying reply, but he loved seeing him get so swept up in his excitement nonetheless. Geralt loved it, for the sole reason that he got to see Dandy happy.

Still, Geralt was wrecking his mind for some reply, some way to not let this conversation die down. He clung to the thing that had always gotten Jaskier to light up.

“So, I take it you wouldn’t want me to tell you some real stories of adventures and monsters?”

Dandy’s brows shot up. “Do you have a lot of stories then? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t seem like the storytelling type – oh.” That last word was spoken so softly, so apologetically that something twisted in Geralt’s gut. Dandy’s hand reached out, searching, until it finally found Geralt’s arm. It wandered down until he gently held Geralt’s hand. “Do you know those stories from your friend? The dramatic one, you told me about?”

Geralt’s skin burned where they touched, searing him like a brand. He wanted to never let go.

“From him too. He certainly would have been better at telling them than me. Though less accurate.”

“Then how would you tell those stories? If they are yours to tell.”

“I- what?” An inexplicable sense of unease crept up Geralt’s spine. Something was wrong, though he couldn’t put his fingers on it.

“How do you know of monsters and adventures?”

Geralt’s blood turned to ice. “You don’t know,” he whispered as his eyes widened with the sudden cold realisation.

Dandy titled his head. He looked so trusting, so unassuming. He had trusted the wrong people at least once before.

“What do I not know?”

Geralt pulled his hand back, regretting it almost instantly, but he couldn’t let Dandy feel his hand starting to shake. Dandy’s brows pinched together and he drew back a little.

“Did I say something wrong?” Dandy sounded so painfully concerned and unsure. Of course he would be. He couldn’t know that the eyes looking at him where inhuman, that Geralt wore his scars like Dandy did his costumes and that the hand Dandy had held so gently was the hand of a mutant. “Geralt, are you alri-“

“I’m a witcher.” The words were curt and toneless. He had gone through this so often before – twice with Jaskier and Yarrow – but it never got any easier. The icy fear tearing its claws into his heart never showed mercy.

“A witcher?” Dandy sounded breathless. Then he narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger. “You’re not messing with me, are you? Because if you are, this really isn’t funny.”

“It’s not,” Geralt agreed. “Believe me, I know there’s nothing funny about this.”

Dandy’s face became unreadable. “Geralt…of Rivia?”

Geralt made an affirmative humming sound. He couldn’t bring himself to form words again.

Dandy let out a short laugh and rubbed his free hand over his face. “I can’t believe it. All my life, I don’t meet a single witcher and now… here were are.” His lips twitched into a smile, before a frown overtook his features again.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt finally said through clenched teeth. “I shouldn’t have come. I should have told you earlier.”

“No! I’m the one who’s sorry. It’s just. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect you...to be you. My tutor told me about you - all those ancient stories about the White Wolf- but I never thought I’d actually get to meet you.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I need to think about this some more.”

Geralt’s heart sank. He had dealt with too many nobles not to recognise a dismissal if he heard one. Dandy had nothing to think about and even if he did, there was no doubt what his conclusion would be. Geralt wouldn’t get to see Dandy again.

“I understand.” Lips pressed into a thin line that barely resembled a smile, Geralt turned. “Goodbye, Dandy.”

“Wait!” Dandy called out. “You promised me stories. You will come back tomorrow to tell me some, won’t you?”

He sounded so hopeful that Geralt froze.

Dandy’s cane slid over the floor as the actor took some steps towards him. “And I know my performance today was good, but you should see me act while I’m wearing the full costume.” He gestured to the hat. He moved quicker than before, his voice almost desperate. “You’ll come back? You…Geralt? Are you even still there?”

Geralt stifled a curse. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “I’m here. Forgot to move louder.” He swallowed. “Are you sure you want me to come back? I won’t hurt you if you don’t -”

“I am.” The reply came to fast, it nearly cut Geralt off.

“Then I’ll will.” Speaking the words out loud, giving this promise, lifted a weight off his chest. He huffed, as he picked up Dandy’s flimsy excuse. “I wouldn’t want to miss your best performance.”

He took another couple of steps away, this time making sure they would be audible, before he stopped again, half turning back to Dandy and said, “I would have wanted them to become friends. The pirate and the knight.”

Dandy smiled weaky at the floor. “Yeah, me too.”

“You wrote the play, didn’t you? Why didn’t you give them a happy ending?”

Dandy shrugged. “I don’t know. I wanted to. But it didn’t feel right.”

“I didn’t know the play would be a tragedy.”

Dandy tightened his grip on the cane. “Would you not have watched it if you had known?”

Geralt was quiet for a long time, taking in every part of Dandy. His hair that was so much longer than Jaskier’s had ever been. His clothes that were more expensive than Yarrow’s had likely been. His eyes that were the same blue as the eyes of the man he had loved and lost.

“Yes, I would have.” He hesitated. “But I would have still hoped they would get the ending they deserved.”

Dandy’s posture relaxed. “Maybe I’ll convince Nadine to let me write a sequel one day. And then they get to be friends.”

“I’d like that,” Geralt said hoarsely. “I’d really like that.”

--

“You came back,” Dandy said, dropping the prop dagger with the retractable blade that he’d ben twirling.

“I promised I would.”

“Even though you knew how the play would end?”

“Even so.” It was foolish, but Geralt hoped Dandy somehow knew he was smiling at him, even if he couldn’t see it. “I still like the middle bits. They make it all worth it.”

--

The posters announced the theatre troupe would stay in town for at least another four weeks, before they were to continue their travels and bring their plays to the next city that would have them.

Geralt would know; he’d spent longer than he would like to admit, studying the posters. In a moment of weakness, he had taken one down, folded it and hid it in Yarrow’s sketchbook. The picture of Dandy on the poster wasn’t very detailed, but it was still him and Geralt felt better falling asleep at night, knowing that he had at least this small part of him with him.

The troupe only had a limited repertoire of plays and Geralt had watched them all, multiple times even. He came to every performance, took every chance he could get to see Dandy again.

Whereas he had felt like an intruder at first, it now almost felt like coming home when he went backstage after a performance as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

If anyone had asked him why he kept coming back, he would have said, because he was the only one who would be able to recognise all of Dandy’s attackers, so Dandy would be safer with him around.

