#Deeply negative self talk from Jaskier

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I Will Fear No Evil

Day 1 of FebuWhump2021, run by @febuwhump! Also can be read on ao3.

For the most part, camping with an army chasing you wasn’t much different than camping without an army chasing you, Jaskier thought. When with Geralt, things were usually barebones anyway. The brief time they’d camped with Yennefer had been luxury but four people were easier to track than two and two, so they’d once again had to split off. And so their camp was as basic as usual, a few more traps set and more care taken to blend in with the forest around them.

But all in all, it felt… normal. It was almost like old times, deliriously far away now, where they would camp in the woods when they found each other again on the Path, would stay up talking late into the night for no particular reason.

Jaskier looked up at the tree beside him, which was losing some of its honey-colored leaves. Nestled in a branch were two turtle doves, cuddled together against the slight morning breeze.

“Geralt!” he whispered loudly. “Geralt! Look!' He pointed up. Across the tiny camp, Geralt looked up from fiddling with his potions and raised an eyebrow. Jaskier pointed excitedly. The witcher looked up, and after a beat, went back to his potions. “Birds,” he said.

“Turtle doves, Geralt, two in one place is lucky. A good omen for love! And friendship!”

“Don’t look like turtles to me,” Geralt said. “And I’ve never heard anything about doves and love."

“That’s… Geralt. I know you’re not one for human mythos, but they’re turtle doves. It’s… its famous, Geralt! It’s a thing!”

“Never heard of it.”

“It is very much a thing!” Jaskier said, a bit louder than he probably should have but they were safe here. He always felt safer with Geralt. But he dropped his voice again, just in case. “It is very much a thing, Geralt. Turtle doves are a pillar of love songs. Even I’ve used them more than once! Don’t you ever listen?”

“No.”

“You!” Jaskier picked up an acorn and threw it at his head, but Geralt caught it easily. “You menace. I try and make a nice point about doves and you…”

Geralt was smirking at him.

“Ohhhh, oh you complete ass! Mr. ‘Oblivious Witcher’ strikes again, well pardon me for wanting to trust you, for wanting to educate you! When will you stop pulling this?”

Geralt chuckled. “When you stop falling for it so easily,” he said, pocketing the acorn.

Jaskier went to look back at the birds but stopped when he saw Geralt’s raised hand and his face-- which went from concentrating, to confused, to panicked, all in a second.

“Jaskier— behind me, now!”

The bard didn’t waste a moment, scrambling desperately over to his friend, whipping a small dagger off of his belt. The woods were silent, and Geralt’s eyes were blown wide. He started to lower himself down slowly, eyes up and sword drawn, in an attempt to grab one of his potions. Jaskier looked around wildly.

And then, the birds flew off in a rush.

It happened at once. Bandits— no, more professional than that, but quite not Nilfgaardian soldiers— seized on them, easily 15, but he didn’t have time to count. He swung wildly, but he was too scared, too wrapped up in protecting himself and trying to watch for signals for Geralt. He landed a lucky punch in some bastard's face and swung to see another figure sneaking up on Geralt. “Look out!”

If Geralt turned, he didn’t see; a bag was thrown over his head, his knees kicked out from under him. Before he could lash out, his arms and legs were being held down and tied up and felt a pit in his stomach as he heard Geralt shout and then fall silent, followed by a dull thud on the ground below.

“GERALT!”

The captors quickly ripped the bag off and stuffed some cloth in his mouth, securing it with a tie around his head, before shoving the bag back down. Fuck.

He tried to listen to them— but all he got was that they didn’t have long to travel before making it to their quarters, and they didn’t have dimeritium, but wouldn’t need it because they’d send word to Nilfgaard immediately. They wouldn’t have long to escape.

“I’m taking the bard,” one said, kicking him in the stomach. “Wanna see him squirm. Then we’ll carve something out of this beast,” and Jaskier saw red behind the bag. He screamed, thrashed, tried desperately to fight off the ropes.

“Gods. Shut up,” said one captor, before he felt a blunt pain on his head and his world went black.

xxx

Jaskier came to slowly and deeply uncomfortably. It was musty, smelled foul, and the air hung in his lungs like molasses. His arms were behind his back, and one of his shoulders— he tried to move it and hissed against the pain— was definitely dislocated. The cold steel of handcuffs cut into his wrists, stiff and uncomfortable, and he was knelt in a liquid he didn’t want to look at, much less under the origins of. His head ached enough as it was.

His knees were also touching something warm, and when he opened his eyes blearily he found that it was Geralt’s own bent legs, slotted between his own. His vision swam, his stomach lurched, and he shut his eyes tightly to stop sickness coming on. Jaskier took a few deep breaths— feeling lucky he had the lungs of a bard— and steeled himself. He looked up.

He could barely see. The cell was… he’d had closets bigger than this. It was clearly a very temporary holding space, the narrow walls definitely designed to make them panic, and Jaskier found it might actually be working. Geralt’s head hung, and he breathed deeply, but his slight snarl against the smell of the room proved him to be awake. Thank the gods, that was something. Geralt’s face was only a few inches from his own, and Jaskier had to restrain himself from burying his face in the Witcher’s shoulder, or bumping their foreheads together.

