#worried geralt

[winters-mistress]

It all starts so quick, that's perhaps why Geralt is so frustrated with himself that he didn't notice it earlier. He's a witcher, for fuck's sake, he can hear a butterfly's wing from miles away, so why didn't he notice this?

He, Jaskier, Yennefer and Ciri had left the safety of Kaer Morhen after the girl was recovered from her fever and fainting, post Voleth Meir attack. Perhaps he thought she was okay, that she was healed? He hadn't even considered the fragility of a human child when graced with the almighty power that his daughter possessed. In truth, his denial makes the hole in his chest only deeper as he looks at her. He should have noticed sooner, they'd been riding on not-Roach together for days, he should have noticed the warmth of her skin and the haze of her eyes long before she'd fainted into the same arms that used to keep her so tightly bared in when they would ride, eager to keep his daughter safe from that who would harm her.

How hadn't he realised that there were so many dangers that didn't include Mages, Kings, Nilfguaard and the Wild Hunt?

Because his daughter, who was so strong and brave, was laying limply at his side, covered by cloaks and blankets and whatever Yennefer could conjure, her skin deathly pale apart from the two large blotches of red upon her cheeks. She looks so small, a folded blanket underneath her head to make a pillow, buried underneath a mountain of rags in an effort to break the fever that was simultaneously impressive and deeply concerning.

He didn't know what to do. Nilfgaardian soldiers that wishes to take his child? Simple, kill them. Mages? Yennefer can handle them. Kings? Jaskier can charm them as well as any courtesan, but this? Geralt had never felt more helpless than he did now, watching her lay there, large drips of sweat trickling down the sides of her neck. He listens to the wheeze of her breath, comforted by the confirmation that she's still here, still okay. That she's still with him, after all they went through.

The air is cold, because of course it is. It's January, they're in the North, inches of snow burry the four of them in, circled in a camp that Yennefer had cleared when they'd realised that the girl was unwell. Geralt can see the breath in front of his face, leaning back against the tree that mirrors his spine, glancing at his girl once again, before passing a glance at Yennefer and Jask.

The bard is sleeping loudly, snores echoing in the small orb of protection that Yennefer casts every morning. Are they invisible? Do any passers by see themselves, or just an echo of the woods.

Geralt had Axii'd the bard into sleep. He was exhausted, but worried enough to fight it with his worry of the girl he had grown fond of in their brief time in the witcher keep. The white haired witcher is a warrior, born and bread, and has the capability of staying awake for days at a time. The bard, as human as he was, was not, and all it took was a quick cast until the bard snored happily.

Yennefer is a different equation all together. The first few days, post betrayal, Geralt hadn't let ciri out of his sight, too worried that she would be taken away again. It's been almost three weeks, and Geralt still cannot find peace in sleep with Yennefer so close to his child. And now, with Cirilla being as vulnerable as she is, the last thing on Geralt's mind is to take rest. He had never felt a purpose like this, to protect his child with everything within him. The only time he had let her slip to being second in his heart, Yennefer had taken her away and was only stopped causing the girl's death by the girl herself. He would never make that mistake again. Asleep, Yennefer may be. Yes, she may have had a hand in defeating the demon and freeing his girl. But never again will he let his guard down when the sorcerers is so close.

He has too many thoughts of the girl being dragged from his arms, the scent of lilac and gooseberries high in his nose.

No. Geralt decides, clenching his fist, the other hand laying protectively on Cirilla's stomach, feeling it rise and fall. He will never let her be take from him again.

The girl's breathing changes suddenly, shuddering and stuttering like it does when she's trapped within the depths of her own mind, of the horrors she'd endured since the slaughter of her homeland. Her head moves to the side, sounds falling from her throat even in unconsciousness.

Geralt's full attention snaps to her, he shifts foreward to be on his knees next to her, the backs of his fingers sliding down her cheeks, accompanying the tears that fall.

Too hot. Still far too hot.

Her heat can rival his own, and it feels like a fist in his gut.

"Cirilla." his voice is gruff from lack of use, deep and raspy, while her own is choked and throaty, speaking of thirst and congestion. "Cirilla, I am here. Do not be afraid, little one."

Slowly, the girls jerking limbs cease movement, and she settles in her makeshift bed of rags and moss and bark. So much less than what she deserves.

Her breathing changes again, and she looks towards him, eyes still closed.

"Cub?" He asks, licking his lips. "Pup?"

Her breathing is shaky, her heartbeat slightly quicker. And much to his relief, she opens her eyes.

"Ciri," Geralt breathes. Thank Melitele. She's here, she's safe, she's with him still. A hand slides to her cheek, the other laying on her ribs.

Ciri says nothing for a moment, looking around at the dark woodlands, before she looks at him again.

"Gr'alt" she whispers. He smiles, relief flooding through him.

He knows, he should get Yennefer, wake her so she can whisper spells to heal the child, wake Jask so he can sleep without worry or magical influence, but he cannot bring himself to remove himself from her just yet.

"Ciri," he smiles. "Sweet girl, we've been worried."

Ciri says nothing, only shifts to sit up. He helps, a hand supporting her back, the other supporting the weight of her front.

She slumps against him, exhausted from sickness. Her head falls to her neck, and he presses a kiss to her sweaty hair.

"Gr'alt" she whispers again, tilting her face to meet her own.

"I'm here, sweet girl. I'm here." Geralt says, pressing his waterskin to her lips so she may drink the cold water.

Ciri does so with eagerness, although her sips are small, no doubt due to a sore throat.

She slumps against him again when she's done, a hand finding his.

It's a strange impulse he has, to kiss her fingers, but he does it anyway, because it must bring her some sort of comfort, right? People like that sort of thing.

"It's alright, pup. We'll get you feeling better soon" he says, pressing his hand to her brow once again. Too hot and clammy, but he can fix that with willowbark and lavender.

Ciri opens her mouth to speak, but her eyes flutter shut before she can.

"It's okay, Ciri. Just sleep, you must rest." He says, laying her back down in her nest.

Before he can turn to get her another wet rag for her brow, the witcher feels her hand at his wrist. Small, with the start of callouses from the blade training.

He looks at her, earnest.

"Papa." she whispers. "'nk you" she mumbled, before falling into sleep once again, her grip on his wrist going slack.

Now, Geralt's chest feels like it's going to explode for a different reason.

#witcher #post season 2 #sickfic #cirilla fiona elen riannon #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #fanfiction #witcherfanfiction #geraltandciri #dadralt #ciri is his baby #geralt is the best dad #worried geralt #geralt and ciri #the witcher netflix #witcher fanfiction #fanfic #witcher fanfic

[whumpypepsigal]

“We didn’t come this far just to abandon each other.” — “Then don’t abandon me.”

#thewitcheredit #whumpedit #the witcher #whump #geralt x yennefer #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #the witcher s3 #on the verge of tears #angst #face touching #worry #forehead touch #emotional whump #I LOVE SOFT MOMENTS LIKE THIS! #my gifs #henry cavill #anya chalotra #the witcher 3 part 2 promo #okay this small part in the trailer got to me #can’t wait for part 2 *sobs* #my soul is ready

[spielzeugkaiser]

[MASTERPOST] [Backstory] - [First] - [Second] - [Third] - [Four] - [Five] - [Six] - [Seven] The kid still has little Roachie! Also big Roach loves the kid too. Instant adoption on her part.