Nobody asked. No one even seemed to question for a second why he kept returning. As days turned into a week, the other actors and stagehands waved or nodded at Geralt when they saw him, pointing him in Dandy’s direction without him having to ask first. With time, Geralt even learned that Mika very much wasn’t intimidated by him, as he had thought at first, when he caught Mika teasing Dandy that his admirer had come back and then had the gull to wink at Geralt as Mika left them alone.

When he wasn’t watching the plays or talking with Dandy, Geralt was looking for contracts. It was practically impossible for a witcher to find enough work in one place to earn him the coin to last four weeks there, but he did his best, taking any job he could get. It was worth it, if it meant he’d get to see Dandy again.

Still, he must not have been very good at hiding how little he ate or how much sleep he lacked for wont of well-paying work, for they refused to let him pay to watch the plays, no matter how often he came by.

--

Dandy scooted to the side on the box, leaving space for Geralt to sit down next to him. Mika threw them an unimpressed look, when they were once again forced to take care of their props later, but their expression shifted into something amused and knowing, that made heat rise in Geralt’s cheeks, that he prayed wouldn’t be shown in a treacherous blush.

If it did, at least Dandy wouldn’t know to tease him about it. Not that he needed to. Judging from the small smirk on his face when their thighs pressed together for lack of space, he knew very well what his proximity was doing to Geralt.

Yet, he didn’t voice any of his thoughts out loud, leaving Geralt to wonder just how much he knew, how much he wanted, how much he was willing to accept from Geralt.

So for now, Geralt gave the one thing he knew Dandy would appreciate. Stories.

He tried sticking to the ones Jaskier had written that he still knew by heart, repeating the dramatic lines that were sown into his mind. Dandy would hang on his lips, no matter what adventure he spoke off, but oddly enough, he appeared to prefer it when Geralt spoke of newer contracts told in Geralt’s boring to-the-point manner.

Dandy would lean against him when he told him of blissfully uneventful days, lay his free hand soothingly onto Geralt’s arm when he spoke of failed contracts and clutched his hand tightly in his when Geralt told him about the scars he had gotten.

The warm feeling in his chest grew with every minute he spent with Dandy and with every story the actor told him of his own travels in return. Of the cities the troupe had been to, the courts and beggars they had performed for and how the play about the pirate had actually been the first play Dandy had ever written – at least partially. The most work had still been done by Nadine, who turned out to be the head of the company, though Dandy stage-whispered to Geralt that she was more like a mother to the rest of the troupe.

Geralt loved those moments where it felt as if it was just the two of them, the only other people around, the actors that Dandy trusted and that welcomed Geralt almost as a friend.

He loved it – and he hated it.

Befriending Dandy again, without telling him the truth about what he used to be to Geralt felt like lying. More than once, he almost told him the truth.

But what was he even supposed to say? If he told Dandy that he was the reincarnation of someone Geralt had loved, he would think Geralt mad at best. At the worst, he would be plunged into dread and a crisis of self, leading to his hatred for himself and Geralt.

He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk Dandy losing himself and the life that he loved.

Strangely, Geralt found that the thought of Dandy not remembering his past lives no longer hurt as id had before. Geralt still missed Jaskier and always would, but as he got closer to Dandy, he realised that it was no longer just the bard that Dandy used to be that was important to Geralt, but Dandy himself.

He was the same as Jaskier in some ways, but also different in others. Geralt wanted to find out all the ways in which Dandy was someone else. He wanted to truly know him, as the person he was now. As the friend, Geralt already saw in him, independent of who he had been in his past life.

So Geralt’s mind was constantly racing, trying to find something that would make him indispensable for the actor, something he could give to him - more than just stories - that would make him want to keep Geralt around for as long as he could.

As it turned out, he didn’t need to do anything of the sort. Dandy was more than happy to do everything he could, to make Geralt want to stay.

--

The first time Dandy invited Geralt to go for drinks with the rest of the troupe after a show, Geralt was both exhilarated and hesitant to accept the offer.

He knew, as soon as Dandy had asked, that he would be helpless and agree to come with him, but even as they were drinking round after round, Geralt’s mind wouldn’t stop going back to the fact that with every coin he spent so carelessly now, he would have to spend another night sleeping outside the city again and go back to hunting for his own food – if there even were enough animals reckless enough to come close to the city to let themselves be caught by him.

It would be hard, but Dandy leaning into him and putting his arm around him, blabbering happily at him in his adorable drunken state, made it all worth it.

When they parted in the early morning hours, Nadine pulled Geralt to the side. In no uncertain terms, she told him that since he was already spending all of his evenings around the stage, he could just as well help them around it. A pair of strong, helping hands was always appreciated and if Geralt was already there, Dandy wouldn’t annoy the rest of the troupe by senselessly worrying if Geralt would show up again. Of course, Nadine would pay him just the same as she would any other part-time stagehand.

Geralt was sure that it was just the alcohol talking, still he came by the stage earlier that evening and when he did, Nadine was greeting him with an appreciative nod and wasted no time ordering him around.

It was almost too good to be true. Like this, Geralt could afford to keep renting the cheap inn room, he had feared he would lose, and got to see Dandy more than he would have otherwise.

The only downside was that now Geralt didn’t get to sit on the box with him anymore while they talked, but experienced first-hand the annoyance of having Dandy laugh at him while preventing him from doing his work.

Geralt wouldn’t have wanted it to be any other way.

For the first time in far too long, Geralt felt like he was well and truly happy.

If he dreamed hard enough, he could almost make himself believe that life would stay like this.

#reincarnation au #sorry i forgot to post this on here #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #jaskier #witcher #fic #fanfic #witcher fic #my writing #geralt

[julilihatfun]

Prompty prompt: Geralt is really struggling in a battle and Jaskier can't just stand by and watch anymore, so he goes up there and kinda saves Geralt, giving him the chance to finally kill the monster...BUT Jaskier is hurt in the process which he doesn't want to admit, being the hero for the first time. He hides it until he just passes out and Geralt takes care of him, mad at himself for letting the bard get hurt, but also thankful. Sorry it's not very original, but hope you like it!

Prompt request: Jaskier hits his head and is concussed and ends up moody, disoriented, and uncoordinated, maybe a bit nauseous, but Geralt never saw him hit his head and has to find out through a careful insoection when he realizes his travelling companion is acting strangely. 