“Well. Good morning,” he said softly, trying to coax out a reaction. All he got was Geralt’s next intake of breath sounding a bit deeper. This was bad. If Geralt was still waiting, still thinking, this was worse than Jaskier had thought. He looked around— his witcher's wrists were in handcuffs much like his own, but his ankles were cuffed to the floor as well and a heavy chain went around his middle several times. His neck had a thick cuff around it too, and though it was attached to the wall by a chain instead of into the wall itself, it restricted his movements enough to make it an issue. They were keeping him worse than one would keep an animal. It made him sick to see.

These captors were not the most sophisticated, and may not have had dimeritium, but Geralt’s bindings were solid enough that there wouldn’t be much for him to do. But Jaskier could help. He could always help, some way, somehow, even if it was small.

At the top of the wall behind Geralt was the one and only light source for the cell, a long, narrow window only as tall as his fist might be but a foot or two long. In front of it were thick metal bars; likely iron, his mind supplied unhelpfully. Jaskier set to work dreaming up an escape plan. If— if he just stood on Geralt’s shoulders, maybe he could pry the bars apart, and punch the glass out? But what good would that do— it wasn’t like it was tall enough for either of them to squeeze through. He looked to his right, and a dark stone wall greeted him, and to his left, where the door to the cell stood imposing, solid, and very much locked. He hung his head and tried to fight his creeping anxiety. Maybe there wasn’t anything he could do this time.

Okay. They’d been in tough spots before, he’d been in bad spots before but this… this was different. This was Nilfgaard, and this was Geralt. He could take Nilfgaard alone, no amount of torture could bring any answers out of him, but if they used Geralt against him… he felt doubt in himself sneak in. The thought of Geralt, hurt because he wouldn’t release information turned his stomach, and he realized that, much as he wanted to, he couldn’t promise not to say something.

Fear began to rise in him. He rarely was afraid in these situations— he was good at converting feelings into something productive— emotional alchemy, he liked to think of it— but that was because there was always a way out. Every situation had an escape button if only you knew where to look. But he knew they would stop at nothing to know where Yennefer and Ciri were, and that was different. He knew they wanted Geralt dead, and that was different. That was so much different.

“Jaskier.” He looked up. Geralt was looking at him with concern and perhaps frustration. “You need to breathe.” He could only nod.

“Yep.”

Silence again. Something dripped onto the floor beside him.

“How did they…? Fuck, was it me with the birds? Did they hear?”

“No, they had a silencing charm. Should have heard them earlier, though.”

Jaskier looked at him, pained. “It’s not your fault. No point in lingering on it anyhow.” He shifted on his knees, and looked desperately around the cell again. “Well.”

“It's— I’ll get you out.”

“I’m not interested if it’s not both of us, Geralt.”

Blue met gold. They’d had this conversation before. Geralt sighed and looked around their cell.

“I don’t have much.”

“Yeah, well. Not giving us a fair fight, are they?” He hoped some light-heartedness would quell his fears, but it did nothing. Anxiety continued to creep in.

“They’re not.”

“Wouldn’t stand a chance otherwise.”

“No,” Geralt said with a huffed laugh. They both knelt there, breathing, looking at each other.

Jaskier’s resolve broke. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Geralt agreed.

There was nothing they could do. They were stuck. There was nothing. There was nobody coming and no ace up their sleeves. There was nothing. He’d have to suffer this, and die? Watch his friend be tortured? Be tortured himself? Let them take everything from him and give them what they wanted— either tears or information, or both. He should be brave but fuck, he was everything they’d always said he was, wasn’t he? A coward. He strained against his cuffs and they cut into his skin, unyielding. He thrashed about for a moment, and Geralt just looked at him sadly. Oh, fuck. He stopped, his body suddenly feeling like lead.

“I…” and suddenly the panic was overtaking him. Fuck. -Fuck. What if he couldn’t manage it? What if he wasn’t strong enough? He was going to die here, he knew it, that didn’t feel like anxiety, that was just realistic. That wasn’t even his fear, anymore, there was a dim acceptance of it in him.

They’d talked about this situation. They’d planned for it. They all knew each other's last fucking wishes, and gods, Yennefer and Ciri were going to have to deal with all of it alone. And— well, he knew he was a coward, everyone did, but this surprised him— what he was so, so deeply scared of was the pain. Of what they would do to him, of what it would be like to watch Geralt suffer, of all of it. Gods. He was shaking, he knew it, and Geralt was saying something but he couldn’t even hear him.

Oh but— but Geralt. Oh, the cuffs weren’t dimeritium.

Oh, how selfish he was about to be. Oh, how he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I need you to—“ Whatever Geralt was saying, he stopped. Jaskier tried to slow his breathing. “I need you to Axii me.”

Geralt frowned deeply. “What? No.”

“Geralt. I can’t— if they have you, I’m not sure I can do this. Please, gods, I know its selfish, I’ll give you anything in return but—“ Jaskier looked up, met his Witcher’s eyes, and did not look away.  “This may be my last request of you Geralt. Please. Axii me.”

“I have no time for this. What would—“

“Just— tell me not to feel pain. Or fear. Make it easier, Geralt, please— I love you, I love you, if I see them hurt you I can’t promise what I’d say to make it stop. If they get bad enough— Geralt. Please. I can’t watch that.” He heard footsteps in the corridor, and though he couldn’t tell where they were going, it made everything more urgent. He realized tears were streaming down his face, cutting tracks through the grime, and he wondered numbly how long they’d been falling. “Geralt. Please. Please, dear heart, let me find some peace, help me protect you, Yennefer, Ciri, for gods sakes Geralt—”

“I can’t—”

“You can, Geralt, you can, I’m asking, I’m begging, my fate will be the same just please, please don’t make it hurt, I can’t—”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Is— so you will—“

“Okay. I…” Geralt shut his eyes tight and took a shuttering breath. “Fine. Close your eyes.”