#geraskier lovechild #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier #the witcher #roach #roach the horse #omegaverse #I feel like the kid comes more after Jaskier when it comes to physical affection #he surely will hug Geralt (after the first weeks/months) without thinking twice about it - not only because he's his dad #but also because Geralt still looks like someone who could use a hug. and also very hug-able #plus the fact that the kid is still very worried

[aceofwhump]

The Witcher 3x07

#whumpedit #whump #the witcher spoilers #the witcher #thewitcheredit #3x07 #jaskier #geralt of rivia #joey batey #henry cavill #my gifs #mod post #injured #weak #worry #bedside vigil #emotional whump #on the verge of tears #crying #hands #hand holding #IM OBSESSED WITH THE HANDS!!!! #AND THE WAY JAKSIERS EYES ARE FUCKING GLISTENING WITH TEARS

[hanzajesthanza]

“what does geralt get from that friendship…”

another post examining the weight of geralt and dandelion’s friendship… because i don’t think people recognize how painful and debilitating loneliness can become.

the witcher as a deconstruction of the genre takes fantasy tropes to their most logical ends—it asks us to consider what The Lone Swordsman feels, looks into the humanity in a Cold-Blooded Killer. and it turns out he’s not cold-blooded at all.

that despite some superhuman abilities, he laments and worries and curses himself, just like any other worker of any other profession. just as the farmer is scorched by the sun, the washerwoman’s back aches, and the scholar goes half-blind studying, a witcher deals with all of the pains and annoyances and dangers of his job in a mundanely human way.

but the farmer, the washerwoman, and the scholar have something the witcher does not have—they’ll always be seen as human and part of their society. at the end of the day after enduring all of their labor, they have their wife to caress, festivities to attend, and taverns to frequent. but for a witcher? after the killing is over, what does he have? no one and nothing. not even a thank you. he is met with fear and hatred everywhere he goes, baseless bigotry and dislike.

I did my job. I quickly learned how. I’d ride up to village enclosures or town pickets and wait. If they spat, cursed and threw stones, I rode away. If someone came out to give me a commission, I’d carry it out.

so he faces not just loneliness, but being deliberately ostracized and cast out from society. geralt can’t even find a polite word in most settlements, much less a friend.

‘(…) Tell me, where should I go? And for what? At least here some people have gathered with whom I have something to talk about. People who don’t break off their conversations when I approach. People who, though they may not like me, say it to my face, and don’t throw stones from behind a fence. (…)’

this kind of loneliness is not a mere inconvenience. it’s completely altering to your self-perception and ability to see the positive in the world.

each day is not lived, but endured.

day in, and day out—forced to the most difficult and lowest labor in order to survive, and knowing that were you to die, no one would search for your body, few would miss you, hell, they might even spit “good riddance”.

in this situation, to find a friend, is not only friendship, but a rescue.

without dandelion, geralt may have drowned—drowned in solitude, amidst a sea of strangeness.

‘(…) And I’m alone, completely alone, endlessly alone among the strange and hostile elements. Solitude amid a sea of strangeness. Don’t you dream of that?’

No, I don’t, he thought. I have it every day.

because dandelion is not only a bright soul, characteristic rippling laughter and the strum of a lute, but someone who will intently listen to geralt, someone who mutually enjoys his company.

‘(…) you almost jumped out of your pants with joy to have a companion. Until then, you only had your horse for company.’

someone who doesn’t see him as strange and at the fringes of society at all, but as an utterly normal man.

and doesn’t impose demeaning, sappy sympathy onto him, but sobering and realistic “quit your bullshit” which ridicules the very thought that he should internalize societal hatred.

Do you know what your problem is, Geralt? You think you’re different. (…) [You don’t understand that] for people who think clear-headedly you’re the most normal man under the sun, and they all wish that everybody was so normal. What of it that you have quicker reflexes than most and vertical pupils in sunlight? That you can see in the dark like a cat? That you know a few spells? Big deal.

dandelion isn’t “willing” to accept geralt for himself—he already has accepted him. and to him, it’s no difficulty, it’s nothing worth discussing, because he sees no abnormality and no strangeness in him.

while others “prefer the company of lepers to witchers,” dandelion has already offered geralt to share his room and board. not out of sympathetic pity, not out of fetishizing curiosity. because… they’re friends.

and what else does this friendship save him from?

not only from others, but from himself.

worse than enduring others’ apathy and hatred is one’s own thoughts—the darkness and negativity which builds from witnessing and experiencing such behavior.

dandelion’s ability to counter and dispel geralt’s pessimism and self-flagellating tendencies—again, not out of pity, but out of friendship—is undeniably invaluable. someone to rescue you from your darkest thoughts, when you begin to spiral.

and in this darkness, all you can do is cry. you cry, beg for someone to help you, please—

Help! Why doesn't anyone help me? Alone, weak, helpless – I can't move, can't force a sound from my constricted throat. Why does no one come to help me? I'm terrified!

to be alone, the saga reminds us, is worse than a death sentence. to be alone is to “perish; stabbed, beaten or kicked to death, defiled, like a toy passed from hand to hand.” to be alone is to suffer, and to be with someone is to save them from that suffering.

'(…) I wouldn't like anything bad to happen to you. I like you too much, owe you too much-'

'You've said that already. What do you owe me, Yennefer?'

The sorceress turned her head away, did not say anything for a while.

'You travelled with him,' she said finally. 'Thanks to you he was not alone. You were a friend to him. You were with him.'

it is true that geralt has saved dandelion countless times, helped him, gotten him out of some scrape… but to ask what did geralt get in return? are you kidding me?

did you ever consider that it is dandelion who saved geralt?

by being with him. by being by his side. by being his friend.

indeed, dandelion has rescued geralt, countless times, from the yawning jaws of endless loneliness. he’s helped him, chased away the danger of geralt’s own rumination. and he’s gotten him out of scrapes, his own insecurities and bitter helplessness.

so what does dandelion give geralt? what does geralt get from their friendship?

an amusing question. what one gets from friendship is the friendship itself. and that is more than enough.

#the witcher books #gerlion #geralt of rivia #dandelion #jaskier #the parallels with ciri’s story makes me so emotional like… #ciri is just geralt but younger and alone. and thus she suffers so immensely #i included ciri’s nightmare because i think that’s how it feels to be alone #you just cry out ‘help! why won’t someone help me?’ and no one answers #and the funny bit is that everyone is like ‘ugh you cannot get RID of dandelion’ like #i think that’s the most comforting and relieving thing about him. he will never leave and abandon geralt. #there is nothing geralt *would* or *could* do to ever push him away #the kind of friendship where you never worry about being too ‘weird’ for them because they straight up dont care if youre weird #honestly idk how more people dont see them like this because i feel like loneliness is so pervasive right now #does everyone else just have this kind of best friend and for that reason take dandelion’s presence for granted #s: i want to be by your side #c: geralt #c: dandelion #excerpt #analysis #like. this is how it is: #the entire world: ‘you’re nothing you’re worthless and you’re inhuman’ #dandelion is NOT like ‘omgggg of course you are something 🥺🥺 pwease don’t think badly like that’ #no. he’s like ‘the hell? that’s the stupidest thing ive ever heard. why the hell are you even listening to that’ #dandelion has a kind of masculine energy that the fandom does not like lmao

[bexism]

bard supremecy 😌

#i love geralt too don't worry #jaskier #jaskier edit #the witcher #the witcher spoilers #the witcher edit #fanvids

[aramblingjay]

THE WITCHER | Season 1, Episode 4: Of Banquets, Bastards and Burials

#the witcher #geraskier #thewitcheredit #witcheredit #geraskieredit #geralt of rivia #jaskier #useravia #ughmerlin #userbecca #arthurpendragonns #my gif #possibly one of my favorite geraskier moments of the show so far #it's got silent telepathic communication #it’s got jaskier worried for geralt #it’s got jaskier angry on geralt’s behalf #(that little chin curl? jaskier is THIS close to throwing hands but he knows it would cause an international incident) #it's got geralt looking to jaskier for advice AND actually listening to said advice #it’s got henry cavill and joey batey bathed in golden firelight #what more could anyone need?