Hey guys - sorry for disappearing for a while :( Everything is just really overwhelming at the moment and well :((( but I hope you enjoy this and I really hope, that you are safe and well!!! (I combined two prompts for this, because it kind of seemed fitting)

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

Jaskier watched Geralt fight – at first, in awe (as always, because honestly: how can one fight so ferociously while looking that graceful), but then in concern, because the Witcher seemed to be in trouble. And that was something that Jaskier had never seen before.

The giant creature loomed over Geralts head – all bloodthirsty and monster-like – while Geralt frantically scrambled away from it and towards the heavy iron sword that had been smacked away from him a few moments earlier.

“Geralt!”, Jaskier screamed and he sounded hysterical and panicked, but he did not care at all. This was a literal nightmare come to life. 

“Stay down!”, Geralt roared, not even looking at the bard, because he was too busy dodging attack after attack.

And it did not look like the beast was getting tired. Which, in turn, meant, that staying down was not an option if he wanted Geralt to actually survive this shit.

He did not even have to think about it then – just jumped up and out of his hiding place with a loud, screechy screaming noise, that kind of betrayed his fear, and stumbled towards the fight.

He seemed to be much less interesting than Geralt (highly offensive, if you asked him – he did not wear those ridiculously colourful outfits to be ignored like this), because the huge thing did not even take one eye away from Geralts prone form.

Geralt screamed at him to ‘get the fuck back’, while Jaskier searched the forest ground for something, anything, that he could use as a weapon. He had to be fast, because Geralt seemed to come no closer to gaining back control over the fight.

“Aha!”, he cheered, when he finally found something that could work.

And throwing a stone at the creature really did seem to finally do the trick, because it suddenly turned on Jaskier in an alarming speed.

“Oi!”, Jaskier bellowed, tripping over his own feet in an effort to get away faster. “Stop.”

He was not fast enough, of course, because he felt the thing yank his feet out from under him, making him fall hard. His head was catapulted forward in a sickening motion and bounced off of the moist ground, which definitely hurt a lot.

Jaskier turned around, seeing stars dance around his vision, just in time to see Geralt (who apparently was much faster than Jaskier) bring his sword down on the beast’s neck, effectively separating its ugly head from its massive body.

Jaskier barely had enough time to roll away when the thing started falling towards him and felt the ground shake beneath him, when the monsters mutilated form came down right next to him.

He stared at the beast for a long moment in silent wonder, then his gaze swept to Geralt, who was already staring at him.

“I take partial credit for this one.”, he said then, shakily, moving to pull himself up on a nearby tree.

Geralt huffed, still eying him grimly. He growled out a clipped: “That was incredibly dumb.”, which made the bard gasp in mock-hurt.

“Geralt how dare you? I practically saved your life back there! – quite heroically, if I dare say so myself.”, Jaskier snapped back jokingly. And he knew that he would have handled the situation better had he known even the most basic fighting techniques, but he did not have any skills and stuff somehow still worked out, so he felt pretty proud of himself.

Geralt closed his eyes in frustration and heaved out a heavy sigh, before surprising Jaskier with a grumbled: “I did not say that you did not save my life.” Geralt threw him a stern look. “But that does not make it any less stupid.”

Jaskier practically glowed with glee and pride. “I can already envision the glorious ballad! Brave Jaskier, the humble bard, fearlessly throwing himself into the raging battle of-“

“Jaskier.”

“Yeah?”

“You threw a stone.” Jaskier actually saw the bastards mouth twitching in the effort to hide a grin. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Hey! I threw that stone very bravely!”

Geralt actually huffed out a small laugh then, but when he took in the bards disgruntled clothes, smeared with dirt and grime, his face grew serious again. “You went down pretty hard. You hurt anywhere?”

Jaskier scoffed. “Warriors don’t get hurt.”

“You broke a toe dancing last month.”, Geralt noted dryly. “Well, come to think of it, I guess you did not get hurt as you’d already be whining about it if you did.”

“Hey, that toe-thing hurt.”, Jaskier pouted. “I normally am very pain resistant.”

“Sure are.”

And they left it at that. Although Jaskier knew how immensely grateful Geralt really was, when he offered him a spot on Roach (which Jaskier, obviously, happily accepted).

Riding, for some weird reason, made Jaskier kind of dizzy, so he could barely force down three bites of his stew, before he surrendered and pushed his plate towards Geralt.

“Can you get horse sick?”, he asked dreamily and immediately felt Geralts boring stare on him. He looked up. “What?”

“You’re sick?”, Geralt inquired suspiciously, having been wary ever since Jaskier fell oddly silent as soon as they had mounted Roach.

“I never said that.”, Jaskier exclaimed defensively. “It’s probably the adrenaline wearing off.”

“Hm.”

“Nothing a good pint of ale won’t be able to fix, right? And a good night’s sleep – we should really think about sleeping in real beds more often. You know, to get proper rest and socialize instead of wasting away in the forest.”, Jaskier rambled on, desperate to change the subject in order to not have Geralt on his case all week because of a bit on an upset stomach.

“Hm.”

“Spoilsport.”

They separated for the night shortly after; Geralt immediately retreating to their shared room and Jaskier spending some time wooing the small audience with carefully composed songs and mirror-practiced charms. Though, Jaskier did call it a night unusually early too, having promised himself that healing sleep will free him from all ailments that came with kind-of fighting alongside Geralt.

And well, he was wrong.

He woke up to a splitting headache.

“Yikes.”, he groaned as he sat up, bringing up both hands to massage his temples.

“Had a drop too much?”

And as Jaskier thought about it, he came to the conclusion, that he actually had no idea how much he drank the evening prior – not the normal blank he drew, when the evening blurred together in a mass of pints and shots and girls and… no, this was a complete memory lapse.

To him, it was annoying more than scary, really.

“Screw you, Geralt.”, Jaskier snapped, because Geralt sounded way too smug for his liking. Also, no matter how hard he tried, he could not draw up a single memory.

“Touchy, aren’t you?”, Geralt asked with an obvious smirk.

Jaskier snorted. “Are we leaving?”, he asked then, when his gaze fell on Geralts packed bags; took in the Witcher’s general impatient demeanour.