Jaskier let his lids fall closed and realized the tears were coming in earnest. He was taking in small gasps of air, filled with mucus and completely undignified. He wanted so badly to be brave this time. He wanted it so badly. But he wasn’t strong enough and he knew it. Maybe he never had been. At least it’d all be over soon.

x

Geralt swallowed and opened his eyes. Jaskier was shaking, trying to breathe deeply but small sobs kept breaking through. Jaskier didn’t cry, he just didn’t; not when they were captured, not when he lost a competition, not when he was rejected. Jaskier was soft but this, this was new, and he’d known the man two decades now. He’d never seen him like this. It hurt. Against his nature, he wanted to reach out and— touch? Hold? Something. Anything but this.

But there wasn’t much else to do. Jaskier wasn’t wrong, was the worst part— if he couldn’t find them a way out, there was a good chance they’d kill the bard to hurt the witcher, torture Jaskier to get information or force him to watch Geralt be tortured. He could take the pain, and he knew Jaskier knew that, but watching it happen was another matter. Just as he was watching Jaskier suffer now.

His best friend was knelt in front of him in a tiny, dim cell, and asking for peace and had said— had said he loved—

Geralt shook off the thought. No. Not now. Couldn’t deal with that now.

He adjusted himself best he could to cast the sign before stopping. Jaskier’s tears and hiccuping breaths were slowing a bit.

Maybe he had to deal with it now.

“You— Jaskier, you know I—“

“Yes of course I do, Geralt.” His heart seized a bit. “All of it. Everything. It's okay. It's okay.” He rested his head against his bard’s soft hair. He didn’t deserve this fate. “Thank you,” he was whispering, “Thank you. You can do it. I’m ready. I love you, Geralt, do it now. You can do this.”

With fingers he could not feel, Geralt made the sign of Axii. “You will not feel pain. You will not feel fear, nor grief. You’ll be at peace.”

“No pain. No fear, no grief. Peace,” the bard replied thickly. Geralt felt the sign take hold and drew back to get a better look at his friend. Jaskier looked up blearily, almost drunkenly, and gave a lopsided smile. “Oh, Geralt. It’s lovely to be so close to you.”

Geralt took a breath. Footsteps drew nearer. Jaskier’s face was tracked with tears, and he still hiccuped a breath occasionally. He smiled still, his body loose of anxiety.

“Have I ever told you how stunning you are up close? It’s really something. Mmm. You seem tense, love. Whatever it is, it’s okay now. Oh Geralt, you really should relax a bit. Things are nice here. Peaceful.”

It occurred to him then how often he had unconsciously been spurred into action by watching Jaskier in pain. Seeing him hurt, or scared, or angry at injustice, or under threat he didn’t deserve, that was always Geralt’s cue to spare no expense; to fix the problem, heal the hurt. Protect his bard. And here his bard was, no fear, no hurt, no anguish. And it kicked up the same feelings in him but with something new as well. He didn’t want to think about it.

Jaskier had said love. And not in his flowery, Jaskier way. Love.

Ah.

He heard keys in the lock. Without a doubt, it was their captors, come to snap dimeritium around him while they had the chance. He strained against his restraints but they wouldn’t budge.

“I do love you, you know,” Jaskier said softly. He rested his head against Geralt’s shoulder. “You are so easy to love, dear. I wish you’d let yourself be. There’s so much of it waiting for you.”

No, he thought, he wouldn’t let his bard die here.

xxx

The thing about not feeling fear, Geralt thought belatedly, running through the forest with a bleeding bard in his arms, is that it allowed one to do absolutely stupid, reckless, and possibly brilliant things.

A bit like how Jaskier, seeing Geralt being handled roughly, head smashed once, twice, three times against the cold wet stone walls, had broken his own hand to escape his cuffs, stolen a sword off one of the soldiers, and slain three of them off without a thought of his own safety. He hadn’t seemed angry, or vengeful, or scared, just a calm man with a purpose that didn’t phase him. He’d knicked the key off a body, brought Geralt out of his chains, and quickly caught a sword through his side as he straightened up. But then it was Geralt’s turn to swing a sword, and before long they were out.

Keeping the overly calm Jaskier running had been a task in it of itself, but once they made it into the deeper woods, Geralt realized that it wasn’t that Jaskier’s wound was minor, but rather that he just didn’t feel the pain. And in the running he’d torn the wound more— Geralt didn’t want to look at it just yet, but it turned his stomach to see.

So now he was carrying the bag of potions and Jaskier’s small sack he’d rescued, his own swords, Jaskier’s lute that had lain beside it, and the bard himself in his ever-wearying arms. His head ached dully from being slammed repeatedly against the wall, and the few wounds he’s sustained, though healing, ached. When he finally found Roach (the only god he dared pray to at this point in his life) he threw everything on her back with the promise of apples and sugar, and they were off.

xxx

Jaskier’s head throbbed and ached. His side was stiff and there was a shooting pain in his leg. Both knees felt… off. One of his hands was so bandaged up he couldn’t move it at all, and his attempt to wiggle his fingers brought tears to his eyes. He let out a short involuntary cry against the sharp pain. And he was famished.

