#and the bard is called pie which is MY NAME

[kazz-brekker]

HELLO???? you mean to tell me that there is a gay bard/warrior book and one of main characters HAS MY NAME?!?!?!

[nerdallwritey]

Awfully Fond of You

Request: i was wondering if you’d be willing to write a little something for act 1, during the tiefling party for an autistic tav who has a crush on astarion but also has body insecurities + SA trauma, maybe instead of the usual scene that goes down they request to bathe with astarion instead? a tav with poor interoception (sense of awareness with one’s body) who loves to help and touch others but doesn’t quite register others touching them or how they feel about it but still craving intimacy with astarion is something i’m obsessed with (*^^*)*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･* i love your writing style and NEVER request so im super nervous!!  - 🪴 (Link to original request here).

Pairing: Astarion x gn!reader Rating: 18+ - no smut, but mature themes Word Count: 7.7k CW: Very vague alludes to SA trauma, reader is a sweetie pie, Astarion is an idiot as always - No explicit smut this time; this one's mostly fluff! Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.), as well as Astarion's plotline Also posted to: AO3

a/n: Hello folks! I come bearing my very first request fulfillment! As you can tell from the ask, 🪴 anon wanted something very personal and sweet, and I'm incredibly honored that they chose me to see their vision come to life. I did my best to hit every beat they requested, while also staying true to my writing style, which, of course, means there's plenty of banter to be had. Yes, it is a bit similar to An Evening To Ourselves and Perfect Every Time (I swear I was in the middle of writing that one when I received this request), but I'm pleased with how this new remix of Astarion's Act 1 romance scene turned out! And yes, the title IS based on a lyric from everyone's favorite Sesame Street bath time song, "Rubber Duckie." HIT IT, BOYS! (Thank you, as always, to @kermitwazowski for beta reading!) NOTE: This Tav is completely separate from bard!Tav and does not take place in the same universe as Beauty and the Bard. Part 5 of that coming soon! And my request box is open!

Without further ado, 🪴 anon, I hope you like it!

The air in camp was abuzz with laughter and cheer. Booze flowed into goblets and down throats, and smiles graced the faces of nearly every guest currently in attendance of the last minute celebration thrown together by you and your companions.

With the goblins and their leaders defeated in what turned out to be a rather difficult encounter, Halsin and Zevlor had insisted on celebrating with you and your party at your campsite before the tieflings made their way to Baldur’s Gate within the next few days. 

Alfira supplied the evening with a somewhat constant stream of joyful songs, only stopping every so often to enjoy a drink with Lakrissa, while other tieflings danced and mingled with each other, relief and excitement making their shoulders relax as they reached for more goblets of wine. 

You were in the process of making your rounds through the party; you’d shared a drink with Shadowheart, some jokes with Gale and Karlach, a quiet moment with Wyll, and a confusing conversation with Lae’zel about limbs being torn from a neogi? You weren’t entirely sure what those even were, but you had to assume they were a fearsome creature if Lae’zel was bringing it up. 

That only left Astarion.

To be honest, you’d been avoiding him all night. Try as he might to catch your eye whenever you passed by, whether it be with a pointed clearing of his throat or a blatant call of your name, you would zero in on something else, and focus all your attention on that. Even if it meant sitting through an extended conversation with Volo. 

But now, there was nowhere left to go. Unless you opted to avoid him completely. And that would only lead to questions from your companions that you wouldn’t know how to answer.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like him. No. In fact, it was the exact opposite. You liked him a lot. And you weren’t sure what to do about it. 

Astarion was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen and you were… you. You’d been you, your whole life, and knew for a fact that the pair of you were an odd couple. Where he was crass, you were kind. Where he was violent, you opted to talk things through. 

And yet, you couldn’t help but enjoy spending time with him. His bloodlust was fascinating to watch, and you loved sparring both physically and verbally with him. More than once, you’d both saved the other’s ass in a sticky situation during battle. More than once, you’d allowed him to drink from you to ease his sanguine hunger. 

You were pretty sure that at the very least, he considered you a friend, though you weren’t sure he’d ever directly admit that to you. Unlike Gale and Wyll, who often reminded you how much they appreciated your friendship, Astarion was much tougher to read. Yet despite his somewhat malicious name calling and disapproval towards your actions, you couldn’t help but feel that he had a soft spot for you. Even when you were telling him he couldn’t kill a man in cold blood, it seemed like he legitimately enjoyed your company. The thought made you smile softly.

Taking in a deep breath and straightening your posture, you finally willed yourself to approach the vampire.

His eyes lit up in that way they often did when he was preparing to tease you.

“There you are, darling,” he said, dramatically. “I was worried I’d never see you again.”

“Worried I’d leave you, huh?” you teased with a smirk. 

Astarion tsked. “Perish the thought. But I recognize someone avoiding me when I see it.”

“Ah,” you clasped your hands in front of yourself, looking down at the ground, “you noticed that.”

“When I usually have to pry you away from me, yes, I noticed.” He took a swig of the wine he was holding.

You nodded and bobbed back and forth on your toes. “Best for last, I guess?” you shrugged your shoulders and smiled at him, hoping he’d drop the subject.

He hummed lamely. 

“So,” you perked up, “are you enjoying the party? I see you’ve been indulging in the spirits.”

“Watching me, were you?” Astarion smirked and you held up your hands, caught.

“Guilty.”

“You know,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I never pictured myself as a hero.”

You reached out to squeeze his arm. “Don’t say that.”

His eyes met yours, and he gently pulled his arm out of your grasp. He cleared his throat before continuing.

“Never thought I’d be the one they toast for saving so many lives. And now that I’m here…” He closed his eyes and took another swig of his wine. When he brought the bottle away and opened his eyes, he met you with a scowl. “I hate it. This is awful.”

You laughed. “Really? Saving lives is awful?” 

Astarion rolled his eyes. “We killed some goblins to save some tieflings. The tally of lives didn’t change much.”

“You’re awful,” you shook your head affectionately. 

He looked smug before puffing his chest. “And what do I get for all my hard work?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“Nothing but a pat on the head, and vinegar for wine.” 

You pursed your lips and reached for the bottle, brushing your fingers against his own. 

“Let me try,” you said, lifting the bottle to your lips and taking a sip. Your tongue was flooded with the bitter taste of fermented grapes and something else you couldn’t place. Your face scrunched at the flavor and Astarion snorted.

“See what I mean? Awful.”

You handed the bottle back to him, smacking your tongue to get rid of the aftertaste. He took the opportunity to continue speaking.

“All I want is a little fun. Is that so much to ask?”

You let out an amused scoff. “Knowing you, it probably is.”

Astarion lifted a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Oh, don’t be so sour. I like a good time as much as anyone.”

“‘Sour,’” you repeated, pointing at his wine bottle. “Good one.”

He smirked. “You know, we could always make our own entertainment, darling.”

“Oh, really?” You lifted an eyebrow. “And what does that entail?”

“We could get a little closer, so to speak.”

You were suddenly very aware of how close you were standing to Astarion. You took a considerable step backwards and crossed your arms. 