“Yeah.”, Geralt confirmed his fears. “Took you long enough to wake.”

He looked at Jaskier for a moment, as if searching for something. “Breakfast is on me.”

Geralt’s way of showing gratitude. Jaskier knew, that he should be immensely happy, but he just felt… kind of weird and muddle-headed. Also, still very nauseous.

“I feel so loved.”, he cheered weakly, mostly out of habit. He could probably stomach some food anyways – most times, it even helped him get over a hangover.

When Jaskier had packed up and they stepped out of the inn and into a small tavern, the smell of freshly cooked eggs and beans wafting their way, Jaskier changed his mind.

“Know what:-“, he choked out, dizzily. “I guess I’m not hungry after all. I’ll just… stay with Roach. Outside.”

“Hm.”, Geralt grunted dangerously. “You barely ate yesterday evening.”

“I’m watching my figure.”

“Jaskier…”

Geralt watched the bards face take on a greyish-green hue and he grabbed Jaskiers upper arm roughly, dragging him outside, and nearly pushed him into a bush off the beaten path, away from prying eyes.

“Do what you have to do.”, Geralt said, and it almost sounded compassionate.

“I’m fine.”, Jaskier gulped, despite all logic and appearance. “Jus’ hungover or somethin’.”

“Hmm.”

“Seriously.”, Jaskier mumbled, still breathing heavily in an attempt to fight off the nausea.

“Right.”, Geralt sighed, watching Jaskiers face slowly morph into a more healthy-looking colour. “If you think so.”

“You going back in?”

“No.”, Geralt said, eying Jaskier warily. “Let’s just leave. We can eat later.”

“Alright.”, the bard sighed. His head still hurt and he suddenly felt exhausted. “Let’s, then.���

They walked towards Roach in silence and – unusually enough – it was Geralt who finally broke it, when he strapped his bag onto her back. “You wanna ride with me?”

Just the thought made Jaskier feel terribly ill again. “Hard pass.” He knew that walking would be tough on him too, but there was something distinct to the jostling motion on the horse’s saddle that made it particularly unattractive to him that day.

Geralt eyed him suspiciously. He did not often offer, but when he did, Jaskier never refused.

“You’re acting strange.”, he noted. “Well, more so than usual.”

“Ouch.”, Jaskier said, already a few steps ahead of the Witcher. “I’m great, and you know it.”

So they walked – or well, Jaskier walked. And he kept walking, even when he kept getting dizzier and more disoriented and his head started pounding in earnest.

It was when stars started dancing around his vision, that he knew that he was in real trouble. “Geralt-“, he breathed, hearing his own voice tremble and crack.

And he saw Geralt stop abruptly and turn out of the corner of his eye, before his vision went entirely black.

 When Jaskier woke up, the first thing he noticed was his still-pounding head. Then, something weird, wet on his still-pounding head. “Th’fuck.”, he mumbled in disgust, slowly moving to sit up.

“Stay down.”, a low voice growled.

“G’ralt?”

“Don’t want you doing more damage than you already did.”

“Ow.” Jaskier sat up despite Geralts warning because honestly, that’s just the kind of person he was, and one of Geralts old shirts, all wet and bunched up, fell into his lap with a splat. “Huh.”

He heard Geralt sigh. “Stubborn bastard.” Then, Geralts face was only inches away from his own.

“Uh, Geralt.”

“Look at me.” Geralt stared more intently into his eyes.

“You’re scaring me.”, Jaskier mumbled weakly. Focusing on Geralt was exhausting and the sun’s brightness was only making him feel worse.

Geralt straightened up again. “You hit your head yesterday.”

“Is that supposed to be a question?”

“Not if we both know the answer.”

“Right.” Jaskier continued squinting at Geralt. “I might have hit it.”

Geralt let out a big sigh. “Thank you for telling me right away instead of fainting in the middle of our journey.”

Jaskier furrowed his eyebrows (which made his head pound more fiercely, but well: worth it). “Are you… being sarcastic right now?”

“You were out for hours, Jaskier.”, Geralt snarled, clearly signalling that he was not to be joked with right now. “Wouldn’t wake.”

“I…”, Jaskier began, before letting his head fall into his hands. “Can we do this when my head does not feel like it’s splitting in two?”

He felt a warm hand on his back, lowering him back down, before it vanished for a second and returned with Geralts wet shirt, draping it over his face. Jaskier sighed in pleasure. The ground beside his sleeping mat rustled and he felt Geralt lowering himself down next to him.

There was awkward silence where Jaskier would normally chatter away. But he was to achy and tired to do so then.

“I should have noticed earlier.”, he heard Geralt grumble after a while, mostly to himself, as it seemed. He frowned.

“Stop, your self-pity is making my head hurt.”

“Your concussion is making your head hurt.”

Jaskier sighed, trying to snuggle closer to Geralt in search of comfort. A big hand settled on his shoulder. “Maybe that, yeah.”, he agreed, putting his own hand over Geralts.

The Witcher breathed out a gentle laugh. “Rest, Jaskier.”

#the witcher #Jaskier #Geralt #whump #jaskier whump #hurt/comfort #hurt jaskier #prompts #wow what a time #feeling very worried about the elderly people i work with #literally wake up at night crying about this #oh well #let's hope it gets better soon #and stay home #:(

[candied-cae]

Destiny Hands Out a Favor

Chapter 1/1 - - - Read it on AO3

Word Count : 2,345

Summary : Following the Dragon Hunt Geralt and Jaskier stand at the peak of the mountain. With all the rage and hurt bubbling over Geralt tells Jaskier to leave, for good. Jaskier doesn't leave, but Destiny fulfilled Geralt's wish another way.

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

“IF LIFE COULD GIVE ME ONE BLESSING, IT WOULD BE TO TAKE YOU OFF MY HANDS!” Geralt barked at Jaskier before turning his back.

This wasn’t fair. Everything Geralt fought so hard to keep was crumbling around him and there Jaskier stood in the center of it all. Geralt had faced nothing but dilemmas since Jaskier began to tag along on his life. Nothing but difficulties, and frustration, and annoyance around every corner every time the bard was involved. Now Yen had left him and he’d been reminded of the hold fate kept on him with that child surprise waiting in Cintra. Geralt didn’t believe he deserved anything, but could nothing remain constant in his life?