But there was something soft underneath him, and his clothes felt fresh and new. The air was sweet with… was that one of his oils? The rosemary one.

A moment later he heard footsteps approach and a door swing open carefully. He opened his eyes to see the blurry form of Geralt, who tried wordlessly to give him water, holding the glass to his lips. He sipped, but couldn’t bear to look his friend in the face. Fuck. What a coward he’d been, what an utter fool, what an ass to not believe Geralt would always get them out of trouble— how selfish he’d been. How disgusting Geralt must think him now.

He took a few sips and then turned away, and the glass was set back down. He could feel Geralt stay a moment, hovering over the bed, before crossing the room again quietly. Jaskier looked around as his friend left, took in the small 2 bedroom inn room, and nearly said something before Geralt softly closed the door behind him, not looking back.

Fuck. He wouldn’t even look at Jaskier now. He was doing this because he was a good man, and that was all. Jaskier didn’t deserve this kindness. Tears fell again. He didn’t deserve any of this, he should have— should have let them— should have—

He bit back sobs and tried to think of something else, but all he could imagine was Geralt looking at him, disappointed and ashamed.

xxx

The next few days were just as bad as the first the bard had come awake.

Geralt had wanted to give him time, space, but Jaskier wouldn’t even look at him now. He’d thought he was going to die, after all. He’d said too much. He’d exaggerated. He regretted saying what he did.

Geralt understood that— loving a Witcher would be shameful even to the most accepting humans. He couldn’t fault Jaskier. He wouldn’t. He faulted himself, for believing it was more than the pleading of a man afraid of death.

So he fed him, told him he’d spent a day and half asleep, at an inn that owed him a favor, that they were safe, for a bit. And told him that all of his wounds, (a stab in his side, a sprained ankle, a few broken fingers, a deep bruise on his thigh, and one on his rib,) wouldn’t leave many lasting issues once they were mended. They just needed patience. And the dislocation was healed— Geralt had fixed the shoulder while Jaskier was under the Axii. He was clean, no more matted blood on his hair or filth-ridden clothes. He’d keep the wound clean and then the bard could take over looking after it himself.

Jaskier hadn’t met his eyes.

He knew Jaskier would want to split ways as soon as he could leave, but that was difficult when Nilfgaard was chasing them… so Geralt prepared his arguments to get Jaskier to stay, and resigned himself to a colder winter than usual.

xxx

The two danced around each other for days. Geralt ran his purse dry, and took odd jobs, waiting for a time it was either safe to contact Yennefer and ask for help or safe for Jaskier to start moving again, and helped his friend eat and drink twice a day. Jaskier diligently ate, drank, and slept, and barely spoke a word.

Until the evening of the fifth day. Geralt sat on the second bed, polishing and sharpening his swords methodically, the sweet-sharp sound of the blades giving some life to the otherwise silent room. He was waiting for a bath to be filled and pretended the silence was normal, that he was human, and was waiting to hear when they were done filling the basin. He ran his hands up and down the sword. It didn’t need any more polishing. He rubbed it some more.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, and Geralt’s movements came to a halt. He looked up, but Jaskier wouldn’t meet his eyes. He went back to his swords.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Geralt said after a moment. “It was… you’re human. It was tense. Emotions were high.”

“Doesn’t excuse it,” Jaskier said softly, and a pang shot through his chest.

“It’s okay.”

“I regret it.”

Geralt grit his teeth. “Clearly.”

Jasker’s head spun. “Well then— then why are you still here?”

“You’re my friend, despite it all.”

“How does that not make it worse, Geralt? You were supposed to be able to trust me.”

“Well, then how about this. You’re a human, with human faults. Is that enough for you? Do I need more reasons to care?”

“I don’t need you to pity me, Geralt!” He tried to rise up on an elbow but the pain sent him back down. He finally turned his cold, fiery gaze on Geralt. “Fuck— I don’t want pity! If you’re only going to look at me like the coward I am then turn me loose and I’ll— I’ll go back to Oxenfurt, I’ll start over somewhere, but I won’t, I can’t deal with pity. Even if I am pitiable, even if I am…” he waved his non-bandaged hand, “the way I am.”

Geralt stared back blankly and then frowned. “Why would I think you were a coward?”

Jaskier stared blankly back before squinting. “Because I… the Axii. What the hell were you talking about?”

“The. What you— what you said— about me. Feelings.” He looked down at his swords. Swords didn’t fall in love. Another reason to like swords.

“N—Ger— I— I’m a coward, I’m a fraud and a disaster and I failed you, Geralt, I failed you, and Yennefer, and Ciri, and everyone who’s relying on us to hold things together which at my estimation is at least half the continent, if not more. How is that not what you’re focusing on?!”

“You didn’t fail anyone. You were afraid of giving up information. You asked for help. You were trying to protect us. And yourself. That’s not failure. You fought off three guards. You broke your own hand. On purpose”

“I was supposed to be brave! I didn’t last a minute in there. They hadn’t even done anything to us Geralt, and I folded. I can’t be scared right now, I’m not supposed to be, I could only fight because you used magic, and you only did that because I begged.”

Geralt shifted himself and sat on Jaskier’s bed. “The… fear of facing something is the same pain, twice felt. Anxiety is useless, fear… not entirely helpful. But if you lose your fear, you get… dull. Oblivious. It’s the balance. Of being afraid, but not falling into speculation. It’s not easy.” He waited for Jaskier to meet his eyes. “You’re not trained for this. You can’t expect yourself to not feel this kind of fear the first time you’re really presented with it.”