[not-your-bro]

got something to say to me? 😤 well say it in front of my vampire boyfriend

#im 80 pages into lady of the lake and feeling extremely normal about it dont even worry #having a discreet conversation amongst the flowers what the hell....... #what if we kissed in the palace grounds 😳 #sorry but the way geralt just wants to go back to talking with regis when ppl keep interrupting them!!! i'm!!!!!!! #the witcher #the witcher books #geralt of rivia #emiel regis #geregis #geralt x regis #laura reads the witcher

[agonyalley]

#whump #the witcher #the witcher spoilers #the witcher season 3 #henry cavill #geralt of rivia #pain #injury #pale #sick #worry #comfort

[essskel]

Hexer Dandelion is pretty divorced from his canon character but his big sad eyes and cringe hat have have me bewitched. Also huge kudos for being age accurate 🫶🏼 never have I seen a dandelion that is so obviously an unmarried liberal arts prof

#I needed to see him do the escape scene where he gets shot in the ear akdbjsjdb geralt your middle aged loser is BLEEDING …. #there’s a way hornier version of this post somewhere but don’t even worry about it #dandelion the witcher #jaskier #the witcher #julian alfred pankratz #the hexer #double shot

[winters-mistress]

Cirilla's broken heart.

It's Geralt of all people who breaks the silence between them. Ironic, really, that the man of so few words finds them when nobody else can. After all this time, after everything that happened, it falls to him to speak, to comfort, do to something, when nobody else knows how.

Everard! Gwain! Wake up!

His daughter and his brothers had told him she had yelled, throwing the witch's blade as the two witchers shoot up in their beds. His girl, his strong, beautiful, brave girl, had had a few precious moments of lucidity in the midst of her docility, and with it, she had saved them, imprisoning the demon in her mind.

The time between Yennefer's betrayal and the hard, frantic ride to Kaer Morhen do not make sense to the witcher. From the moment he holds his sword to her throat to that where he pushes her off him as he seeks out his girl, time doesn't add up. That's why he's tried so hard to fill in the blanks, why he asked the two of them, and his father, what had occurred in their perspective. They could handle it, they were strong, and his daughter had made sure they had survived the battle, but coming to his daughter to ask what had happened to her was something he wanted to avoid for as long as possible. The last thing Geralt ever wants to do is hurt Ciri.

"Asking how you are is a stupid question," Geralt begins. He hears his daughter inhale, but he cannot see her, she's facing away from him. "so, what are you feeling?" He thinks that's the best way to go, honesty and bluntness.

Everard had told him the ivory-hilted blade had sat in the wall with a satisfying clunk as Ciri had yelled at them to get back, get to Vesemir, get help, before the demon had taken her again, her face falling slack before falling sly, emerald eyes glowing a horrific shade of neon.

His girl, his brave girl, had fought the demon, and she had won, but it had came at a cost. She's only just recovered enough strength from her fainting and vomiting spells she'd had once they returned from the mysterious sphere. She's not strong enough to walk the keep, so she doesn't know about the destruction and the bodies of the basilisks. Geralt hopes they can rid the bodies and scrub the blood and fix the tree and the walls and the tables before his girl is well enough to start her training again. The last thing she needs is more pain.

"I-" Ciri's voice is tired and soft, it doesn't speak of thirst or gritty like she'd swallowed sandpaper. Geralt had heard her speak in many ways, loud and relieved when they'd met in the forest, monotone and untrustworthy before Nivillen, tearful and shaky once they'd left, strong and stubborn when they would train and spar, angry and bitter when Geralt had denied her the mutations. But never like this, defeated and exhausted, it chills him. "I don't know," she pauses, pushing a lock of hair from her face. It's undone and falls in curls and waves, she hardly ever wears it down, it makes her look younger and more like the Princess she is, especially with the clean white linen tunic she wears. "I don't know what to feel, what to say." Now, Cirilla turns towards him, her legs folding up behind her.

"I understand." But he really doesn't, he doesn't understand it all. He so wants to, he wants to take that pain he sees in his daughter's eyes, he wants to hold her against his chest the same way he felt when they reunited in Cintra. Will she smile if he gives her a few of her favourite strawberry jam cookies? Or will a blade do it? Will she allow him to come closer, hold her and protect her from a world that hunts her for reasons neither of them understand?

By the time Vesemir had came to Everard's room, Ciri -was she still? Or would it be more accurate to call her Voleth?- had gone. She was on her way to the medallion tree by then. Was he there then? Going up the mountain, coming into the courtyard?

Trapped within her own mind, Geralt doesn't know what she was forced to see, and it startles him. No, it scares him. His daughter is so strong, so brave, whatever that demon had forced into her mind had hit below the belt. Ciri had survived the Cintran slaughter and weeks on the run, her night with the beast and the vampire, months with unruly witchers and the betrayal of Yennefer, she had survived it, and had never reacted as such.

"How many?" She looks up at him, eyes tired, but set, as if she's resigned herself to a horrible fate.

"What?" He frowns.

"How many did I kill?"

Ah. He supposes she wouldn't know what she did after the last monster was taken down by Coën.

He knows what it is to be resigned here. Just days ago, Geralt had walked cautiously around the keep, thinking that this next turn would be the one where he would find his girl on the ground, used and eliminated due to the demon's influence. Maybe Yennefer would have gotten to her again, lead her by the hand to her death in exchange for chaos.

Geralt's fist clenches. He's so furious with Yennefer. How dare she. How dare she do that to him? To them?

The battle had begun after Voleth had refused his offer of himself as a sacrifice to save his child. Witchers crowded around her, swords at the ready, after Jaskier had ran inside the room and told them about what Yennefer had done, about how her deal with the demon had lead to Ciri being possessed, and of how the girl clearly didn't want to do them any harm, with how she had broken out of her trance and yelled to alert the witchers of the danger.

Thankfully, all the swords were pointed at Voleth, and not Cirilla. He didn't know what he would have done if Ciri hadn't saved his brothers, and the vengeance had been turned upon her instead.

Ciri had had moments of lucidity, where she had managed to push the demon to the back of her mind, enough to ask him to help her, to warn a brother of an incoming attack, or a weakness in the basilisk, but he didn't know what the girl had been through in the moments where her body was not her own. When she herself had been locked inside her own mind like a bluebird in a golden cage, he had been too busy trying to figure out a way to free his girl.

He cringes as he steps forward, watching her neck as she moves her hair. He remembered the sick crunch when she had been forced into submission, when it looked like a black, shadowy hand had grabbed her hair and forced her back. Vesemir and Gwain had heard too, for they took a moment to stop fighting their shared monster to see the source of the noise, before coming back to reality.

"None." Geralt comes back to earth, realising that she was still waiting for an answer, loathe to leave her waiting for words like he had in those first couple weeks on the winter road. "Do you not remember what happened, after Yennefer?"

"No." she whispers, fiddling with her fingers, looking down in shame. "I don't remember much from being on the road until I fell into you." Ciri pauses, licking her lips, looking up. She meets his eyes, and she looks tired. "I only remember parts of the fighting."

"Would you like to know?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, after Yennefer came into the room, she tried to give you a potion, clear the demon from you that way. All the monsters were dead by then, my brothers all coming over to see what she was doing."

"And?"