The bard stood still, frozen, he didn’t know what to say and suddenly the silence that hung around them felt like glass ready to shatter. He realizes that he’s holding his breath and has to put all his focus to draw in a deep gulp of air, needing to force it into his lungs. His brain flounders for what to say as he suddenly finds himself uncharacteristically tongue-tied. Another deep breath as he prepares to say something. But all he can get out is “I’m sorry, I’ll just g-“ before he’s cut off.

All in an instant, a surviving member of the reaver party has taken a knife to Jaskier’s throat, and dragged it, digging through his flesh with vile hate. Jaskier’s frozen again and this time rendered near-mute, save for the choking and gurgling sounds that arose from him involuntarily. Geralt lets out an exasperated sigh, blinded by his emotions with his furied heartbeat in his ears, before saying “Just leave off bard.”

For one more second he still clung to the anger and annoyance that was taking root, but when he turned around to look at Jaskier with a glare, that’s when he saw. His eyes laid on the scene splayed before him, of Jaskier falling to the ground while blood flowed from his neck way too fast. The all too familiar smell hits his nose, it’s sharp and his mind even conjures up the taste of it. Geralt’s tongue stung with the imagined flavor, metallic blood, splattering all over the bard. A battered reaver standing over him, cut and bruised, a seemingly dislocated shoulder, all hunched over with crazed eyes and a fevered stance.

Geralt’s senses immediately become overwhelmed. His words now feel sour in his mouth and he lunges with a drive and fury he’s not felt before. As he runs towards the remaining reaver, everything feels like it’s moving too slow like he’s wading through thick, heavy water. The memories of the last two decades run through him while he fights the current.

The time they were led on a completely wild goose chase by a village who swore there was a beast unknown to man in their woods. They described a furred monster who seemed to dance and had a scream higher than a banshee’s. For 3 days they trudged deep into the uncharted forests, only to find an unusually large bear at the end that walked with a limp and had scars over its throat. The bear was loud no doubt and seemed to have the good instincts to use it’s strained, almost unnatural, roar to spark fear in the villagers and keep them out of his forest. How, when they were faced with the bear who’s bark was so much louder than any bit it could’ve conjured, Geralt’s only thought was of how annoying the whole venture was, how he’d be missing out on some coin when they returned to town and only let out a huff in response. And yet, Jaskier let out a belliful laugh and put a hand on Geralt’s shoulder to steady him as he hunched over holding his stomach. Geralt remembered that he cracked a smile that day, looking down as Jaskier was overcome with the hilarity of it all.

Geralt tries to ignore the memory. He needs to focus on the running, the running to stop Jaskier from bleeding. The running to save his bard. But the past doesn’t wait for when it’s most convenient for Geralt to reminisce, it bubbles up anyway.

The time Geralt ran into Jaskier for the first time in months when he was at Oxenfurt. Geralt was there to provide beast parts for a professor to use in their classes, and Jaskier was there as a guest lecturer. It was strange, seeing Jaskier going by Sir Pankratz, and respond with professional, yet witty and charming answers when questioned. It was so different from the behavior Geralt had witnessed every time he saw Jaskier crack a joke, or try to woo his company for the night, or perform at a tavern, it was a whole new side of his travel companion.

Jaskier is such a vibrant individual, he’s so multifaceted. Everyday Geralt could discover something new about the bard, and he’d never get bored. Geralt fought against the strain in his weary bones after the battle from earlier. He was more tired than he cared to admit and was pushing through with rage as his fuel while his mind wandered.

The time that Geralt was injured fighting against a band of thieves. They were nobodies, but they had numbers and hostages. When all was said and done, the thieves would never steal again and the hostages ran back to their homes while Geralt gripped his dripping arm. Before they were back on the road to collect the coin they were owed, Jaskier bandaged Geralt and began composing his next song right then and there. It was the first time Geralt actually got a good look at all the little ticks Jaskier’s face made while he was trying to find rhymes and rework syllable counts, the way he bit his lower lip and mumbled to himself, the expressions he made to match the tone he was working on, the way his eyelashes flickered and his eyes danced across Geralt’s arm. It was mystifying in it’s own way how the bard put so much of himself into his work, and how you could see everything coming together just by watching him.

Geralt pushes the memory down as it comes to the surface. He feels the rocks beneath his boots shift, but he keeps his balance and continues up the steep mountain’s edge.

The time that Geralt and Jaskier crossed through towns for 2 months without any work. They actually got bored, somehow all these towns were lucky enough to have no brushes of trouble and while that was great for the townspeople, it was bad for the Witcher’s business. They ended up stopping in a town and just letting Jaskier perform night after night, encouraging battle between bards and new singers of the like to garner attention. And every night Jaskier left with more and more money. They stayed in that town for over a week, spending the day drinking the swill that tavern called ale, and then retreating to their cramped, shared inn room at night. And somehow, it wasn’t all that bad.

With each memory that passes Geralt finds himself pushing even harder and feeling things he doesn’t understand. And he doesn’t have the time to understand. He has to get to Jaskier, he needs to get to his… best friend in the whole wide world.

The time when Jaskier got so drunk at a noble's ball that Geralt had to drag him out. And while Geralt was holding him up, Jaskier’s arm slung over his shoulder and his hand gripped onto Jaskier’s waist, Jaskier said “Thank you, Geralt. I love you.” It shouldn’t have meant much to the Witcher, Jaskier was always affectionate when he was run over with drink, but it caused Geralt to stop and look down at his bard who hung off him with reckless abandon. It made Geralt realize how close they really were. This little man was allowing himself in the company of a Witcher, a mutant who could kill him if he so desired. And he was drunk, defenseless, even his doublet was opened and exposed, and yet there he was, humming soft tunes to himself and expressing his appreciation for the company. No one had ever done that in front of Geralt. Even the women he’d bed kept themselves aware of his every move. Even Yennefer at least seemed aware of the power Geralt had. But Jaskier, this weak human, didn’t. He trusted Geralt with all his being, and never once betrayed the trust Geralt placed upon him. Maybe that was the first time it clicked for Geralt that there was more in life than he’d learn to expect.