“It was cowardly.”

“And?”

Jaskier frowned. “And I should— I ought to be better than cowardly. For all of you, at least.”

“‘Cowardly’ has kept you alive, more often than not. You’re brave when you need to be. About… other things. Things I couldn’t be brave about if I wanted to be, and I do. I don’t… I don’t fault you for asking for it, Jaskier. You shouldn’t fault yourself either. It won’t do you much good.”

Jaskier sighed, unconvinced but unwilling to argue more. Someone knocked at the door, to tell them the bath was ready. Silence hung again.

“We… when we get to Kaer Morhen…” Jaskier perked up at this in surprise, “we can work on it. If you want. It could happen again. If you want to prepare for it, feel more ready, we can find a way to get you prepared for it. If that’s what you want.”

“…Kaer Morhen?”

Geralt frowned. “That’s where we’re going.”

“Well that’s where you’re going but I thought— well, you know—”

“That I’d leave you behind,” Geralt finished.

“Again,” they said, together, eyes not meeting.

“Wouldn’t fault you if you did,” Jaskier said with a small smile.

“You’re in this now. They know you, they know we’re connected, it’s already happened once… it’s more of a risk to leave you behind than not.”

“Ah, right. Can’t have me blabbing away.��

“No,” Geralt agreed. “But you’re also… wanted, there.”

Jaskier’s eyes twinkled, dimmer than usual, but there, and that was enough. “Need some entertainment up in that lonely keep? A barker for the winter? A dashing troubadour, a mellifluous bard, a—”

“Don’t push it.” Geralt held his stony expression for a moment before a grin cut across his face, and Jaskier grew one to match.

Their smiles were small, but even that seemed a victory now. Jaskier looked down at Geralt’s hand, which at some point had migrated to rest on his leg. “I… I certainly said some things back there, didn’t I?” he said softly.

“Mmm.”

“And that was what you meant, earlier. Feelings.”

“Yep.”

“Right. Well. I… no sense hiding it now, I suppose. I can’t remember it all, but if it was about you, and about— about love, then I meant it. Have for a while, actually.”

They were both silent again, and— his own feelings weren’t something he’d ever been able to articulate. But things had come close, and he’d lost something he hadn’t even realized he really had. So with small, careful movements, Geralt lifted his own hand and took Jaskier’s non-bandaged one in his own.

“Oh,” Jaskier said blankly. “Oh. Oh, Geralt. Really?”

Geralt nodded.

“Oh. Well. You’ve stolen speech from me. I’m…” he tangled their fingers together, and Geralt gave a light squeeze. “Wow. I knew there was… but I didn’t think… wow.”

“Mmm,” Geralt said, and finally looked back to see Jaskier staring at their intertwined hands, a flush high on his cheeks. Eventually, he looked back up, and something on Geralt’s face made the bard’s expression go from awestruck to… sympathetic, maybe.

“No rush, yeah? We’ve had this long, we can take a little longer.”

Something in his chest loosened. “Thank you.”

“Oh, dear, it’s my pleasure. Can I… would you mind if I said it again, under significantly less duress?”

Geralt nodded, slower this time. Their eyes met firmly, though Jaskier’s gaze was soft. More than anything, he wanted to summon one of the dozens, maybe hundreds of speeches he’d written to Geralt about this subject, but none came to him. So he let the words use him, instead.

“Geralt. I love you. Deeply. I have loved you, in fact, for well over a decade now, and I was infatuated with you years before that. I mean it, really and truly. I’ll take you any way you come. Pun originally unintended there, but extremely intended now that I’ve heard myself say it.”

They looked at each other— it’d been five days without real eye contact, and they soaked each other in greedily, just looking a gift in it of itself. Jaskier ran a thumb across Geralt’s fingers. “And, again, sorry, excitement here, not to rush, genuinely, but if you’ll allow me the indulgence?” Geralt, confused, nodded once more and watched in muted shock as Jaskier brought the Witcher’s hands to his lips and gave them a chaste kiss. He could feel the smile on his face bloom wider against his knuckles, and if this stuttering in his chest is what love was supposed to be, he’d take every ounce. Jaskier lowered their still connected hands, while Geralt used his free one to push at his stomach.

“Butterflies?” Jaskier asked slyly.

“No,” Geralt answered, and looked like he was considering something deeply. “More like… bees.”

“I give you… bees? Or— Oh, like the birds and the bees, alright now we’re—”

“There are no birds in my stomach. They just feel like bees.”

“Okay, well. This is off to a rousing start.”

“Are bees not a normal side effect of… this?”

“No, Geralt, it’s not typically… oh my god, you insolent bastard, you’re doing your oblivious witcher act again, aren’t you! Oh no no no, you won’t fool me.” Jaskier threw his head against his pillow defiantly but squeezed their hands again. Some hair fell in front of his face, greasy and unwashed.

Geralt huffed a laugh, and then gently— “Geralt, what are you— oh—” scooped Jaskier into his arms, careful to mind his healing wounds.

“Let me clean you up.”

“Wow. Okay. A lot of things are changing very suddenly for us. This is fine. It’s really— okay. Why am I… why am I nervous?”

“Don’t know,” Geralt shrugged. “Guess you’ve got to be brave.” He sat Jaskier down, gently undid his bandages, and laid him in the warm water.

“This is usually my job,” Jaskier muttered.