"It didn't work, clearly." Geralt walks towards her, and takes her weight as he sits beside her, his girl leaning upon his shoulder. He holds her steady, holds her strong, he will be strong so she can be weak, so she can be vulnerable and upset and frightened. Lord knows she must not have had the chance much since the slaughter. "Then she had an idea, cut her wrist and let the demon come to her instead, leave you alone."

"And that didn't work as well."

"No. It was a foolish plan. All that happened was that she fainted from blood loss quite quickly after."

Ciri chuckled humourlessly. "Sorceresses are always self centered like that."

"Indeed. I don't know what you said, what you did, but you whispered something, and then there was a loud noise. Horrid, really, even for a witcher." He nods. "A large, black figure appeared in front of you, it was shadowy, as if it was a ghost. You looked over at the room, yiur eyes were black, like all the other witchers, and suddenly you woke them all up. Even Marek, with his lack of face-" he notes that Ciri winces as if she was struck. "And Timron, with his no legs, Roose and Lukas, you brought them all back. Even Eskel and Remus, several others, too. They just appeared out of thin air, from boots to head. You brought them back."

"What? How? They weren't there." Ciri is surprised.

"You don't tend to obey the laws of the world, sweet girl. The word impossible doesn't seem to hold weight with you."

Ciri chuckles, her eyes filling with tears. She sniffles, burying her face into his shoulder.

He holds her, calms her, runs his fingers through her knotted blonde hair.

"Thank you, little wolf," Geralt says, once she's pulled back. He's lay a hand upon her cheek, comforting her as much as he is cleaning her cheek of tears.

"For what?"

"Bringing my brothers back. Thank you."

"It seems rather undeserved, when you consider I had no idea or no control over it."

"Even still. Thank you."

Ciri closes her eyes, hiding back in his hair.

"Then what happened?"

"You looked back at the shape, and it disappeared. You fainted into my arms. We thought everything was okay when you woke up, because Yennefer was healed, too, and you were free, before all the doors and windows slammed closed. Fires burned out, the lot."

"Yeah, I remember." She settles into his shoulder. "She came back for me, and I portaled us to-" she sighs. "somewhere."

"Yeah," he shuffles. He wishes he could say something to comfort her about the wraiths, what they said to her, but he finds none. "Yennefer's fine, by the way, you healed her when you healed us."

"And her magic, is that back?"

"No." He whispers, "she still knows all her spells, but she tried to light the fires and couldn't. She was upset, but she's not the priority anymore."

"What'll happen to her?"

"I don't think I can let her go with the knowledge she has, about you and about here."

"What?" Ciri pulls back quickly. Geralt's shoulder is cold, he wishes she was still where she was. Her eyes are wide, disbelieving, bright emeralds in a sea of coal. "Are you kidding? You're letting her stay?"

"She told me she helped you make a portal in Nenneke's."

Ciri hung her head. "About what happened there-"

"Shh, it doesn't matter." Geralt soothes, bringing a hand back to her face. "She took you from me, but we are together now."

She sniffles.

"When did you speak?"

"When you were asleep, two days ago."

"And that's that, then? She's staying here?" Ciri sounds nervous.

"To be no more than a tutor to you. I don't trust her, you don't trust her, my brothers don't trust her, but she told me that she helped you with a portal, and that's more than what Triss ever did. I'm told a portal I'd complex magic, too."

"But-" she starts. "You can't-"

He frowns. "What's wrong?"

"You don't understand what happened. When she took me away, we ended up at Goldencheek's house, you remember, the wife that saved me? The husband that saved you?"

He nods.

"Geralt, the fire man-" she swallows thickly. "the fire man got them. Got them all, her, her husband, and the two boys." Cirilla reveals.

Geralt allows himself a moment of grief for four lives so needlessly wasted. For the two boys who were all in all innocent, yes, he knows one of them caused his girl a bit of bother, but children should never die in their parents' war. He grieves for a woman so kind to open her heart to Ciri for no other reason than that she wanted to. And he will grieve for a long while a man who was so generous and honourable that he qiuld save a lowly witcher and put up with his sharpness and hostility just because he felt it was the right thing to do.

"After I found them, Yennefer-" Ciri takes a calming breath, sniffling as more tears come to her eyes. "Yennefer told me they were keeping you hostage in Cintra. Hurting you. Torturing you, because of me." she reveals.

Geralt says nothing, just stares at this child. This sweet, beautiful, vulnerable child who had been betrayed by everybody in her world apart from a sweet farmyard mother and a handful of mutated witchers holed up in a crumbling castle.

By the gods, how could he be so blind? How could he have fallen for Yennefer's charms so easily that she could disarm him and illusion him into thinking she had his child's best interest at heart? Surely it was because Yennefer's one mission since he had known her was motherhood, and now she had an opportunity, she does this?

As he looks at her now, all he feels is rage for the woman. Her deception aches in his bones, the depths of it startling him. He knew she had trapped Ciri and was going to lead her by the hand to the demon, but somehow this -as small of a sin as it was in comparison to that- was worse. Yennefer had messed with Ciri's mind, told her that he was in danger because of her, manipulated her and deceived her. All for what? Nothing, in the end.

"Ciri," he starts. But he finds that he doesn't know how to finish the sentence.

It seems like he doesn't have to.

The girl sniffles and wipes her tears, a fruitless task as more simply streak her cheeks, before crawling over to him and placing herself into his lap, curling into his chest and neck. His arms bound around her, warming her and keeping her safe.

"I don't want her to be with us." she sniffles. "She betrayed us, everybody always does."

"You have me, Ciri. And my brothers and Vesemir and Jaskier, you should know that I'm not going to forget this. What she's done, to us and you. I promise, I won't forget this. And I will keep you safe from her if she tries anything."

"Where is she now?"

"Infirmary. Jaskier took her there after you healed her. Stitches."

"So, you promise not to fall to your knees to her if she flutters her lashes again?"

He chuckles. Ciri bites a grin, looking so conflicted with her red eyes and her wet cheeks.

"Promise. Me and you against the world, pup. I'll keep you safe. From monsters and men and mages alike."

Ciri smiles.

"I don't want her to be with us, but if you think it's best, then you need to play bodyguard. I won't trust her again, you do understand that?"

"Of course." He wipes her cheeks again. And thankfully, they stay dry.

Ciri cuddles into him. "Rest some more, sweet girl. When you feel up to it, you can come downstairs and meet the brothers you helped."

"As long as they're not all like Lambert." Ciri yawned. "Can't handle another arse in this place."

Geralt laughs. "You can see Remus throwing him off a snowplough if you like."

Ciri smiles. And closes her eyes.

"You'll be here when I wake up?"

"I will, little one. Rest now."

#the witcher netflix #geralt and ciri #geralt of rivia #ciri is his baby #cirilla of cintra #dadralt #fanfiction #geralt is the best dad #post season 2 #witcherfanfic #witcherfanfiction #season 2 fix it #witcher #the witcher #sicfic #cirilla fiona elen riannon #worried geralt #geraltandciri #witcher fanfiction #he's so precious with her #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #thewitchernetflix #post series 2 #series 2 #season 2

[terenos]

witcher 3 gifs [3/?]

#it is SO nice not to have to worry about stuttering from the show recording. #if theres one thing i can trust its my own computer #the witcher 3 #geralt of rivia #witcher3edit #tw3edit #thewitcher3edit #thewitcheredit #*mine

[whumpypepsigal]

The Witcher s03e08: “I couldn’t protect [Ciri].”