“Sorry, I was really close to you just now, wasn’t I?” You rubbed up and down your bicep awkwardly.

Astarion blinked before his face settled into a seductive smirk. He reached his free hand out to rest on your hip. “On the contrary, my dear. I rather like it when you’re close.”

“Oh, good,” you sighed in relief. You brought your hand down to where Astarion’s rested on your hip. “Sometimes I can’t tell.”

He chuckled, squeezing your hip slightly. “So what do you say?”

“To us getting closer? I don’t mind!” To emphasize your point, you took a step forward and rested your other hand on his shoulder.

Astarion furrowed his brow. Then he chuckled again, gently removing both of your hands from his body. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, let’s wait until things quieten down. Once the others are asleep, we’ll find each other.”

“Okay, now I’m really interested in what kind of entertainment you have planned.” You smirked at him, sensing a shift in his tone, but unsure of what it meant. “Don’t tell me you’re a master of shadow puppets or something.”

He smiled skeptically. “Very funny,” he said slowly. “But I trust you’ll meet me?”

You giggled. “Yes, I’ll see you later, Astarion.” 

“Indeed you will, my love. Indeed you will.” Rather than bid you a proper goodbye, Astarion brought the wine bottle to his lips once more and turned away from you. 

You spun on your heel and made your way back to the party. 

This was fine. Good, even! Spending time one-on-one with Astarion was probably exactly what you needed if you wanted to navigate this silly crush you’d developed. Sure, he’d just called you “my love,” and that was a new one, but it wasn’t that much different from the other pet names he threw at you and your companions. You didn’t need this foolish infatuation distracting you on your journey or, gods forbid, diverting your attention during battle. No, this would be the perfect time to remind yourself and your fluttering heart that Astarion was, first and foremost, your friend, and a person. It didn’t need to be anything more than that. 

Your feet carried you not too far from Astarion’s tent and landed you at Karlach’s tent, the tiefling in question currently lying on her back, looking up at the stars.

“Hey, Hot Stuff,” you said, standing over her. 

“Soldier!” she grinned, her eyes a bit fuzzy from the wine. 

“This seat taken?” You kicked your foot over some dirt to her left. 

“All yours,” she said, sitting up to join you. 

You settled down next to her and watched the party still taking place at the center of camp. It sounded like Gale and Lae’zel were having some sort of heated argument over which main courses were best to prepare for battle, while Halsin awkwardly weaved between them to gather a plate of food for himself.

“Saw you chatting up Fangs just now,” Karlach playfully air-elbowed you, careful not to accidentally touch and scorch you. “Did he have anything good to say?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” you shrugged. “He was an ass to me, I was an ass to him, the usual.”

Karlach nodded. “Sounds about right.”

You both sat in pleasant silence for a moment before you laughed a little. “It’s funny, he actually asked me to spend time with him tonight, after the party.”

Karlach furrowed her brow. “After the party? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” you shook your head, “he said we could ‘make our own entertainment.’” You made air quotes when you repeated his words. “I figure he wants to read together or something. It was just weird how he phrased it.”

She sat up a little straighter, her expression growing more serious. “Hang on, what were his words, exactly?”

You leaned back a little, confused by her sudden interest in your mundane conversation with the vampire. “Um… I don’t know. He said he didn’t like being a hero, I told him not to say that, he said he wanted more than a pat on the head and bad wine, I tried the wine and it was bad, he said he wanted a little fun, ‘is that so much to ask?’ and I said ‘knowing you, it probably is,’ and then he said we could make our own entertainment. Or something like that.”

“Huh.” Karlach thought for a moment. “I think he means to bone you, Soldier.”

You sputtered out a laugh. “What?! No he doesn’t!”

“He sooooo does!” Karlach barked out a laugh. “And good for you! I know I’d ride him to the Feywild and back if I had the chance.”

“He does not,” you said again, trying to convince yourself as much as you were trying to convince Karlach. 

But you faltered. 

“Does he?”

“Soldier,” Karlach lowered her head at you, giving you an incredulous look, “he was absolutely asking you to get nasty with him.” 

“Are you serious?”

“Yes!” she threw her hands up in the air. “We all see the way you look at each other! You practically undress one another with your eyes every time you see each other!”

“No we don’t!” you argued, but shrank back when Karlach raised an eyebrow at you. 

“You do. You know you do.” 

“Am I that obvious?” you asked, lifting your hands to your cheeks as you felt them heating up. 

Karlach started counting on her fingers. “He’s always the first one you check on after a battle, you’re always walking next to him when we’re traveling, AND you let him drink your blood. Weirdly often. Which is gross.”

“I like helping him,” you countered weakly. “And I always check on you guys, too!”

“Of course you do, Soldier, but we can all see how you two treat each other differently.”

You peered over at Astarion’s tent. He lounged comfortably amongst his pillows, a book propped open in his lap and his bottle of wine was not too far off. 

How could he be so casual and relaxed about all of this? The thought of talking to him later tonight made your stomach drop.

“What if I turn him down?” you asked softly, leaning forward to hug your knees.

Karlach’s expression softened. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” She reached out a hand, but retracted it. “If I could, I’d rub your back like my mum used to do when I was a kid.”

You smiled over at her. “Thanks.”

She nodded. “If you don’t want to sleep with the leech, that’s your choice. Don’t let him talk you into it if it’s not what you want.”

“I’m not entirely sure what I want,” you admitted, looking up at the familiar stars above.

Karlach sighed. “Well, you don’t have to decide anything tonight.” She nodded her head towards his tent. “In fact, I could go beat the shit out of him, if you’d like.”

You laughed. “Not necessary. But I appreciate the offer.”

“I’ll do it.”

“I know you will,” you smiled and settled your cheek on top of your knee. “I do really like him,” you confessed.

Karlach thought for a moment. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the problem?” She cocked her head curiously.

You sighed. “Sex isn’t really something… I have a great relationship with.”

“Ah,” Karlach nodded. “Same,” she joked, flaring her flames a little for good measure.

You snickered quietly. “I won’t get into it, but… yeah. No thanks. For now, at least.”

“Say no more,” she held up her hand and turned to observe Astarion at his tent. “You could always just see what he has to say? Maybe he just wants to show you he’s a master at shadow puppets or something.”

“That’s what I said!” you laughed, and Karlach joined in.

When you’d both settled, she spoke again. “But seriously, Soldier. Astarion may be a freaky vampiric bastard, but I don’t think he’d hurt you.”

“I don’t think he would either.”

“He knows we’d kill him.”

“I’m sure you’d all take turns sending him to the hells.”

“You bet your sweet ass we would,” she brought her fist to her hand as if preparing to punch this hypothetical Astarion. 

After another quiet moment, she spoke again. “You don’t have to go with him tonight. Or, I could come with you, if you want. As backup.”

“Thanks,” you said, “but I think I need to have this conversation with him alone.”

“Of course.”

You looked back over at Astarion’s tent. He was now standing and stretching his arms over his head. When he caught you watching him, he smirked and threw a wink in your direction. You quickly snapped your head forward, back towards the center of the party. Groaning, you brought your hands up to cover your face.