“You’ve been through enough this week. My turn,” Geralt said, and let himself bury his face in Jaskier’s hair for a moment.

Jaskier felt tears welling up again behind his eyes. He wasn’t sure he deserved this, not really, the fear of his own inadequacy building up once more. But as two small tears ran down his cheeks, Geralt smiled down at him, and he started to feel… well, maybe peace a non-Axii’d, real, genuine peace he hadn’t known before. Then again, maybe Geralt was right. Maybe it was bees.

He let the warm sensation of the water soothe his aching joints and sighed deeply in contentment, let his eyes fall shut, and smiled.

Geralt splashed his face with water. He smiled wider.

Definitely bees.

[jiejie-eonni-onee-sama]

Put your wings on me...

For the lovely @fandoms-are-my-friends-1321 🤩🤩

Hope you’ll enjoy the story!

TW: Mentions of past abuse.

On the road to other adventures, Geralt, Dandelion, and (Y / N) took advantage of being alone during their journey to rest a little before facing new dangers. 

(Y / N), their new adventure companion belonged to the fairy people. Her mastery of magic and pleasant character struck a perfect balance between the shadowy witcher and the talkative bard.

And the duo appreciates her company, especially Jaskier, who falls head over heels for her.

But what fascinated the young bard the most was the young woman's immense wings. Two wide ebony black wings that could obscure the sun when deployed.

One day, as they stopped near a forest for eating, (Y/N) extended her wings to be at ease. The same wings that amaze the bard since the first day he met the fae.

Geralt noticed that his friend can't take his eyes off of (Y/N), and he growled:

"Damn it, Jaskier! Stop staring at her like that!"

"Oh, leave me alone, Geralt! You can't understand the enchantment of her wings!"

"I certainly understand that it'll bring you into trouble... As always!"

The young man pretended not to hear and tempted, he extended a hand to the wings and gently touched the dark feathers. They were so soft and delicate as silk. Although he felt their strength and their might.

However, this sudden touch did not please (Y/N) who jumped out of her place, shrieking with fear:

"WHAT WAS THAT?"

Startled, Jaskier felt from his place, while Geralt stayed silent surprised by the sudden outburst.

Once she felt better, she turned a furious glance at Jaskier:

"Why did you touch my wings?"

"Well... Because..."

Jaskier was stammering: the most talkative musician of the country was unable to formulate a sentence. Probably because he never saw her angry like this. 

Geralt sighed: he knew that it would happen. But Jaskier was so stubborn that he did not listen...

Meanwhile, (Y/N) was still enraged towards the bard. How dare he touch her wings? How did he think he was?

"No one ever touched my wings! NO ONE!"

"But (Y/N), I swear that I mean no harm..."

"That's not very helpful, Jaskier!"

"Please, Geralt, don't make it worse!"

The fae darted her eyes on the witcher.

"And you let him do it?!"

"I just wanted him to know what would happen if he dared!"

(Y/N) was surprised.

"Wait a minute... You did not tell him?"

"Tell me what?" asked the bard.

Geralt sighed before negatively shaking his head.

"Oh, no..." she groaned.

"Can somebody explain to me what's going on?" asked Jaskier, irritated.

Geralt started to explain:

"Well, as you're not familiar with the fairy people, I forgot to tell you that their wings are extremely sensitive!"

"Really?"

"You've seen it by yourself: she felt your fingers on the feathers, even if you barely graze them!"

"So... Was her reaction only based on self-defense? A natural response to potential danger?"

(Y/N) bit her lip, embarrassed.

"This is not the only explanation for my reaction, Jaskier."

"Oh?"

She breathed before explaining:

"A long time ago, before I met you, I was in love with a human. A man named Argen. We loved each other for years..."

She dryly smiled.

"I should say: I thought he loved me. But, one day, while I was sleeping, I felt a sharp pain in my back. I woke up, and I saw Argen with his knife in his hand..."

Jaskier saw all the pain she tried to contain as she pursued her story:

"It did not take me long to understand what he was doing. He tried to sever my wings..."

"Why he did that?" asked Geralt, visibly shocked.

"That's what I begged him to explain. He coldly told me that he wanted to be sure I would never leave him. Moreover, he heard that his king promised a reward for those who would bring him a part of a magical creature..."

"What a monster!" muttered Jaskier.

"What did you do?"

"I was so enraged... I deeply scratched his face and broke his limbs. After that, I flew away, and I swore to never come back nor see him again!"

(Y/N) wiped away the tears that start falling and concluded:

"It is the reason that I do not want anyone else to touch my wings. It always brings me back those frightening memories!"

"I understand now..." mumbled the witcher.

As for Jaskier, he stood silent a long time. 

Ashamed, the fae said to him:

"I am sorry for yelling at you, Jaskier. I thought that..."

"Don't."

Geralt and (Y/N) were taken aback by the sudden answer.

"Don't what?"

The bard gazed firmly at her:

"Don't say you're sorry. I should be the one apologizing to you right now. I hurt you, and I'm remorseful. Furthermore, I acted poorly towards you. Even if your wings are as astonishing and beautiful as you, I should have asked you first if you allow me to touch them! So, I'm sorry if I acted as crudely as this despicable Argen. I hope you will forgive me!"

The fae faintly smiled: she knew enough Jaskier to understand that his intentions towards her were pure, and all of this was based on a misunderstanding.

"Don't worry, young bard. I already forgive you!"

"What a relief!" breathed Jaskier.