+bonus:

#whumpedit #thewitcheredit #the witcher #whump #geralt x yennefer #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #henry cavill #anya cholatra #waking up #face touching #angst #worry #on the verge of tears #forehead touch #support #comfort #emotional whump #I LOVE SOFT MOMENTS LIKE THIS! #my gifs #the witcher spoilers #don’t mind me just suffocating in my own emotions over them #as you can see i still can’t color/gif dark scenes !sigh

[spielzeugkaiser]

[MASTERPOST]

Oh Jaskier... this is an awful winter for him. I think there are various things at play that would make Jaskier defensive. His track with father figures isn't the best, and while he firmly believes that there isn't anything shameful about what he's doing, he still feels like he isn't seen as anything different than a stupid omega, who can't provide properly for his child, who isn't a good parent- Meanwhile, if Vesemir threw the first stone, with his educational and disciplinary methodes...

#geralt of rivia #jaskier #vesemir #yennefer of vengerberg #geraskier #geraskier lovechild #omegaverse #blood tw #this is not how you want to meet your father in law #I keep thinking about how insufficent Jaskier feels as a parent sometimes #(and what that says about him that this is something that is one of his biggest worries) #and what Vesemir sees #a child that is well-fed #that gets bed time stories and toys #who gets his scraped knees kissed better #a child that was never beaten or slapped in his life - that has never experienced violence before #he has absolutely NOTHING to say #nothing to criticize #but Jaskier is out of his mind (understandably so) #(it might come across as slightly anti-witcherish with all the stories that exist about witcher stealing children) #(which Jaskier knows are bullshit that is not why he's reacting that way) #They'll have a lot to talk about! and for quite a while this explains why Jaskier didn't seek out Geralt #why WHY WHY did this story start to get plot it always happens and I can never manage to get it all in comic form gosh

[aceofwhump]

The Witcher 3x07

#whumpedit #whump #thewitcheredit #the witcher spoilers #the witcher #3x07 #jaskier #geralt of rivia #joey batey #henry cavill #my gifs #mod post #worry #injured #sick #weak #bedside vigil #hand holding #hands #on the verge of tears #crying #currently obsessed with this scene so i giffed it too

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

all the ghosts that are never gonna—

Geralt needs Jaskier for a hunt. When he arrives in Oxenfurt, he receives devastating news about his bard. But a witcher’s work is never finished, and life moves on— apart from sometimes... it doesn’t.

5.3k. Rated T for swears. Contains: MCD-fakeout, hauntings, ghosts, death mentions and yes it has a happy ending. Promise.

~

It's a shockingly warm late autumn day. Overheard, the sky is dazzlingly blue, and completely cloudless. Geralt rides unhurriedly down the wide road. He's headed to Andole, following a missive from a pack of nobles with a problem they need dealing with discretely. Geralt's never been discrete a day in his life, but he is efficient, and he suspects that at this stage that's more important to his employers.

It's a tricky little contract: a vampire disguised as a duke. Or perhaps it's a duke disguised as a vampire. Either way, Geralt suspects it will end in bloodshed. He hates these sorts of hunts. Less tracking, and more... mingling. Asking difficult people seemingly simple questions. Arguing. It's been a while since he's gone through the rigmarole of it, and he'd be the first to admit that he's woefully out of practice. If only he had someone who could—

Jaskier. Of course. He's always been Geralt's secret weapon for these contracts, partly because he's much more charming and beguiling than Geralt is, and partly because—somehow—the bard seems to bloody know everyone. Andole is only a few miles East of Oxenfurt, too.

He tugs Roach's reins around, guiding her West.

He's not sure where Jaskier actually is, so rents a room then makes his way to the Academy. He skulks around the music hall for a moment before a man appears: a bard in a lurid yellow doublet. If anyone knows where Jaskier is, it will be this person. He has sleeves like church bells, offensive facial hair and a feather in his hat the length of Geralt's arm.

"Jaskier?" The bard says disinterestedly, when Geralt asks where he can find him. "Oh, yes. He's gone."

"...Gone?"

"You know, he's moved on. He's in a better place." The bard flicks the feather out of his face with a shrug. "Gone to the other side."

Oh.

It's like the ground has dropped from beneath Geralt's feet. The world feels pin-prick sharp, honed in, too close. His hands are shaking, he realises.

"When?" He asks, weakly.

The bard shrugs. "Seven weeks ago?" He says blithely. "Eight? What month is it?"

Eight weeks. Gods.

"Oh," the bard adds, as if only just remembering. "He gave me this to give to you, should you grace us with your presence."

He pulls a folded piece of paper from somewhere inside his doublet. Geralt reaches for it.

"You are the witcher, yes?" The bard drawls. "I mean—" he looks Geralt up and down. "I assumed, of course, but one always has to check."

"Yes," Geralt says, wondering what on earth it could be.  What Jaskier had deemed important enough to leave him.

The bard hands over the paper. Geralt takes it, tugs it open, and—

The paper bursts into flame. The fireball hangs in the air for a few moments, and there's a twisting shape writhing amongst the licking flashes of light. Geralt tries to look closer, but the fireball suddenly sputters, exploding into dust. 

"What the fuck—"

The bard peers at him. "Oh, you're still here?" He frowns, then sniffs the air. "Is something burning?"

Geralt leaves the bard without so much as a farewell. He cannot feel the tips of his fingers or the uneven cobblestones beneath his feet. 

He thinks of the note. Of the flames.  The weird shape—

But, of course, it doesn't matter. None of that matters.

Jaskier is dead.

There's a—a hollow, inside him. He thinks back to the last time he spoke to Jaskier, and realises, with a pang of guilt, that he can't even remember what their conversation had been about. Jaskier had been saying goodbye, he thinks. He'd been too busy to give an adequate answer. An hour later, he was gone.

Fuck. He makes his way back to the inn in a daze, barely aware of where he's going. All thoughts of the contract drop away—the duke who might be a vampire, his subjects, the hastily scribbled missive demanding Geralt's attention and the hefty reward he was promised. He'd trade the bag of gold to bring Jaskier back. He pushes his way into the inn, and ignoring the shocked look of the innkeeper and other patrons quickly heads upstairs.

He opens the door to his rented room to see Jaskier perched on the bed, covered in blood.

No. Not perched. Hovering, six inches from the coverlet. He looks around as Geralt enters.

"It's about time," he says.

And—despite years of training and fighting and seeing the worst things any living person can see—Geralt faints clean away.

~

When Geralt comes to, Jaskier has vanished. Geralt puts it down to an overtaxed mind and an overworked body, and tries to shake the horrible image from his head.

He can't. It haunts him. He finishes the contract alone, finding the vampire—disguised as a kitchen-boy, it transpires—and seeing it off. The fight is messy and drawn-out: Geralt is suffering from a lack of sleep, too troubled by the image of Jaskier, blood-soaked and floating, and the creature takes advantage of his distraction.

He does kill it, and accepts the bag of gold. He shoves it into the bottom of his pack and does his best to forget it.

He can't stay in the town, even though his host has offered him room and board for the night. He rides until both he and Roach are exhausted, then makes camp in a tiny clearing at the edge of the woods. He catches a hare, spits it, and sets it to cook above the fire. He's starving—but more than that, he needs something to keep his hands and mind distracted. The silence is deafening. He thinks of plucked strings and hummed half-songs.

The flickering light of the fire twists. It blinks out for a moment. And then...

There he is, illuminated in gold and yellow, sat on the log across the way. The blood is gone, but there's a ring of dark purple bruises around his neck.

"You're not going to pass out again, are you?" Jaskier says. "Only I'm not exactly equipped to pick you up if you are."

He raises a hand to demonstrate. Geralt can see the trees behind him through his palm.

"Jaskier?" Geralt swallows. He doesn't move, in case it breaks the illusion. "Is it really you?"

Jaskier rolls his eyes. "No, Geralt," he says. "It's sweet Melitele herself."

"You're really dead?"