Memories pound into Geralt of every song the bard sang, every predicament they found themselves in, every monster they fought, every tavern, every dirt road, every inn, every night in the woods, every bath, every conversation.

All of it raced through him while his eyes were locked with those of his dying bard. Those brilliant blue irises that see so much beauty and wonderment in the world, and now they look to Geralt with wide fear, as if silently begging him for help. Those eyes that have watched Geralt for decades through danger after danger and never asked much but to come along. Those eyes that belonged to Jaskier, his bard. While Geralt stared into those same eyes that he’d seen a million times before, he realized something he’d kept locked away so deep in his chest that he never even considered it.

He loved the bard.

He loved Jaskier.

He loved him, and yet he’d just screamed at him. He screamed at him practically begging and daring destiny to take Jaskier, and she provided. Destiny is the cruelest bitch, but if Jaskier dies… if Jaskier dies and Geralt’s last words to him are condemning him to death and telling him to leave... Geralt would never be able to forgive himself.

Geralt was pushing with all the strength he had, trying to run up the steep mountain’s edge while time seemed to drag mockingly slow. These revelations passed over him and threatened to take him under. He needed a second to process, but Jaskier didn’t have a second to wait. Geralt stumbled while the rocks and pebbles shifted beneath his feet, he fell forward and his hands were brought to the ground but he kept pressing on. The rabid reaver threw itself, practically foaming at the mouth with widened, irritated eyes, and leaped into the Witcher, causing them both to tumble back down to where Geralt stood when he cursed Jaskier. Now, fighting with an animalistic reaver, Geralt tried to rip the thing off of him so he could make it to his bard in time, but the monster gripped into him like a crazed beast, digging its fingernails into him and using its teeth to anchor itself to Geralt’s armor. After what felt like ages of tossing and turning and pounding and slashing, he pulled the creature off of him and flung it down the mountainside, not able to waste another moment to kill it properly.

Suddenly time felt like it was moving too fast for Geralt to keep up. He was running and crying, and gods above he doesn’t remember the last time he cried. But when he finally scrambled back to where Jaskier was laying, it was too late. The bard’s eyes had gone dull, staring blankly down the slope where Geralt once was while his blood soaked the mountaintop red. Geralt reached out and felt the bard’s neck because he had to know for sure, he had to know if there was even a chance. But there was nothing, not even a flicker of hope. Geralt pulled back his fingers and saw them shaking. When was the last time something shook him so terribly he doesn’t know. What he does know is that Jaskier is dead. He pulls Jaskier’s body into his own embrace, letting out screams of burning, guttural agony. He’d finally realized how much he needed the bard, and now he was gone. Truly, utterly, GONE. In only seconds, everything changed. He lost Yennefer less than a minute ago, and in the seconds following he lost his Jaskier. Correction, not his Jaskier, just Jaskier. They never got the chance to be anything more.

The worst part was that he had no one to blame but himself. He drove Yennefer away. He told Jaskier off. He turned away from Jaskier. He failed to kill the enemy earlier. He left Jaskier vulnerable. He killed Jaskier...

He always expected Jaskier to just… be there. No matter what, Jaskier was always there for him. Even when he hated the bard, Jaskier stayed by his side. And now he never would again.

He’d never walk by his side again.

He’d never sing a new song that spun Geralt’s hero’s journey again.

He’d never dance around a tavern again.

He’d never sleep by his side in the open forest again.

He’d never… breathe again. Jaskier was dead, his story ended and he’d never get any more time to live his flourishly vibrant life, ever again.

As the desperate cries continued to rip through Geralt’s lungs, Borch, Tea, and Vea came back up to see what had caused such a ruckus. And that’s when they saw the once so bright and lively bard, limp in Geralt’s hold, eyes dulled and staring off nowhere. The blood still falling from his neck was now soaking Geralt like the soil beneath him. As Geralt’s screams died in his throat he managed to push some words through it.

“It’s not fair…” his wavering voice whispered into the bard’s hair.

“It’s not fair how much I love you”

With that they understood, but none approached the witcher in his grief. There was nothing anyone could give him that would’ve mattered anyway, the bard was already gone, and nothing was going to change that. No magic, no fate, no cures, and no vengeance would bring the bard back.

“It’s not fair…”

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

My Other Works ❤

Feel free to go and leave it a kudo on ao3 too, if you want ❤

#Cae Has Lots of Feelings About The Witcher #This is right after the mountain #Like they are still on the mountain #Just right after Geralt yells #Very Angsty #Major Character Death #I'm very sorry #I don't like hurting the boi #that's a lie #I do #Sometimes Destiny sucks ass #The Witcher Netflix #TWN #The Witcher #Geralt #Geralt of Rivia #Jaskier #Julian Alfred Pankratz #Geraskier #Geralt x Jaskier #Gerlion #Geralt x Dandelion #The Witcher fic #The Witcher fanfic #Geraskier fic #Geraskier fanfic

[wordsablaze]

1~ i see your pain

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

A/N: accidentally sank into jaskel and whipped this up at like 3am so here we go... titles from monsters by timeflies

-

Eskel is familiar with physical scars. 

How could he not be, with them making up half his face? 

He'd had to become familiar with them whilst training, growing up, travelling the path, trying to survive. 

Countless cuts and scratches and bites had led to countless scars, scars that he barely even pays attention to anymore because he'd become so used to them. 

But that was just physical scars.

Obvious, external reminders of battles and people and memories he often wishes he could forget. 

He can turn away from his reflection and keep his hands away from his skin and avoid the gaze of judgemental townsfolk and sometimes, it's almost as if he can't see his scars anymore. 

Unfortunately, not all scars are physical. 

Some are deeper, etched into hearts rather than flesh, invisible to most and impossible to forget. 

Well, not so impossible if Eskel has anything to say about it. 

To be fair, he usually doesn't. 

But for Jaskier? 

He makes an exception for Jaskier from the very moment their paths cross…

---

Eskel groans internally as the innkeeper's nose wrinkles up in disgust. 

It's the third time he's done that during their conversation and he's rather tired of it. 

He knows he's covered in innards, thank you very much, but he isn't going to do anything about it until he gets his coin. Being refused payment is nothing new but he needs it this time, the cursed beast had ruined his armour. 