"You're lucky it ends well!" added Geralt.

"Geralt, why do you always kill the mood?" 

The fae laughed at the bickering between the two friends. Then, she told the bard:

"Now that everything is clear... You can touch my wings!"

"That's very nice of you (Y/N), but I must decline. I don't want you to feel forced to do so. Maybe later, when you feel ready!"

"Alright, I'll wait. Thank you!"

"You're welcome!"

A few days later.

In the tavern they settled down in for the night, Jaskier prepared himself to go to bed.  As he opened the door, he realized his mistake as he saw (Y/N) brushing her hair.

"Oh, sorry! Wrong bedroom!"

"It's alright, you can come here..."

"Well, if you allow me..." muttered the bard as he closed the door behind him.

With a warm smile, the fae stretched her arms and opened her wings.

"Oh, dear Lord!" gasped Jaskier.

He wanted to reach them but stopped before. With a shy voice, he asked:

"Will you allow me to touch your wings?"

"Permission granted!"

Widely smiling, Jaskier started skimming the soft feathers. His touch was gentle, which relaxed the fae.

The bard pursued his touch until he felt a wing surrounding him in a welcoming gesture. Amazed, he looked back at (Y/N).

"You know, in my opinion, your wings are a gift from above!"

"Really?"

"Yes, because... When you hold me like this, I feel like an angel protects me!"

(Y/N) beamed with a slight blush on her cheeks.

"I'm glad to be your angel!"

"And I'm glad that the said angel put her wings on me. This is the sweetest proof of trust you ever give me!"

He held her hand.

"Thank you for giving me your faith!"

"Thank you for respecting my worries and giving time!"

The two stayed like this, enjoying the company of each other in this room lit by candles.

For this day, (Y/N) wasn't scared anymore that someone else brushed her wings as she savored the gentle caress of Jaskier on her ebony feathers. He was her savior, she was his guardian fae...

Thank you for reading!

I hope you enjoyed!

See you next time! 🥰😘😍

[hamliet]

Girls Don’t Want Boys, Girls Want Monsters: Netflix’s The Witcher Review

Finally, the show we deserve. 

Men get all their superhero power fantasies of kicking villain ass. Finally there’s  a story that has that and includes women’s emotional power fantasies about falling in love with monsters who change. It doesn’t treat either as ridiculous or limited by gender, either, since Geralt falls for a monster too and women get to kick ass as well. 

Essentially, it’s a story about defeating monsters: often through integration with the shadow, sometimes involving love and connection, sometimes violence, but the violence is never glorified. It’s good. 

NB: I’m in the middle of reading the books (in the middle of Blood of Elves so far). I haven’t played the game since video games aren’t really a medium I enjoy. So I’ll make some comparisons since the show covered the two books I’ve read thus far, but please don’t put spoilers for the books below!

Let’s talk my favorite aspect of every story: characters. 

Renfri. 

Her story was somewhat sanitized from the books (it’s a lot more brutal what happened to Renfri) but well adapted. Both versions--the book and show--depict sincere empathy for our deconstructed Snow White. I loved her dialogue with Geralt, in which Geralt praises her for escaping the huntsman her stepmother hired to kill her, and she laughs and says that she didn’t. He let her go, but not before raping and robbing her. The story never directly answers if the prophecy was true or not; Geralt doesn’t believe it, but a lot of things Geralt doubts turn out to be true. Renfri was supposedly attacking animals as a child; however, the person reporting that is highly unlikely to be unbiased (Stregobor) so is this even true? Did Renfri become a killer because she was horribly abused and left with no other option? (That’s the option that I think seems most likely.) 

We can’t know. The Witcher isn’t interested in giving its audience palatable answers. It’s interested in provoking questions. The show gives more answers than do the books, again likely due to the medium, but it still lets these questions linger. 

Renfri’s story is not the first one in the books, but it is the first one the show adapts, and that’s a good decision imo. Her story embodies The Witcher’s themes and questions:

By acting the monster, we make monsters out of others. 

To defeat monsters, you must be a monster. 

What, then, can heal, especially in a world so broken?

Ciri.

Our deconstructed Rapunzel (yes, there are a lot of fairy tale references). As far as her story goes in its adaptation, the addition of Dara was well done. Sadly, no, Dara is not in the books, but his addition gave Ciri an arc beyond merely running in this story. 

That said, Ciri in the books is much younger than she is in the show. Which is okay, because Ciri is somewhat emblematic of the future: there’s a lot unknown about her powers, she needs to be protected from everyone trying to grab her and use her powers for themselves. She is Geralt’s destiny, and she is the future of the world of The Witcher. 

NB: I can’t discuss Ciri without shouting out to the casting director for casting Pavetta: how did they find an actress who looks so much like Ciri’s actress? It’s almost eerie. 

The episode where Geralt finds out about the Law of Surprise and his reaction to Pavetta’s pregnancy is perhaps the only story that I felt was better in the show than in the books (again, this isn’t inherently a quality thing but a medium preference). It added some much-needed hilarity (Geralt’s perfectly-timed “destiny can go f--” *Pavetta vomits* and all he can say is, “fuck”) and gave Geralt an arc. 

Geralt.

Mm. 