"I am really dead." He says it like he's passing comment on the weather.  "And I know what you're like," he adds. "I know what you're going to say. Some bullshit about this being your fault?"

Geralt hangs his head. "But it is—"

"It's not," Jaskier says over him. His body may be wispy and transparent but his voice is as strong and steady as ever. "I did dangerous work, Geralt. I did dangerous work as a bard, too. I knew what I was risking when I started it. I knew what might—what would happen."

"I should have been there to stop it from happening."

Jaskier gives him a long, sad, look. "You have other things to worry about. More important things. You always did." He looks down at his formless hands, then starts to speak again before Geralt can respond. "If it makes you feel better at all, being tortured probably was your fault." He looks thoughtful for a moment. "Although you could say it was my fault, for hanging around where I wasn't wanted for so long. If I'd thought with my brain instead of my—" he cuts himself off. "Doesn't matter. This—" he gestures to the bruises, "—was not your fault."

"But—"

"Geralt."

"But I should have—"

"Even when I'm dead you don't listen to me, do you?" Jaskier's voice has changed. There's an edge to it, now. He stands, and the fire reflects off of his shimmering form. "See you around, Geralt."

He's gone just as suddenly as he arrived. The fire crackles. Above it, the roasting hare pops. Geralt suddenly doesn't feel very hungry any more.

~

Geralt heads North, following nothing more than instinct. He spends the evenings in anxious anticipation, waiting for Jaskier to appear again. He doesn't. 

A week later, he's on the cusp of another night's fitful sleep on the hard ground of the forest when a bright light startles him awake.

Jaskier's face, glowing like a star, takes up his whole vision. He's lying on the ground beside him like they've done so many times before, no distance at all between them. Geralt's blurry vision focuses. Jaskier is soaking wet. He blinks.

"Oh," he says. "What—"

"I'm sorry." The words slip out before Geralt can stop them.

Jaskier blinks. He opens his lips, which have turned a dark purple colour.

And then the light inside him implodes in upon itself, and he's gone.

~

"Oh bollocks. Not again."

Geralt spins around. He's followed the trail of a wraith to an abandoned catacomb, and the curse echoes oddly from the ancient stone walls.

Jaskier—glowing, ephemeral, and angry looking—stands with his arms folded across his chest beside a half-collapsed pillar.

"Jaskier?"

"You really can't get rid of me," Jaskier says, shaking his head.

This time, the bruises are gone, but there's something dark and sticky-looking dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Jaskier seems to notice it at the same time as Geralt does. He presses his fingers to it with a grimace.

"Eurgh," he says. "This tastes foul."

He spits a thick globule onto the mossy stone floor, where it immediately vanishes. "Huh."

He doesn't have time to say anything else before the wraith bursts through him with a screech. He doesn't even move as she barrels through his body. By the time the wraith is little more than a pile of ash, Jaskier has disappeared.

~

Geralt feels him before he sees him, this time. He's sitting on the bed sharpening his swords in a room above a busy tavern when the air suddenly feels... different. 

"You're back?"  He looks up. He half-wishes he hadn't. "Fuck."

Jaskier stares down at him. Rather: Jaskier's body stares down at him. Jaskier's head, tucked under his arm, is just about eye level.

"Hello to you as well," he says.

"I was going to ask what happened to you," Geralt says. "Just to know. To stop thinking about it."

From beneath his own arm, Jaskier raises his eyebrows at him. "I don't want to talk about it."

Geralt keeps his gaze. "No," he says. "I'm sure you don't." He puts aside the sword. "Will you—" the request catches in his throat. He can feel Jaskier's ghostly eyes on him. "Will you stay?"

There's a long, heavy silence. A sigh, like the wind blowing through a cracked window.

"Move over, then."

Geralt does as he's told. Jaskier sits beside him on the bed. Again, he doesn't quite make contact with the sheet. As if noticing Geralt's discomfort, he slowly lifts his own head and replaces it on his neck. Geralt's expecting it to simply tumble to the floor, but somehow, it sticks. There's a horrible red line where head meets body.

"I thought you might have Ciri with you," Jaskier says. "Where is she? Is she okay?"

"She's with Yen."

Jaskier nods. Geralt knows that he and Yen had patched up the animosity between them. He'd never taken the time to ask how, or why. Somehow, right now, it doesn't feel important.

"You worked it out with her, then?"

It's not the most accurate way to describe the uneasy feelings that still linger between Yen and himself, but again: Geralt doesn't want to get into it.

"Yeah," he settles on. "Mostly."

"Good," Jaskier says. It sounds like he means it. "I'm glad, really. Ciri needs—" he takes a breath. "She needs both of you, I think. And Yen isn't altogether entirely terrible, I suppose." He hesitates again, and Geralt waits, letting him speak. "Does she know?" He gestures at the mark around his neck. "About me?"

Geralt shakes his head. "I've not seen anyone else in weeks," he says, truthfully.

"Oh."

Secretly, Geralt has been glad of that. He doesn't know where Yen and Ciri are, to start, and even if he did, he's not sure he would seek them out. He knows that he ought to tell Yen about Jaskier's death, but the mere thought of that conversation makes his blood turn to ice. It's almost as if by keeping it to himself, it will make it stop being true. A foolish wish, when the evidence that it is true sits so irrefutably beside him.

"Geralt..."

"I miss you."

Jaskier falls silent. The mark around his neck bleeds, sluggishly. His eyes are huge.

"Oh, Geralt," he sighs. "It's too late for that."

Like the dawn breaking—like a sunbeam slicing through glass—he fades away, until all that's left of him are motes of dust, dancing in the air.

~

Geralt is making camp beside a field of wildflowers when Jaskier appears next. This time, there's a dagger sticking horribly from his back.

"Where's your lute?" 

Jaskier turns to look at him. "Lutes don't pass on," he says a little sadly. 

"So you can't play music, like this?"

Jaskier smiles at him, but it doesn't reach his shimmering eyes. "No," he says.

"Can you sing?"

Jaskier hesitates. Through him, Geralt can see the fields of gently swaying wildflowers.

"Is that a request?"

Geralt shrugs. It's barely more than a twist of his shoulders. Jaskier smiles—a real smile, now, that makes his see-through eyes suddenly flash.

He sings all evening. He sings until Geralt slips into the first good sleep he's had in weeks. When he wakes, Jaskier is gone, and the air smells of wildflowers.

~

Lockerly is a tiny village. There's nothing here but sheep and pigs and—unfortunately for the riverside populace—a rather tenacious nest of drowners. Geralt sees them off easily, and refuses the villager's payment. He can tell from a single glance that the paltry purse of coins is all they have. Instead, he accepts the offer of a place to sleep for the night and a good meal from the middle-aged woman who'd posted the notice in the nearest town.

The woman—called Alayne—has a modest home on the edge of the village: a pretty little cottage with rose vines trailing up the brick and a garden full of herbs. She spots Geralt eyeing them, and promises he can take his pick before he leaves the next morning.

"It's the least I can do," she says.

Geralt wants to refuse—she's done so much compared to what little she has—but he knows that to do so would be an insult. So he thanks her, and makes a mental note to check which ingredients he's lacking before he goes to sleep that night.

The meal Alayne cooks smells delicious, and Geralt realises he hasn't eaten properly since the contract for the kitchenboy-turned-vampire. Since he first saw Jaskier again. As she serves him a second portion, she laughs.

"I'd forgotten what it's like to feed someone other than myself," she says. "It's not even been that long."

Geralt pauses. He thinks about the house—too big for one person—and the gardens that would certainly take a couple to tend. 

"I'm sorry," he says, swallowing down the mouthful of food. 