"Must you be so-" the innkeeper starts, clearly about to insult him. 

But he's interrupted by someone slinging an arm around his shoulders. 

It's been an age since anyone has done anything of the sort and he's equally as confused as he is annoyed. He might also be a little bit relieved but he'd never admit how nice it feels, not even to himself. 

So he tenses, fighting every impulse in his body that screams at him to throw the stranger off. 

"Gorgeous? Why yes, he must," the stranger interjects, and suddenly he's not so much of a stranger anymore. 

Eskel doesn't frequent public places often and he rarely pays attention to bards but he'd recognise that voice anywhere. 

"And since this lovely witcher has just done your town a favour, it's in your best interest not to insult him."

And even if he didn't, there's only one human who's known to have a habit of defending witchers. 

Jaskier spares him a sideways wink before staring pointedly at the innkeeper, who looks just as confused as Eskel feels. 

He's not sure if that's because Jaskier had appeared out of nowhere or because he'd just been referred to as both gorgeous and lovely, but either way, he finds he doesn't know what to do. 

"Now, do be a dear and run the poor darling a warm bath, will you? I know you have no rooms left so you can have it sent to mine. That is, unless you wish for me to stop playing?" 

Jaskier raises an eyebrow and Eskel can't help but smirk, recognising the look of defeat on the innkeeper. 

"No, I- Of course. It'll be ready when you finish for the night."

The man disappears immediately and Eskel finally turns to Jaskier. "You're his bard."

If Jaskier didn't have an arm looped around his shoulders, Eskel wouldn't have noticed the flinch.

But mischievous blue eyes distract him before he can question it. "I was. But right now, I'm just the bard ordering you to go sit and brood in the corner and enjoy my performance."

Eskel's frown only deepens. "And if I say no?" 

Jaskier removes his arm from Eskel's shoulder and places his hands on his hips, both accusation and amusement dancing in his eyes. "You will not do that because I absolutely refuse to waste a perfectly good bath."

"You could just use it," Eskel points out. 

It's a wasted argument, they can both smell the strong floral scents on Jaskier that suggest he's recently had his own bath. 

Rolling his eyes, Jaskier takes Eskel's arm and pulls him to the corner of the room, firmly guiding him into sitting down and sliding a drink towards him. 

"Drink up, darling, it's been made extra strong to suit your witcher-y needs."

As Eskel wonders how Jaskier could have known he was going to stay, the bard slips away and turns his attention to the crowd. 

Or rather, turns the crowd's attention to him. 

Apparently, Geralt had severely understated Jaskier's abilities as a bard. 

He's in charge of the room as soon as he starts playing his lute, filling the place with an energy Eskel has only ever felt on hunts, making sure all eyes are on him as he travels from table to table. 

Eskel feels the faintest sting of bitter confusion when Jaskier refuses to even glance in his direction, knowing that Geralt had commented on the bard's habit of drawing attention to him during performances. He can't help but wonder if it's because he's not as good as Geralt, if he's not as appealing to look towards in the middle of a song. 

But when a man starts muttering darkly about witchers and Jaskier slyly spills ale all over his lap, Eskel realises it's just part of his plan.

Jaskier is making sure all the attention is on himself rather than on Eskel, as if he can tell how uncomfortable the witcher feels. 

It's difficult to fathom why someone who might not even know his name would go to such lengths for him with no hesitation. But really, can he be surprised when this is the bard who'd changed the fate of witchers?

He just can't figure out why Geralt isn't also here or why Jaskier claims to no longer be his bard, especially since they've all heard the plethora of songs about a white wolf. 

When everyone is satisfied and people have started leaving tips and drifting back to their rooms, Jaskier announces his departure and all but falls onto Eskel. 

He's breathing heavily but there's a wide grin on his face as he sees the empty mug on the table. 

"You drank it!" he says rather obviously. 

Eskel nods. "It was good."

And he's not lying. It really had tasted good, much better than most drinks he's been served. 

Jaskier grins smugly. "I know, it's my recipe."

Eskel blinks. 

"But you, however gorgeous you may be, smell absolutely appalling. I believe you promised me a bath?" 

He could theoretically snap the bard in two but he finds himself unable to refuse as Jaskier steers him through the remaining crowd. 

They stop in front of the innkeeper, who sighs when he notices them. 

"Your bath awaits, bard."

Jaskier nods but doesn't move, raising an eyebrow. "I think you owe my friend here some payment, do you not?" 

Eskel glances at Jaskier in confusion, wondering if he'd heard correctly. Why would he so recklessly associate himself with Eskel despite having just met him? 

The innkeeper seems to know better than to argue this time, simply handing over a pouch and waving a hand. "A little more than promised as a token of... apology." 

Jaskier beams at the man. "I knew you were a good soul! We'll see about earning you more coin with another performance in the morning…" 

And with that promise, he takes the coin and guides them both upstairs. 

Eskel takes a moment to appreciate the way Jaskier can take full control of a situation so effortlessly before realising he's also victim to one of those situations. 

"My horse-" 

"I took care of it," Jaskier interrupts, pulling him inside a room and shoving him towards the bath. 

"You did?" Eskel asks, frowning yet again. 

Jaskier scoffs. "Do stop worrying your facial muscles, daring, of course I did. I know how witchers work."

Eskel chooses not to reply to that, simply staring at the bath that he still can't believe was brought up for him. By an innkeeper who'd apologised for his words. 

He can't help but wonder if he's being referred to by terms of endearment because Jaskier doesn't know what else to refer to him by or if he's just like that with everyone.  Geralt had complained that the bard could be overwhelming so the latter seems likely. 

Jaskier bites his lip. "Do you… Do you need me to leave?" 

He sounds so unsure of himself, so unlike how he'd been a mere minute ago, that Eskel finds himself shaking his head before he can consider his options. 

"It's your room, I couldn't kick you out of it," he says slowly. 

Jaskier beams at him. "I'll stay out of your hair, though, I promise. Just make sure you don't smell like the insides of a monster when you're done."

Eskel nods as Jaskier places the coin pouch on the small bedside desk before settling on the bed and starting to scribble something. 

Within minutes, Eskel has slipped out of his armour and into the warm water - it shouldn't still be so warm after so long, not unless someone had been told to make it extra hot specifically for a witcher - and his eyes have started to close at how good it feels in comparison to cold rivers. 