“What am I gonna do?”

~~~~~

Staring into the trees ahead of you, you remained frozen in place. 

The party had died down and dispersed about an hour ago, giving you and your companions plenty of time to perform a quick cleanup and head to bed. And just as Astarion had said, once a peaceful quiet had enveloped the camp, he’d come to your tent and wordlessly motioned for you to follow him. 

Now you were wringing your hands, trying to convince yourself to follow after him into the forest.

Karlach was right: you didn’t have to do anything you didn’t want to do. And Astarion was a reasonable guy. 

To a degree.

Okay, no he wasn’t. 

He was always prepared to kill someone who wronged him in an instant. But surely he’d be reasonable in this department. Your gut told you that that was true. And if it wasn’t, you’d sicc Karlach and the others on him. 

You knew it wouldn’t come to that, though. You felt strongly that he was the type who wouldn’t react rashly to a rejection. 

Before you’d even made up your mind to do so, you found yourself walking into the trees, following the general direction you’d seen Astarion head off towards. The least you could do was hear him out. And who knew, maybe this would be a funny anecdote in your friendship later on down the line. Only time would tell.

It took a few minutes of mindless wandering before you reached a clearing. You kept going, prepared to keep walking until you eventually found Astarion, when you spotted him emerging from behind a tree in your peripheral. 

You screeched to a halt and turned to face him, growing stiff with nerves when you realized he was shirtless. 

“There you are,” he said, his hand lingering on the tree behind him. “I’ve been waiting.” 

He approached you slowly. 

Seductively. 

You stood completely still.

He continued, “Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you.”

You swallowed thickly.

He moved even closer. “Waiting to have you.”

“About that,” you said, struggling to keep your voice steady, “what exactly do you mean?”

Astarion’s sensual expression morphed into one of confusion. Then he laughed a little. “Isn’t it obvious? Tonight is about pleasure.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” you muttered.

While you were pretty sure he heard you, Astarion pressed on anyway. 

“Yours. Mine. Our collective ecstasy.”

“Astarion,” you said quickly, surging forward to grab his hands in yours, “please.”

He looked surprised, but quickly recovered with an alluring smirk. “Please what, darling?”

“We don’t have to.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes skeptically. “Don’t have to what?”

You groaned and leaned your head forward to rest on his bare shoulder. After a second you lifted your face back up to look at him. “We don’t have to sleep together.”

This time, Astarion looked stunned. “Then… what are you doing here?” 

You shrugged. “I thought we could talk.”

Astarion pulled away from you and took a step back. “‘Talk?’ I thought we had an understanding?”

“See, that’s the thing,” you said, “I did not understand.”

“Hmm,” he hummed and tilted his head in disbelief.

“I’m serious,” you said, stepping closer to him again. “I thought you wanted to spend time together.”

“Oh, but I do,” his lips quirked up mischievously. “I mean to spend the entire night with you, my dear.”

“And while that sounds great, I think you and I are having different thoughts about how to spend that time.” You held his gaze, willing him to hear you.

He humphed. “So you don’t want to have sex with me?”

“Not right now, no.”

He sputtered his lips together and threw his arms up. “And what does that mean?”

“It means… It means I don’t want to have sex right now. At all.” You watched his face scrunch in incredulity. “It has nothing to do with you!” you clarified, grabbing one of his hands again. “Believe me, this is all me.”

Astarion looked you up and down, scanning your body language. You still held his hand and leaned into him ever so slightly. 

“What’s this then?” he asked, placing his free hand over the hand holding his.

You pulled away from him completely. “Sorry,” you said, “I end up touching the people I like. I don’t realize I’m doing it.”

He narrowed his eyes, putting the pieces together in his head. 

“You like me.”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t want to sleep with me.”

“Yes.”

“So… what? You want to be friends or something?” He made a sour expression.

You laughed softly. “I’d like to think we’re already friends, actually.”

“And why would you think that?” Astarion asked, but you saw in his eyes that he was teasing.

You smiled lightly. “Maybe because you won’t stop following me around Faerûn?”

“Well, it’s not like I-”

“Or maybe because you’ve had a taste of my blood and now you can’t get enough?”

“Okay, that’s-”

“Or maybe because Karlach said you treat me differently than you treat everyone else.”

“She did not!” Astarion sounded genuinely scandalized and you laughed.

“Face it, pretty boy, you like me, too.”

Astarion groaned and rolled his eyes. “This is not at all going how I planned.”

You pursed your lips and wrapped your arms around yourself again. “Sorry.”

He glanced back at you and saw you staring at the ground. He sighed. 

“No, I’m sorry, darling.”

You met his eyes. He stepped closer and placed his hands on your cheeks. Instinctively, you leaned into his touch. 

“I assumed you wanted the same thing as me, and I was wrong.”

“It’s okay,” you assured. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Still,” he said, his thumb caressing the apple of your cheek, “I misread your touches as advances rather than…” He searched for the proper words. “One of your quirks.”

You exhaled, amused. “You didn’t entirely misread me.”

“Pardon?”

“I do like you. A lot. And if things were different, maybe I would sleep with you, but…”

Astarion pulled away from you and held up a hand. “No explanation needed, darling.” He smirked. “But it's good to know how you feel.”

You felt your cheeks go red. “Yeah,” you said, suddenly shy.

Astarion clicked his tongue. “You’re so adorable when you’re thinking of what to say.”

You shook your head and patted your cheeks. “I have another idea,” you said.

He nodded for you to continue and crossed his arms.

“Um… if it’s alright with you, I…” You paused, not exactly sure how he’d react. 

“What is it, darling?”

“I’d like to… bathe you.”

Astarion uncrossed his arms and looked rather dumbfounded.

“What?”

Your words came out clumsily and a little too fast: “Or not! I don’t know, I just like you so much, and I’d like to be closer to you but I don’t want to have sex with you so I thought maybe we could get closer another way, or maybe-”

“Okay,” Astarion interrupted.

“Huh?”

He moved closer to you and brushed some hair out of your face.

“Okay,” he repeated softly. “Let’s bathe together.”

“Oh,” you said, disbelief painting your features. 

Astarion laughed. “Did you assume I’d say no?”

You shrugged as a smile grew on your face. “I don’t know what I expected,” you reached for his hand, “but I’m really glad you said yes.”

~~~~~

The walk back to camp was pleasantly silent, save for the crickets singing their nightly aria. Astarion kept pace with you, the back of your hands brushing every so often, each time sending a tiny shock wave through your body. 

This was happening. You were going to have a private, intimate moment with Astarion. Even if it hadn’t been what he originally intended, you were happy to think of a compromise that still allowed you to get close to him in a way that you knew the others in camp hadn’t, and probably wouldn’t. It made you feel special.

Happy.

And nervous. 

Nervous as all hells, to be honest. You felt your heart speeding up with every step you took, bringing you closer to camp.

“Something wrong, darling?” Astarion asked, giving you a sideways glance.

You jumped a little when his voice broke the silence. “Huh?”

“Your heart, love. It’s pounding.” He waggled his eyebrows teasingly. “Nervous?”