She gives him a sad smile. "Thank you," she says. "It's funny, that we can forget... but, we never forget, do we? They never let us forget."

Geralt thinks of the ghostly form of his friend. "They really don't," he agrees.

"Nine months," Alayne says, although he didn't ask. "She's only been gone nine months, but—" There are sparkling tears in her eyes, which she quickly blinks away.

Geralt is struck with a horrible thought. "The drowners?" He asks, carefully.

"Oh, no." Alayne shakes her head. "She was just... sick. She probably would have preferred it being a drowner, by the end."

"I'm sorry," Geralt says again. "I..." he swallows, feeling stupid—whatever Jaskier was to him, it pales in comparison to Alayne's grief.

She spots him hesitating. "Go on?" She prompts. 

"I lost my..." he pushes away his half empty plate. "My friend," he finishes. It doesn't feel quite right. 

"Oh," she says. "I'm so sorry."

He's about to brush away her words, to tell her he doesn't deserve her pity, but— it sticks. His eyes feel hot.

"I miss him," he admits. "And he wouldn't even know—"

They retire to the garden at the back of the house. The space is mostly given over to useful things—vegetables, herbs, a small flock of chickens—but there's a space in the very middle with two roughly hewn chairs which are bathed in the light of the setting sun. Alayne finds a bottle of strong mead, and together they sit, and drink, and discuss their losses.

"I haven't told anyone," Geralt says, feeling the mead making his lips sticky. "No one else knows."

"How long..?"

"Weeks," he says. "Just weeks."

Alayne places a hand to his arm.

"I let him down," Geralt says, slowly. "I thought— I didn't even see it, then. That he was there, and I wasn't. Not in the way he needed me." He peers out towards the horizon, where the sky is reddest. "He always just... came along. He agreed to help me even when he shouldn't have. I don't know why. He should have told me to fuck off." Finally, he turns to look at her. "Why didn't he?"

She chews on her lip. "It sounds like he cared for you a lot," she says. "And... Geralt, you will forgive me, but when you call him your friend..."

Geralt frowns. "Just friends," he says. This conversation feels oddly familiar.

"Right," she nods. "Just friends."

They talk until the sun has truly set, and the stars fill the sky above. The more time passes, the more Geralt feels his tongue loosen, the easier the words come. Perhaps it's how safe Alayne feels. Perhaps it's knowing that he'll never see her again. Perhaps it's that it feels like a relief, finally, saying it out loud. Perhaps it's just the mead.

She shows him to the guest bedroom. He tugs off his boots a little lopsidedly, then his clothes, then crawls beneath the quilt on the bed. He sighs, then rolls onto his side.

When he finds himself staring into a familiar, glowing face he's not even shocked. That is the mead; he feels a little numb, like he's floating in warm water.

"Just friends?"

Geralt can feel Jaskier's cool, tickling breath on his lips. He finds himself edging forwards. When their lips touch, it's like nothing at all. All Geralt can feel is tingles.

Jaskier laughs. There are sparkling, diamond tears on his cheeks.

"Oh, Geralt," he says. "It really is too late for that."

Tonight, at least, he doesn't leave. He doesn't seem to sleep, either, and the last thing Geralt sees when he drifts away is Jaskier staring at him.

It's only when Geralt wakes with the dawn that he realises that Jaskier had looked whole, for the first time. No blood. No wounds. Just him.

~

Running into Yen really is an accident, even if it's clear she doesn't believe him when he says so.

They talk through Ciri's education, and what they've been doing in their time apart, and how they both are, but it's clear that Yen can tell something is bothering him. They take two rooms in an inn for the evening, and once Ciri has been sent reluctantly to bed, Geralt tells her. He spits it out, quick and fast, to stop himself holding onto the secret any longer.

Yen frowns at him.

"No he's not," she says.

Geralt's already slow heart stops. He's sure he's misheard her. His ears ring.

"What?"

She sips at her drink, makes a disgusted face, then continues to drink regardless.

"Unless you're telling me he was killed in the past..." she pauses, counting, "three days, then... no. He's not."

"What?"

She sighs. "We saw him just outside of Maribor. He certainly seemed very much alive then. Who told you he was dead?"

"Someone at the academy," Geralt says, weakly.

"You didn't think to check?"

He looks at his ale. He should have checked. Fuck.

"He's been fucking—" he realises his voice is raised, and quickly quietens himself. "He's been fucking haunting me, Yen."

Yen's look of amusement turns to concern. "Haunting?" She repeats. "Haunting how?"

Geralt looks around, as if someone might be listening in to his confession. "He's been... turning up.  At camps, during hunts..."

"Like a dream?"

"Like a ghost, Yen."

She places her cup down. "You've seen him?"

"Yes."

"You've spoken to him?"

"Yes. He asked after you, in fact."

She sits back. "That's... concerning."

It feels an entirely inadequate way to describe how Geralt is feeling. "So what?" He says. "Am I mad?"

Yen purses her lips. "Or cursed. Who have you pissed off lately?"

"No one," Geralt says bitterly.

"Hmm." She looks doubtful. "Fine, then. You could have cursed yourself."

Geralt blinks at her. "Is that possible?"

She shrugs at him. "For anyone else,  I would have my doubts. But for you..." she raises her cup. "It wouldn't surprise me, no. You hear of our mutual friend's apparent death, and—sick with guilt—you refuse to seek further information. You convince itself it's your fault and, knowing you, you manage to do so in only a few minutes. You convince yourself so thoroughly  that you saddle yourself with a fairly run of the mill haunting curse, made more intense because of your connection to chaos. Were you in the possession of any unusual magical items? Any strange hunts?"

"No, noth—" Geralt pauses.  He thinks back to the moment he learned Jaskier was dead. Or: the moment he thought he'd learned he was dead. "No, there was," he says. "The man who told me gave me a note. He said it was from Jaskier."

"What did it say?"

"I don't know," Geralt said. "It burst into flames when I opened it. There was this... shape, inside."

Yen looks thoughtful. Then she reaches into her bag and pulls out a notebook and thick pencil. "Can you draw it?"

Geralt does his best. Drawing has never been his strong suit. When he's done, Yen pulls the notebook towards herself with a frown.

"It is a curse," she says. "Cheap, though. He probably picked this up from some... spell peddler. It's just a generic revenge spell."

"Revenge?"

She shrugs. "It's fairly simple. It taps into whatever it is you've done to piss off the caster—that would be Jaskier—and turns it against you. But they're short. There's not enough chaos in them to make them last longer than a few hours, at most." She looks up. "You were cursed by someone else," she says, "but the intensity of it... I suspect that was you."

Geralt is about to ask the obvious question—what did I do to piss off Jaskier?—when he realises that, of course, he knows. Jaskier's ghost, even if he was no more than the shadow of a curse, had made that clear. He'd realised it himself, in the moments between grief.

"Oh."

"You're not going to ask what you did?"

"I think I know."

She smiles at that. "Good. I'd hate to insult your intelligence by explaining it to you. Now you know he is not, in fact, dead, it should lift on its own."

"...Right."

She finishes her wine and stands. 

"I should make sure Ciri is actually asleep," she says. "We have an early start tomorrow." She goes to leave, then turns. "We saw him in Crenwall. It's about two day's ride East, following the main road."

Before he can say anything, she sweeps away.

Geralt peers from the window. It's completely dark outside. Too late to start a ride that will take two days, especially when the brief time he has with Ciri is so rare—and so precious.

He looks into the dregs of his beer and wonders what Jaskier would say. He sees off the drink, then heads upstairs to his own room. Tomorrow, he'll see Ciri off, and set off towards Crenwall. With any luck, they can all leave with the dawn.