It's nice, truly nice, and he lets himself forget about the rest of the world as his muscles slowly begin to relax. 

He only remembers to move when he hears a pointed cough. 

His eyes shooting open, water splashes as he sits upright to see Jaskier leaning forwards and smirking at him, but not unkindly. 

"I know I said I'd stay out of your hair but how long do you plan to keep all that foul-smelling stuff in there?" 

Eskel is still trying to process how he'd started to let his guard down in the presence of a relative stranger when he realises he'd literally forgotten to actually bathe. 

Jaskier doesn't seem to be laughing at him though. If anything, he looks a little sad.

"They're not too bad," Eskel says eventually, resisting the urge to smile when Jaskier gasps dramatically. 

"Excuse me? You're in the same room as my beautiful oils and salts and you dare to suggest that innards smell better? I should think not!" 

And somehow, Jaskier is beside the bath within the blink of an eye, all but glaring down at him. "Now, you're going to sit still while I take care of that beautiful hair of yours, understood?" 

Amused, Eskel just nods. 

He's no longer amused when Jaskier gets to work though, he doesn't have time to be amused when he's too busy being pleasantly shocked. 

Jaskier's fingers make their way through his hair in the same way they play his lute: softly and gently but also firmly, expertly, as if he's done so a million times before. 

No wonder Geralt's hair had always looked surprisingly good. 

"All done," Jaskier whispers after what feels like an eternity. 

Eskel opens his eyes and forces himself not to groan at the loss of Jaskier's touch - it would be ridiculous to miss something he's only felt once.

"Thank you," he whispers back, not wanting Jaskier to regret helping him. 

To his surprise, Jaskier blinks as if he'd never been thanked before. There's a flicker of confusion in his eyes before he recovers and stands with a soft smile. "It's truly my pleasure, darling."

Eskel frowns at the repeated term, wondering once again why Jaskier throws such affection so freely, so thoughtlessly. 

"Will you be staying the night?" Jaskier's question pulls him out of his thoughts. 

Oh. 

Is he meant to stay? 

Would it be rude to use both someone's bath and room or is he meant to provide company to return the favour? 

Jaskier chuckles. "Don't think so hard, you'll get wrinkles. You're welcome to stay if you wish but I won't be so selfish as to demand it."

He knows he probably shouldn't but there's something so sad about Jaskier expecting nothing in return for his deeds - mostly because he can see the mindset of a witcher in that logic - that he offers the bard a smile. 

"I owe you for the bath. Do you wish for me to stay?" 

Jaskier looks at him in bewilderment before his eyes light up and he grins widely enough for it to look painful. "Would you? Witchers are just so warm and the nights can be dreadfully cold…"

Eskel pauses, glancing between Jaskier and the bed, the one bed, to make sure he's interpreting the request correctly. 

"You want me to… share the bed with you?" 

Jaskier bites his lip, seemingly regretting his words. 

His hands fidget as he shakes his head and looks away, moving his things to the floor. "No, no, sorry, I can't ask- It would be unfair of me to make you do anything you're not comfortable with."

Comfort is rare for Eskel and despite the bard's reputation, he's beginning to think it is for Jaskier too. 

"I didn't bring my bedroll," Eskel says casually. 

After a slight pause, Jaskier frowns at him, a small smile then gracing his face once more. "Well then, you'll just have to share the bed with me. It wouldn't do to stiffen up those stunning muscles, now, would it?" 

Glad that Jaskier is no longer wallowing in the bitter scent of regret, Eskel finally lifts himself out of the bath. 

Jaskier's eyes widen and his breath hitches before he practically dives under the bed. 

He reappears before Eskel can express any concern, holding out a small pile of clothes, his gaze fixed on the floor. "I, uh… your clothes need washing but you can use these for now."

"Why do you have them?" 

Jaskier shrugs. "Might have rescued them from a man who was letting them collect dust…"

Eskel wonders what the rest of that story is but he'd rather not make Jaskier uncomfortable by inquiring so he simply takes the clothes and slips them on. 

Once he's done, Jaskier smiles, having settled under the blanket. "Are you going to join me or simply admire those clothes all night?" 

Eskel snorts but slips under the blanket, unsure of how close Jaskier wants him to be. He doesn't know exactly what Jaskier was like with Geralt and even if he did, there's no guarantee it'd be the same with him. 

But Jaskier is having none of his hesitation and turns so he can curl himself towards Eskel. 

"Is this okay?" Jaskier breathes. 

Eskel shivers ever so slightly. He moves closer instead of audibly replying, relieved when Jaskier gets the message and smiles, closing the remaining gap between them. 

He honestly doesn't know if he has the right to be doing this. If someone like him, just another witcher, has the right to this kind of intimacy. 

"Goodnight, Eskel."

Oh.

Jaskier does know his name. 

He knows exactly who he is and he'd not only let but invited him stay anyway. 

With a smile that he'd never confess to, Eskel waits until the bard is asleep before taking the time to appreciate everything about the sheer, unadulterated kindness of the moment. 

He doesn't even notice himself drift off. 

---

A life filled with affection had never seemed likely for Eskel but Jaskier makes it seem tangible. 

He's willing to give his love to Eskel and Eskel's scars without a second thought so it would be wrong not to ensure the favour is returned. 

It's really quite logical that he helps Jaskier overcome the problems he can't even tell he's dragging around. 

And it's definitely just because he owes the bard for improving his reputation and getting him his coin, not because something in his chest burns at the thought of the bard's wounds never being allowed to fade.

His own scars will never disappear but he vows to heal whatever scars Jaskier doesn't know he has, no matter how long it takes.

It's only fair, after all. 

-

okay so i have a vague plan but also have other witcher WIPs so we’ll see where this goes... i do love this ship tho !!

-

thanks for reading! witcher sideblog: @geraskifer | masterlist | next chapter

#jaskier #eskel #jaskier x eskel #jaskel #the witcher #netflix the witcher #witcher eskel #jaskier the bard #fanfiction #fanfic #post rare species #hurt comfort #soft eskel #hurt jaskier #insecure jaskier #getting together #fluff #angst #fluff and angst #witcher fanfic #jaskel fanfic #tmypicta #my writing