“Oh, that.” You held a hand to your chest and focused on slowing your breathing. When you turned to look at him, you asked, “Is that weird?”

“Seeing as how this was your suggestion, maybe a little.” He smiled and nudged his shoulder into yours.

You groaned. “If this is too weird, let’s just not.”

Astarion halted and grabbed your wrist to stop you. He spun you to look into his eyes. “Whatever’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, darling, cut it out.”

“Oh, okay great. Done.”

“Really?”

“No, not really!” You narrowed your eyes at him.

He sighed. “Never is that easy, is it?”

It was a rhetorical question, but you shook your head anyway. 

“Well, whatever’s making you nervous, I’ll strive to steer clear of it.”

He looked at you expectantly, as if he wanted some sort of explanation. You avoided his eyes and moved to continue walking towards camp. He followed close behind.

“It’s just that…” you paused, trying to collect your thoughts. “I haven’t been… naked in front of someone. For a while.”

Astarion bit his lip, mirth in his eyes.

“Don’t laugh!” you exclaimed, mortified.

“No, no, darling!” His tone was gleeful. “Apologies. It’s just that that’s what’s making you nervous? I’ll have you know that you’re one of the more beautiful creatures who I’ve attempted to bed. You have nothing to fear. I’ve seen all manner of bodies and I can assure you, yours will be nothing short of exquisite. In fact, your shyness is rather endearing.” He smiled at you, looking like he might still be withholding a laugh.

You flattened your lips into a line. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.” You began walking ahead of him but stopped when you heard him call your name.

“I may be a rake and a thief, but I’m no liar.”

You blinked at him. “Yes you are! You lie all the time!”

“Okay, yes, sure, but I don’t lie about things that matter! Things like this!” He motioned up and down, indicating your body.

Just as he did so, the two of you emerged from the trees and into camp. You held a finger to your lips and indicated for him to be quiet. He nodded and padded after you as you crept quietly towards the shore of the lake that lapped quietly next to your sleeping campsite. You bent to pick up towels, along with the bucket that held soap and other washing supplies that you and your companions shared in an effort to stay clean on the road. You held them up and motioned for Astarion to follow you again, away from where Withers stoically kept watch, and more towards where you’d spoken with Wyll earlier in the evening. When you turned to face Astarion, his eyes were full of questions.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” you asked.

He perked up and grinned. “My love, there is nothing I’d like more.”

You searched his eyes one more time to make sure he was serious. When you were satisfied with what you saw, you motioned for him to step into the lake. 

“Ladies first,” you teased, looking anywhere but at Astarion.

He, in turn, looked down his nose at you. “I know what this is,” he said, pointing a lazy finger at you.

“What’s what?”

“You’re stalling, darling.”

“I am not!”

Astarion crossed his arms and tilted his head towards you, unimpressed.

Your posture fell into a slouch. “Okay fine, maybe I am stalling.”

“Really?” Astarion said dramatically before dropping his arms to his sides again. He approached you, close enough to where you could feel his cool breath on your face. 

He placed both of his hands on your hips. You looked down to watch as his fingers drummed a calming rhythm into your sides. He whistled quietly, gaining your attention. 

“Let’s start here,” he suggested, now fingering the hem of your shirt. He refused to let you look away. 

You nodded.

“Good,” he purred as you raised your arms and helped him take off your shirt. 

The cool air of the evening immediately sent goosebumps down your arms, and you unconsciously crossed them over your chest for warmth.

Astarion tsked. “Come now,” he protested and placed two gentle hands on your wrists, guiding them to your sides. “Lovely,” he praised once he was able to look at you. 

You made an uncomfortable sound before placing your hands on your waistband. 

“These probably need to come off next, right?”

“Typically that’s how one bathes themself, yes.”

“Right,” you agreed, watching as Astarion mirrored you and reached for his own waistband. You looked down at your legs as you removed your pants, leaving you in only your underwear. 

“Goodness, love,” Astarion said quietly and you looked at him shyly. He himself was now only in his underwear. “You have nothing to be shy about. You’re magnificent.”

“Would you shush and get into the water please?” you half teased, half begged. Anything  to end this weird tension you were feeling. 

“Alright,” he laughed softly before reaching for the waistband of his underwear. He looked at you for approval. When you nodded, he removed them in one fluid motion as if he’d done this a million times. Maybe he had.

Regardless, you couldn’t help but stare at the space between his legs.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Eyes up here.”

“Sorry,” you said, immediately flicking your eyes up to his face. “I didn’t- It’s just-”

Astarion chuckled. “I understand.”

“Thank you,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief. 

“Your turn,” he said, lifting his eyebrows.

You bit your lip and slowly reached for your underwear. When you pulled them off, Astarion watched you without a hint of judgment in his eyes. You ran a hand through your hair and shifted nervously on your feet. 

He held out a hand to you and you stared at it before looking up at his face. He rolled his eyes.

“I’m not going in this frigid water alone, are you mad?”

You laughed and took his hand. He instantly pulled your body to his, holding you so that you were chest to chest. He gave you a seductive smirk before leaning in. You leaned away, avoiding his advances. You shook your head ever so slightly before stepping into the gentle water. Astarion remained standing on the shore before following after you. 

Braving the cold of the water, you sunk down until you were sitting in neck deep water. You let the bucket you’d brought with you float next to you as Astarion crept through the water, clearly freezing. 

“Why did I let you convince me to bathe at night? There’s no sun out to warm this wretched lake.”

You ducked your mouth below the surface to blow some bubbles in his direction. “You should know by now that dunking your whole body helps you warm up faster.”

He gave you a dirty look before slowly sinking down in front of you, yelping and contorting his face the entire time. You couldn’t help but squawk out a laugh. 

When he was fully seated, he pulled you towards him, making you sit in his lap. He gave you a sensual look that had you frowning and pulling back. He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“When I said I wanted to bathe you, that’s all I meant.”

“Ah.” His tone was confused. Then he shook his head. “Right, sorry. This is - well… you know.” He smiled, looking like he was admitting defeat and that he wasn’t pleased about it. “I have no idea what to do with you.”

You swam behind him, pulling the bucket of soap towards you and laying your hands on both of his shoulders. “You don’t have to do anything.”

He spun to face you. “Nothing?”

You nodded and he huffed out a laugh. “No sex, no fooling around…I’m sorry, darling. It’s just - having to slow down, it’s… I’m just not used to it.” 

“That’s okay,” you rested your hands on his shoulders again. “We’re in no rush.”

He hummed. “Can you… I don’t know. Help? Show me what to do?”

Laughing, you took his hand. “I’ll try.”

You led your weightless bodies into shallower water and had Astarion sit facing away from you, towards the shore. Reaching for the bucket again, you pulled out a bar of soap and a sponge. 

“Relax,” you cooed, seeing how tensely he held his shoulders close to his ears. 

He let loose a breath and you watched as he relaxed his muscles. Your eyes traveled lower, suddenly catching a glimpse of a complicated and gruesome scar on his back. Your eyes widened, taking in how the water and moonlight reflected off of it. Calmly, you dipped the sponge in the water and added soap before gently rubbing his right shoulder. Astarion melted further, allowing his neck to tilt forward, which, in turn, gave you a better view of his scarred flesh.