~

In the end, Geralt doesn't even make it to Crenwall. He spends only a single night on the road—a night uninterrupted by spirits—and is riding through a market town the following morning when he hears a familiar voice drift from the tavern. He pulls Roach to a stop, and listens. It wouldn't be the first time he's seen Jaskier where he isn't, after all.

—everything we did, we saw, you turned your back on—

There's pain in Jaskier's voice like Geralt's never heard before. He remembers the curse; and who put it on him in the first place.

—that butcher burn—

It hurts. The words hurt. Part of him wonders if he hasn't suffered enough through the endless parade of ghosts: each grizzly death. Apparently not. As the words wash over him, he winces. He did this. However cruel Jaskier's words... they exist for a reason. Fuck.

Part of him wants to push the door open and rush in, just to see him. Just to know that this time, he's real. But that pain is too strong. To barge in now would just prove Jaskier right, he fears.

He tries to ignore the urge. He hitches Roach, and waits.

It doesn't take long. It's too early for a full set, and no doubt Jaskier has charmed the innkeeper into trading room and board for a song. It's something he's done countless times before, and Geralt knows through experience that he likes to leave them with a brief performance. Keeps them wanting more, he'd say. Inside the tavern, there's a smattering of applause from the early risers—or the  late sleepers—and then the door swings open and...

This is Jaskier. Of course it is.

Geralt strides forwards. Jaskier spots him immediately, and his expression shifts through fear and anger and relief then—

Geralt doesn't know what makes him do it. Perhaps it's the memory of the horror of that first ghost, or the tingling, tickling relief of the last. He grabs Jaskier around the waist, and kisses him.

Jaskier splutters. Geralt lets him go and steps back immediately, instantly regretting his decision, reminding himself that it was the curse that had wanted him, not the real bard. The real bard still hates him.

"You— no you fucking don't you piece of—"

Jaskier chases him, crashing into him with equal fervour, and suddenly they're kissing again, Jaskier's hands cupping Geralt's jaw. Geralt gasps against his lips but doesn't back away. It's awkward, and messy, and more than a little desperate, and when Jaskier finally releases him Geralt realises he isn't breathing.

"You," Jaskier pants, "have some fucking explaining to do."

"I thought you were dead."

This catches him mid-rant. "You— you what?"

"It's... a long story," Geralt says, eyes down. "Can we...?" He gestures back to the tavern behind them.

Jaskier peers at him. He relents.

"Fine," he says. "But you're buying breakfast. And lunch. And dinner." He stops. He looks Geralt up and down, almost like he's assessing him. "And breakfast again tomorrow if you're good."

"Wh—"

"Come on." Jaskier grabs his arm and pulls him back towards the tavern. "Tell me how I died."

~

Jaskier refuses to let him speak until they're sat at a table, each with a full pint.

"Right," he says. "What the fuck?"

"I thought you were dead."

"I gathered that part. Why?"

"I went to Oxenfurt looking for you. I didn't know where you were, so I asked a bard... he said you'd gone. That you'd passed on."

Jaskier groans. "Was he wearing a doublet the colour of baby shit with sleeves like church bells and an offensively trimmed moustache?" He asks, raising his eyebrows.

"How did you—"

Jaskier sighs. "Fucking Valdo," he says. "What a prick. May his balls drop off and be eaten by rabid kikimores." He shakes his head. "No, Geralt. I am not dead. Obviously."

"He said you'd gone to the other side!" Geralt cries.

"Well, yes," Jaskier says. "Oxenfurt was stinging me on pay so I transferred to the university in Lyria. They're academic rivals. Valdo's been pestering me about working for the enemy ever since."

"Oh."

"What a fucking shit-stir—" Jaskier falls silent. His eyes go very wide. "Shit, Geralt, did he give you a—"

"A note? Yeah, he did."

"...Fuck."

"Hmm."

"Did it... did it work?" Jaskier peers at him over his pint, apparently attempting to look contrite.

"Yes," Geralt says. "It did."

"And, um..." Jaskier looks abashed, at least. "What did it do?"

"You put a fucking curse on me without knowing what it did?" Geralt snaps, disbelieving.

"The seller said it was just a revenge curse!" Jaskier quickly clarifies, holding up his hands in surrender. "That it'd just... make you feel bad for a few hours." He spots Geralt's unamused expression. "Was that... not... what it did?"

Geralt stares at him. "You've been haunting me for weeks."

"...what?"

"Your ghost. Several of them. You want to know how you died? Fine. One was covered in blood. One was poisoned. One stabbed. One beheaded. One—"

"Fuck, okay, I get it." Jaskier rubs his eyes. "Shit."

"You spoke to me. You were angry, the first time."

Jaskier seems to be struggling to keep his gaze. "I was angry," he says. "I... I am angry. Fuck, Geralt, you heard the song."

Geralt's heart squeezes. "I heard the song."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to be that bad." He swallows. "The curse, I mean. Not the song. I meant the song. At least I did, when I wrote it."

"I'm sorry for making the curse that bad." Geralt feels a twist of remorse. "And the song. You wouldn't have done either if I didn't hurt you. And it was my guilt that made the curse last so long anyway."

"Gods," Jaskier laughs, hollowly. "We fucked it."

Geralt takes a drink at that. "We did."

"What happened?" Jaskier asks. "With the ghosts?"

"We... spoke. A lot. Eventually. I worked it out. Why you were so hurt. Why losing you hurt me so much that your ghost was following me around."

"... Oh."

"I tried to kiss you." Geralt feels his cheeks prickling. Even his staunch self-control can't keep the flush back. "It was like... like ice. Like a breeze. Like nothing, and— you said it was too late."

Jaskier too is blushing. He pushes a long strand of hair out of his eyes, and Geralt suddenly regrets not being there in that awkward in-between stage, when he was still growing it out. Jaskier reaches across the table, placing his hand gently over Geralt's. His fingers twitch. The tips feel smooth and shiny.

"It's not too late," Jaskier says, his voice so low that only Geralt's enhanced hearing could ever pick it out. "Not if... not if you want to try again?"

"You'd want that?"

"I want..." Jaskier shakes his head and squeezes Geralt's hand. "I've wanted that for over two decades, Geralt. You ripping out my heart and pissing all over it doesn't change that, even if it should."

Geralt stares at him. "Two decades?"

"Give or take." 

Geralt threads their fingers together. It feels good to feel Jaskier again, not just chasing the shimmering, untouchable afterglow of him.

"But..." Jaskier continues.

"Yes?"

"But we need to change. Both of us. I can't—" Jaskier swallows. "I can't pretend, anymore. And you don't get to hurt me anymore, either. We need to talk." He grins. "I assume weeks of being haunted by me have at least begun to teach you a little more about talking about your feelings?"

Geralt's lips twitch. "A little."

"Good." Jaskier pushes aside his tankard with his free hand and leans forward. "So. You tried to kiss my ghost?"

Geralt mirrors him. "He was in my bed."

"Which explains why you kissed me earlier," he says. "Wanted to see how it really felt?"

"I kissed you," Geralt says, voice low, "because I wanted to know what it's like to kiss you. Because I—" he swallows. Jaskier's eyes are huge, and blue. "Because I care for you. A lot."

Jaskier's lips quirk. "Is this you talking about your feelings?"

"This is me trying."

The quirked smile melds into a real grin. He pushes forwards, and presses their lips together. This time it's soft, and sure, and lingering. When Jaskier finally breaks the kiss, he rests their foreheads together, mouths brushing, breaths mingling. He's so warm. He sighs.

“It’s about time.”

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #i...have no idea where this came from but here it is!! #in which geralt gets super duper haunted #theres a happy ending dont worry #spoiler alert hes fine