I liked how they handled his character and his struggles with what it means to be a Witcher and/or human. His struggles to understand himself are relatable, and fairly well set-up for future exploration. He’s a foil of Ciri, Yennefer, Jaskier, and Cahir so far, and I’m particularly intrigued by the monster theme and the foiling that is already set up thus with all of the above except Jaskier (who is no monster). Geralt was skeptical about saving the striga for her father, but managed to succeed, and I wonder if he will somehow be able to save himself from his own inner fears/monster by being a father. (Basically, I am curious as to how being Ciri’s de factor dad is going to challenge him.)

Jaskier.

Or, Dandelion, as he’s known in the books. The bard adds some much needed levity to the tale, and as @aspoonofsugar​ says, he’s pretty much Donkey from Shrek. But he is used fairly well within the story: he shows Geralt even before Ciri and Yennefer enter his life that he has a purpose beyond being a killing machine. In that sense he’s the foil of Renfri (Renfri accomplishes the same, but through violence) in that Geralt saves him and he clearly thinks highly of the Witcher. Jaskier is in some ways humanity in all its paradoxes and foibles, annoying and stupid, kind and clever, funny and truthful, deceptive and respectful. 

Cahir.

I’m a sucker for ravens as part of an aesthetic, as well as pretty, tormented bad boys. Yes, I know he’s a character I’m sure will arouse much handwringing and puritanical policing a la his other archetype brothers (Loki, Kylo Ren, Snape, etc). I don’t care. I do think the show made him much darker when compared to the books, but I still expect his arc to go in the same direction as the books. He’s a complicated, conflicted, complex character, and I’m not sorry for feeling empathy for him. 

But I am curious about his foiling with Geralt. Both are characters seeking Ciri to fulfill... something, and monstrous in a way (Cahir more for what he does, but there’s a humanity to him as well).

Yennefer.

Finally, my favorite, my baby murder daughter. 

Yennefer’s character was fascinating. I appreciated that she’s allowed to want deeply, her own wants, instead of attaching her wants to be whatever the male character desires. She wants to have children. She wants love. She wants to be beautiful. Her desires are traditionally feminine, and the show doesn’t put this down. And she also kicks ass and takes names, she fails, she’s allowed to be angry, to be mean often, to want to learn and to want to be the best. 

The show doesn’t punish Yennefer for her ambition. Neither do the books. She experiences consequences, both positive and negative, for her every choice. The show reveals her backstory right away, whereas the books don’t, but again that’s a medium thing. I think both do excellently in setting up Yennefer for our empathy. It doesn’t apologize for her or her wants or actions; it lets her arc and the story itself do the talking. 

Yennefer’s not here to be your cautionary tale or your role model. She’s just there to be her and to live. 

That is, to an extent, perhaps the best kind of role model. 

That doesn’t mean the show did everything in Yennefer’s story justice. I wasn’t thrilled with the adaptation of her first meeting with Geralt--the orgy in the background isn’t in the books and is a very bizarre decision given context. While, I loved Tissaia’s character and her foiling with Yennefer: they are too alike to ever get along, I really didn’t understand the point of Tissaia turning the other girls into slugs in episode 2. It was unsettling and not in the books. It was a heavy-handed metaphor not explained until episode 7 (about treating people as expendable slugs) that didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know about how the world and Dark!Hogwarts worked. If anything it made the school seem foolishly cackling-mustache evil instead of the true current of darkness within it: manipulation and utilitarianism. As part of effort to control things, that control itself can lead to chaos. 

I think the rest of the series set this precise dilemma of a precarious balance between self-control and manipulation/utilitarianism quite well, though (it goes hand-in-hand with the theme of a “lesser evil” to quote Renfri’s story). I’m excited to see this explored more. 

Other comments:

When comparing the show to the books as I’ve read so far, I think the show made some smart changes for adapting to a visual medium. For example, Foltest and Adda’s story was adapted as a mystery: what is the monster? Who is the father? Who is the curser? Can the monster be saved? Whereas the book doesn’t do that: you know immediately that the monster is a striga, Foltest is the father, and he wants the striga saved. The answer to who cursed Adda is never clear in the written story either, whereas the show declares it was Ostrit (the book leaves it very much up in the air as to whether it was Ostrit or Adda’s mother). However, the way this particular episode weaves Adda’s story of rebirth with Yennefer’s rebirth was beautifully done. (Foltest is a good dad. We need more good dads in stories; of course, if we had more good dads, we’d have far less stories.) (I’m jesting.) 

The dialogue is at times... well it’s not like it’s The Rise of Skywalker levels of “who wrote this???” but it’s not always stellar. Actually, I’d say the quality tends to swing wildly about between clever (episode 4) and just confusing (episode 5). But in general, I think the dialogue issue is representative of the show’s largest issue: it struggles to know when to trust its audience. When should it give details? When should it trust them? When is it spoonfeeding, and when is it just confusing? It tries to walk a fine line and stumbles a bit. It succeeds, however, with the characters as I mentioned earlier with Yennefer, Geralt, and Ciri. 

My advice for the show going forward (not that they should definitely listen to me) is to forget Game of Thrones. It’s pretty obvious that this show is a passion project made by people who love The Witcher. I really hope they lean into that aspect instead of into the GoT-replacement aspect (because there are definitely aspects of that, particularly in the mood/aesthetic, tone, and gratuitous nudity--which is not exploitative or disturbing, but it also wasn’t necessary, isn’t in the books, and so felt like pandering). 

However, the sheer love for the material still really shines  through. They made me care for the characters, they interested me in the world, and they have me hooked for season 2. The showrunners’ excitement for the story and adoration of its characters is contagious, and I hope the show lets this excitement spread.