“Um… Is it okay for me to wash your back?” you hesitated in bringing the sponge across his shoulder and over his back to his other shoulder.

“Why wouldn’t - oh. I suppose you’re talking about the poem.” He barely looked over his shoulder at you.

“I’ve never seen a poem like this,” you said quietly, a hint of anger in your voice.

He chuckled darkly in response. “It’s a gift from my old master, Cazador. He considered himself quite the artist and used his slaves as a canvas. Do you like it, darling?” He shimmied his shoulders, mockingly preening over the evidence of his own torment.

“Not at all,” you said evenly, continuing to wash his shoulders. 

“Ouch, love, you’d hurt his feelings if he heard that.” Not a hint of joy reached his eyes.

“I don’t much care about the feelings of this old master of yours.”

“Oh, be still, my undead heart,” he held a hand to his chest sarcastically. Then he sighed. “You’re allowed to wash it. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” His voice was quiet when he said, “Thank you for asking.”

Wordlessly, you moved the sponge from the back of his neck to his shoulder blades. 

“I’m not going to break,” he laughed softly, “you don’t have to be so gentle.”

You increased the pressure you were applying to his skin before adding more soap to the sponge. “Move up a little,” you instructed, tapping him to move closer to the shore. “Lean forward.”

Now you had a better angle to wash away the grime of the road from his back, and an even better view of the scar. You clicked your tongue and set to work. 

Perhaps uncomfortable by your silence, Astarion began to speak again. “He, Cazador, composed and carved that poem over the course of a night.” There was a venom to his words. Maybe a deep regret, or a weighing sadness. “He made a lot of revisions as he went.”

Your hand paused over a particularly brutal ridge. You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around his torso, resting your cheek against the raised tissue. “You’re brave for enduring that.”

“What are you doing?” Astarion straightened, making you push your cheek further into his skin. 

You pulled back immediately. “Sorry, I wanted to hug you. I should have asked. I just… wanted you to know that I care.”

Astarion looked over his shoulder at you blankly. “You ‘care?’”

You nodded. “Turn back around, let me keep washing you.”

He gave you a slight nod before facing forward again and leaning over. 

After another silent moment of gliding the sponge across his back, you asked, “Any idea what it means? Or is it just some pattern?”

Astarion let out an unamused laugh. “Hells if I know. Not sure how much you know about vampires, darling, but typically, we can’t see our reflections.” He spoke as if talking to a child. 

You splashed his back with a small wave from your hand. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“You’re lashing out at me when I was just asking a question.”

“I-” He paused. Then he fell silent.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped but… I’m not your enemy,” you said gently. “We don’t have to keep talking about this. We don’t have to talk at all.”

Astarion groaned. “Silence is dreadful, darling.”

“Is that why you never stop talking?” you teased, trying to lighten the mood again.

“Good one,” he said flatly, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “I only talk because you lot never have anything interesting to say.”

You scoffed with a smile. “I have plenty of interesting things to say!”

“Oh, really? Like what?”

“Like-” you thought for a moment. “Like the other day! When I was talking with you about your embroidery!” By now you’d moved on to washing over Astarion’s arms. You spun him to face you so you could wash and massage his hands. 

Astarion clicked his tongue. “Unfortunately, darling, that’s not an entirely interesting topic, seeing as how I was in the middle of mending a shirt and you just wanted an excuse to talk to me.”

“I did not!” you denied, massaging between his fingers. Unconsciously, his fingers curled around yours before retracting and flexing. 

“Deny all you want, you still didn’t say anything interesting.”

“Hmm,” you narrowed your eyes at him. “If I’m so uninteresting, why did you want to spend the evening with me of all people?” You were massaging his other hand. 

“You-” He paused again.

“I?”

“You’re… I’m still trying to figure you out.” His voice grew softer when you pulled yourself closer to wash across his chest. You sensed the shift and looked up at his face to make sure he was okay with your actions. When he nodded minutely, you continued. 

“If you’re trying to figure me out… one might say that you’re interested in me.”

He groaned. “Say whatever you want to help you sleep better tonight, darling.”

“Uh huh,” you said pleasantly to yourself, feeling like you’d won. You looked away to add more soap to the sponge and when you looked back, you realized how close you were to his face. His pupils were blown wider than usual and you could see yourself reflected in his eyes against the moonlight. His breath tickled your face. 

He watched you with an intensity that had you hesitating. Why was he so-?

“Look up,” you said, looking up yourself to demonstrate what you wanted. “Please.”

He held your gaze for as long as he could before looking up at the sky. 

You carefully brushed the sponge along his throat, pausing briefly when you got to the twin wounds on his throat from the night he was turned. You circled them gently with the sponge before rinsing the suds with water cupped in your hand. A shiver ran through Astarion’s body.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said looking back down at you once you’d finished rinsing the suds away. “But I’d very much like to kiss you.”

You blinked a few times before resting your forehead against his. When you pulled back, you asked, “Is it okay for me to wash your hair?”

Astarion looked at you for a moment, his eyes flicking to your lips for a second before meeting your eyes again. “I suppose so,” he said.

“I don’t have to. Your legs are still-”

“I can handle my own lower half, thank you.” He winked at you.

You smiled and handed him the sponge before bringing yourself to rest behind him again. You gathered the bucket that was still floating nearby and submerged it until it was filled about halfway with water.

“You can either dunk yourself, or I can pour this over your head,” you held the bucket for Astarion to see.

“I’m actually quite enjoying you taking care of me, darling. I trust you won’t drown me.”

“A mistake,” you said, pretending to dump the bucket over his head all at once. “Can vampires even drown? It’s not like you need to breathe.”

“I’d rather not find out, if it’s all the same to you,” he smirked. 

Instead of dumping the entire bucket on his head like you threatened, you poured a gentle stream along the back of his skull before moving forward to evenly wet the rest of his hair. 

“Bloody hells, that is cold,” he pushed some flattened curls out of his face.

“For being a fearsome vampire, you sure are a wimp,” you teased. 

“I could rip your throat out.”

“And I might be able to drown you.” You placed firm hands on both his shoulders and pushed gently, as if you wanted to test your theory. 

“Terrifying,” he smirked, running the sponge along his legs underwater.

“You should see what I did to those goblins who were holding Halsin hostage.”

Astarion laughed. “I know, darling, I was there. Who knew you could be so hellbent on vengeance?”

You laughed softly, coating your hands in soap before running them through his curls. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Like?” he prompted.

“Astarion!” you exclaimed sarcastically. “You want to know more about me?”

“Well if I knew you’d make a fuss, I wouldn’t have said anything.” Despite his tone, his eyes were closed in pleasure as you continued to massage his scalp. 

You chuckled quietly, trying to think of something to share with him. 

“I’ve lived in Baldur’s Gate my whole life,” you started.

“A shame we never crossed paths.”

“I’m not entirely sure you’d spare me a passing glance.”

Astarion opened his eyes. “Don’t say that.”

You shrugged. “I read a lot, growing up, and liked being indoors. But I also liked the outdoors. I helped my dad tend our garden, and helped my mom cook dinner–”

“How quaint.”

“We’d visit my aunt in the Upper City every Midwinter, and I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up.” 

“Pity, you have such a promising career as a spa keeper.”

You examined Astarion’s head to make sure you hadn’t missed a spot. When you were pleased with your own work, you continued: “This is the first big adventure I’ve ever been on.”

“First brain worm?” Astarion opened one eye and pointed to his temple.

You laughed and nodded. 

He smiled. “Mine, too.”

You filled the bucket with more water and held a hand over his forehead to keep soapy water from splashing into his eyes when you poured the fresh water over his foamy locks. 

Astarion sighed as the soap began to wash away. You filled the bucket again to repeat the process. 

“Did you ever foresee yourself bathing a beautiful vampire, when you were a child?”

You pursed your lips. “I mean, I had my hopes.” You smiled as he let out a laugh. 

“Tonight definitely didn’t go how I expected,” he admitted.

“You didn’t foresee yourself getting bathed by your incredibly interesting leader?”

He let out an amused breath from his nose. “No I did not.”

You finished rinsing out the last of the soap from his hair, but continued raking your fingers through it. “Are you disappointed?” Your voice was small.

He turned to face you, making your hands disconnect from his curls. “Not at all,” he said, sounding genuine. “Pleasantly surprised, actually.” He thought for a moment. “And cleaner than I’ve been in weeks. Probably.”

You laughed. “Happy to have provided my services.”

He smiled at you, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. “This was nice.” He lifted his hand to swipe through his hair. “Let’s hope you didn’t ruin my hair.”

“With soap and water?”

“You might have done it wrong,” he teased.

“How? It’s soap and water!”

“Not so loud,” he chuckled, nodding his head towards camp. You could vaguely hear Gale snoring in the distance. 

“I’m leaving,” you joked, moving to get up, but Astarion grabbed your wrist and pulled you back into the water.

“Am I not to return the favor?”

You looked back at him and half smiled, patting his cheek. “I’m not convinced you’d do a thorough enough job.” With that, you pushed away from him and got up, gathering the bathing materials and walking back to shore where towels awaited. 

Astarion sputtered behind you. “How dare you! I could give you a massage, the likes of which you’ve never experienced before!”

“You know, sometimes, Astarion, people do things for other people, and don’t want anything in return.” You threw the towel over your head to start drying your hair before wrapping it around your body. 

Astarion did the same before bending to pick up your discarded clothes. “I- Well… You-” He sighed heavily. “You’re a tricky one, aren’t you?”

“I’m not trying to be,” you shrugged.

“And yet,” he sidled up next to you, offering you his arm, “you are.” 

You took his arm in one hand and the bucket of washing supplies in the other and followed him as he led you back into camp. You placed the materials back where you found them and brought your newly freed hand up to wrap around Astarion’s arm. You leaned your head onto his shoulder. 

When you arrived at your tent, he handed you your clothes. 

“I suppose this is where we end our evening,” he said quietly so as not to wake the others.

“I suppose so,” you agreed, your eyes shining as you looked at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Thank you for letting me do that,” you said, still holding his arm. “I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.”

“I did,” he said. “Very much, actually.” When he saw the excited look on your face, he amended, “Don’t be weird.”

“I’m not weird,” you said, weirdly.

“Uh huh,” Astarion said, pulling his arm out of your grip, not unkindly.

“We can do it again,” you bobbed on your feet, “if you want.”

“I… could be persuaded,” he nodded.

“Good,” you said. Then you surged forward to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. Goodnight Astarion.” You turned and ducked down into your tent.

“Pleasant dreams, darling,” he said softly. 

You didn’t see how his hand lingered on his cheek where your lips had made contact, didn’t see the small smile that crept onto his face or the mask beginning to slip. 

Instead, you had pleasant dreams filled with laughs and curls and a flash of fangs accompanied by a smile of delight. 

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Geralt realising how pissed you are after running into you again…

It was another busy day where knights, men and women of all corners came in to rest their battle-weary feet and drink mead. There would be the occasional brawl but they were nothing when you compared it to battling a cursed wyvern with a blindfold.

You exited the back room having just refilled the pitcher of cool mead when a familiar grunt caught your attention. Just behind a rowdy table of farmers, in the corner, sat the Witcher - Geralt of Rivia - and a bard who was far too chipper while sober.

Inching a little closer, you busied yourself with empty flagons while remaining within earshot of the pair.

“Come on - it’s not a bad lyric. Ah, what do you know? You can wield a sword but not understand the complex meaning behind a beautiful string of words.” The bard said.

Geralt scoffed. “It wasn’t complex.”

An old man slid a few coins across the table for the service which you pocketed and then moved on to the next.

“We can’t stay long.” Geralt told his companion. You glanced back briefly and saw the brightly dressed man staring into his coin satchel, concerned.

“I could swear there was more silver in here. Geralt, I think I’ve been indecently swindled.”

You wanted to confirm that the man could easily have fallen prey to the notorious pick-pockets that haunt the tavern but you stayed silent, now distracted by a customer who ordered some pies.

“Don’t forget the carrots this time.” He reminded.

You wanted to tell him where to shove his carrots but heard your name being shouted from across the floor.

“Y/n, I need a word!” It was the tavern owner who enjoyed paying you less than what you were owed. With a sigh, you trudged over to him away from most prying ears. “You’ve been waiting on those tables long enough. Deliver those pies and refill goblets on the double or I’ll show you out the door.”

You had half a mind to bite back but chose to hold the words at bay. In ten minutes, the pie was ready to be collected from the kitchens. As you walked it to the table, you made the decision to confront Geralt but upon approaching his table, found that the Witcher and his bard had vanished, leaving behind some coins for the hospitality.

Geralt would have heard your name being bellowed. He would have seen you answer the call. And yet, he still left?

Typical!

The farmer who had ordered the food found his plate empty as you swerved around his chair and rushed out the wooden door. Turning left, you followed the small path down to where riders often tied their horses, your own being one of them - spotting the familiar silver hair and lute of the bard.

Words appeared to have failed and rational thoughts had abandoned your mind the second you fled.

Your hand flipped the pie out of its casing and with one, well-aimed throw, found its mark. The bard screamed and the Witcher stopped in his tracks instantly stilling for a few seconds.

Then he turned, his jaw clenched. “Did you throw a meat pie at my head?”

You tossed the empty pan over your shoulder. “You bet I did and I’ll do it again.”

The bard at Geralt’s side grabbed his guitar and hid behind the broad-shouldered man fearing that he would be next. “Oh, they’re pissed. What did you do?”

Geralt exhaled as he pulled stray bits of pastry out of his locks. “I’m not sure…”

“Not sure? You fucking ignored me in the tavern! Friends for years and it doesn’t warrant a simple ‘hello’?” You yelled.

Jaskier peered out from behind, “Oh, he’s always like that. We’ve been friends for several weeks and he pretends to hardly know me - such a jest.” He chuckled to himself quite fondly.

Ignoring the brightly coloured song man, Geralt addressed you, now free from the discarded food. He had indeed acknowledged the your presence the minute he set foot in the tavern but found himself reliving old memories instead - some good, others painful.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me after that business with the striga.”

“The striga?” You repeated, remembering the event he was referring to where he had taken claim over the beasts defeat instead of giving you proper recognition. “That was over a year ago, I was bitter for perhaps a few weeks but no more. But you wouldn’t know that because you ran off with Roach.”

“I didn’t run off - I just - you were injured and I had no reason to hang around while you healed.” The Witcher explained. “In hindsight, I probably should have checked in.”

You nodded vehemently. “And since you didn’t, you’re very deserving of that meat pie.”

“The pie was mean.” Geralt frowned.

“Oh a tale of a strained but beautiful friendship filled with battles and miscommunication - you must regale me with the details.” Jaskier grinned.

You would gladly do so if your old friend would have your company once more. Raising a brow at Geralt, you posed the silent question.

“Don’t you have a job?” Geralt asked.

You squinted in return. “I abandoned my post and stole a pie. I’m surely fired.”

“Fine - but only until the next village.” The Witcher negotiated, knowing full well that his friend would likely be staying for a longer time. He grabbed the reins and pulled himself up on his horse with a small grunt.

You shared a similar grin to the bard and sent a high whistle into the air to call forth your own steed for the journey ahead.

When the horse approached, you took hold of the reins and walked alongside Jaskier.

“While we’re on the topic, I’ll tell you about the time when Geralt fought an ifrit almost fully naked.” You winked and caught the eye roll on your friends face.

Jaskier pulled his guitar to the front and strummed a few strings to start a catchy tune. “Oh, I’m ready for this.”

~ More imagines here ~

[cirqqq]

written for today's lucemond prompt: who did this to you?

kinda like a lucemond retelling of the tale ‘Bael the Bard’. ⚠️mild implications of abo, mpreg & major character death.

“Old Nan, tell me another! The one with the prince that disappeared.”

“Haven’t you heard that a thousand times, little master? But I will tell it again if you so insist.” Old Nan was too old to remember how many namedays she had lived past. Some say she used to be the late queen Rhaenyra’s lady-in-waiting – but how did a queen’s companion end up a servant in Driftmark? Luke did not know and couldn’t care to know. He is a boy of seven after all, and Old Nan’s bed tales are all it takes to suffice his curious appetite.

A long, long time ago, there lived a dragon queen. All beauty and glamour, people in the Seven Kingdoms praised her as the Realm’s Delight. The queen had five sons, all inherited their mother’s unworldly beauty and grace. But it was her second son that stood the most beautiful among all his brothers, a delicate and exquisite creature. His name’s also Lucerys, just like you, young lord. Luke blinked. Lucerys is a very common Velaryon name, countless Driftmark lords were called that.

“He’s also an omega male, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, my lord remembered the tale well.” It is, indeed, a story that Luke had heard many, many times. “A very rare atavism, tracing back to the ancient Valyrian people, and the prince was of pure Valyrian blood.”

“I’m of Valyrian blood. Did he look like me?”

“No. I’m afraid not.” Old Nan gently caressed his silver hair, her answer firm and quick, as if she herself had met this prince from the legend. “Sadly, the prince did not possess the coloring, which has brought him endless pain and sorrow. But that’s another story.”

The queen loved Lucerys dearly, his brothers fought with knights, and to each other, to crown him the queen of love and beauty. Showered in love the prince flowered, and marriage proposals from the noble houses over the Seven Kingdoms and across the Narrow Sea continuously flushed to the queen for the prince’s hand. The Queen declined them all, including her stepmother, the Dowager Queen, who proposed for her sons. For in the queen’s eyes, no one was worthy to be her precious son’s consort, ‘gods or mortals, I would give the same answer.’ she was heard saying once, joking.

In the end, the queen still betrothed Prince Luke to one man. Or had to, before her refusals to the prince’s suitors transforming to a political menace. The lucky man was none other than the dragon queen’s own son and heir.

“Did they marry grandiosely?”

“Yes. And no. The wedding could not complete as Lucerys vanished out of thin air just when pigeons flew out from the wedding pie. I’ve never seen a pie that huge and so exquisitely made. Such a shame no one got a taste of it.” That’s Old Nan lost in her stories again, saying something like she was there when it happened.

Prince Luke disappeared, under the plain eyes of hundreds of thousands. The queen had gone into madness when she realized this was not some overstepping prank. Every day, orders and bounties were issued by the queen and sent all over the realm. There seemed to be no other priorities in the realm. His brothers and stepfather, the King Consort, believed he was abducted by their enemies. Furious, they mounted on dragon backs and vowed to burn down any castle, town or city that dares to snub the search, let alone harbor any suspects. For a whole year, dragons roamed over the skies of the realm, even above Dorne nearly triggering a war. Even the Night’s Watch sent out a dispatch beyond the wall to search for the prince’s whereabouts. But all efforts were in vain. Whispers started to spread that it was the gods that take Prince Luke away in punishment of the dragon queen’s pride and blasphemy. Words are like winds, planting seeds of rebellion across the realm.

“The rumors seriously undermined her, the Queen. Many were unhappy about her ascending the throne, deemed it a violation of the sacred laws that had passed since history. For the gods arranged men for ruling, and women for obeying.” That’s something new to the story, but Old Nan has added more details tonight. Maybe she’s so tired of repeating the same words again and again.

Those false talks proved to be nothing but nonsense eventually, for the prince that disappeared had miraculously reappeared in his bed chamber three years later. He was in sleep when found, still in his wedding gown and cloak, quiet and divine like the day he disappeared. Only, there was a sapphire pinning the cloak, and a small slumbering baby aside. Turned out he was in the royal castle all along, hidden away in secret chambers behind the walls.

“Who did this to you?” The royal family was eager to bring fire and blood to the prince’s kidnapper and raper. But the prince refused to give a name, or even any trace, only insisting that the child was born out of love. Even his mother’s tears and begs failed to waver his determination of silence.

The news of Prince Luke’s return was immediately announced to the realm, but it was too late to change anything. Plots of betrayal became acts of war, and all was lost.

“Who stole Lucerys? Why is it never mentioned in the story?” Despite his peculiar fascination to the tale, he’s always annoyed the story went astray from the main character, and Old Nan would tell him that the tale has always meant to serve as a warning to those who are disrespectful to the gods.

“It was his uncle.” Old Nan said, apathetic, but Luke was excited, his whining about the tale’s rushing end finally paid off. “The one-eyed prince, people called him, ever a cruel and terrifying figure. Offended by his half-sister’s rejection, enraged by Prince Luke’s betrothal to the crowned prince, who also did not possess the Valyrian look, the one-eyed prince vowed to avenge his insults.”

“But how? Wasn’t he a guest at the wedding too, being a member of the royal family? And easily recognized and recalled by others should he ever attempted to approach his nephew? Why didn’t people suspect him? And……”

“It’s all very conspicuous reflecting from hinder sight. The sapphire. The mockery nature of the kidnap. And also, the political chain reaction of this incident of course……” Old Nan got lost in her muttering again.

“Forgive, little master. My memory eludes me. A mercy from age.” Memory?

“The trickery deployed by the one-eyed prince was never known, but there are powers in this world to make happen the unlikely, should one know how to wield them. And some did say that the sapphire – the one that pinned on Prince Luke’s wedding cloak, many believed it was the same gem that settled in the one-eyed prince’s empty socket – was magic, capable of twisting minds at its master’s will.”

“The baby…” Luke gasped, realizing something, “…he said it was love, but he’d been enchanted, hadn’t he?”

“Oh, that was love, actually.”

“How do you know? What kind of love could it be anyway? He imprisoned Prince Luke and kept him away from his family!”

“The unfortunate kind. But love, all the same.” There was sadness in Old Nan’s voice.

“What happened to them then? You said there was war. Did they survive?” Luke pursued the story.

“Like I said, all was lost. All. But that’s a tale for another night.” Then, ignoring Luke’s protest, Old Nan blew off the candlelight, the room immediately consumed by darkness save for a few slips of moonlight. Vaguely, Luke could tell Old Nan’s retreating contour. She’s weeping, quietly.

[staygoldsunshine]

your taste in posts is peak but I also saw your bio and am tempted to ask about the stories? writer/artist, please tell

Oh thanks! I changed my icon the other day and looked at my bio and decided I'm not above pleading with people to ask me about my OCs 👍

I've got 2-3 projects spinning right now, 2 of them that are further along and actually have plots. One is my take on wizard schools complete with academic hubris and necromantic hijinks. It's about my boy Vasily who would really rather study magic theory in a tall tower than deal with his personal problems, but that magical gifted kid burnout is killer (literally).

The other, which I'm currently poking at, is the story of what happens to the kids who stumble through the wardrobe after their magical kingdom is saved and doesn't know what to do with them anymore. Now my main character (let's call her Willa even though names are apt to change) is thirty and doesn't know how to solve problems without swinging a sword at them. It's basically my excuse to write about paladins and bards and urban fantasy all together in one weird pie.

But long story short, I just like talking about my stories. Thanks for asking!

[voyage-inferno]

1. WHAT IS YOUR NAME?: "I'm Benny!"

2. WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME?: "Um,, Bennett? If you want all the last names, we'll be here a while."

3. DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU’RE CALLED THAT?: "Bennett apparently means 'blessing', so I think it was because I survived getting to the guild?"

4. ARE YOU SINGLE OR TAKEN?: "Single!"

5. WHAT ARE YOUR POWERS AND ABILITIES?: "Oh I'm Pyro!! I use it to heal, or I coat my blade in it for extra umph! I also know how to pop back dislocated stuff on myself! If that counts?"

6. WHAT COLOR ARE YOUR EYES?: "Green!"

7. HAVE YOU EVER DYED YOUR HAIR?: "Not on purpose. It could be fun though!! Maybe I should try blue,,"

8. DO YOU HAVE ANY FAMILY MEMBERS?: "Oh tons!! I have all my dads, Fischl, Kaeya, Kathryne-" he keeps going.

9. DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS?: "If artificial seelie count, then yeah! I've had some pets."

10. TELL ME ABOUT SOMETHING YOU DON’T LIKE: "Spicy foods. And I'm mad about it. You're telling me, I can't eat something delicious because it'll try to eat me back?? Now THAT is a cruel curse."

11. DO YOU HAVE ANY HOBBIES OR ACTIVITIES YOU DO IN YOUR SPARE TIME?: "Other than adventuring? Well, I like playing tcg, maybe that counts? Or hanging out in the archives- I like to experience stuff for myself, but when a fresh account of somewhere I can't go comes in, it's worth sitting for a second to read it!"

12. HAVE YOU EVER HURT ANYONE BEFORE?: ",,I mean, yeah? Treasure hoarders are people too."

13. HAVE YOU EVER… KILLED ANYONE?: "....Why would you ask that?"

14. WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU?: "?!" Well that's a shift. "Uh, I'm a human.? I guess it'd be cool to be a dragon or something?"

15. NAME YOUR WORST HABITS: "I guess I can name them? Steve, Arnold, Banana, Sandwichmaster, Rose, Pigeon, uhhh, and Cloudy. Those are all names."

16. DO YOU LOOK UP TO ANYONE?: "Anyone taller than me! Heh, uh, yeah my parents, Guild Branch Master Cyrus, Kaeya and Acting Grandmaster Jean in the knights, Chongyun- he's the exorcist from Liyue- and some other people too!"

17. GAY, STRAIGHT, OR BISEXUAL?: "I mean, there's more than that? I guess I'm closest to Bi though. Why?"

18. DO YOU GO TO SCHOOL?: "If,, homeschooling counts?"

19. DO YOU EVER WANT TO MARRY AND HAVE KIDS SOMEDAY?: "It could be nice- but probably a bad idea for me and them."

20. DO YOU HAVE ANY FANS?: "I'm not rich enough for that kind of thing. I did buy one of those handheld ones though? Kinda nice in a pinch to cool off."

21. WHAT ARE YOU MOST AFRAID OF?: "..These are weird, I'm sorry. Clown with a claymore." Partial lie.

22. WHAT DO YOU USUALLY WEAR?: "My uniform and goggles."

23. DO YOU LOVE SOMEONE?: "Yeah"

24. WHAT CLASS ARE YOU?: "..Lower middle? Maybe? Or do you mean in ttrpgs? Because there is a bard build I want to try out-"

25. HOW MANY FRIENDS DO YOU HAVE?: "I don't really know. I feel like I have a lot, but I'd have to ask them if they feel the same way."

26. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON PIE?: "It's good! Savory, sweet, bread outside that protects the wet stuff from flies, it's a good idea! Some people even turn the top part into art, which is amazing."

27. FAVORITE DRINK?: "Berry & Mint Burst. Or Birch Sap? Honestly even just lemonade is nice, especially with ice."

29. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE PLACE?: "Anywhere where I'm happy. Guess I don't have one? Or more like, there are too many. I've got hideaways that I like a little extra though."

30. ARE YOU INTERESTED IN SOMEONE?: "..Romantically? I don't know, honestly. Feelings like that are always confusing."

31. WOULD YOU RATHER SWIM IN THE LAKE OR THE OCEAN?: "The lake! Mostly because lakes don't get riptides.. probably."

32. WHAT’S YOUR ‘TYPE’?: "Someone I feel like I can trust. Who loves me, flaws and all, and who's entirety of person I can feel love right back to. Also preferably someone who I can travel with! The world's too big not to explore!!"

33. ANY FETISHES?: "That's,, not really something you ask a stranger? Actually most of these questions aren't-"

35. CAMPING, OR INDOORS?: "In what context? I don't want to be fighting monsters indoors, but I think that sleeping in a real bed sometimes is good for your back."

36. ARE YOU WAITING FOR THIS INTERVIEW TO BE OVER?: "Yeah. I'm sorry, it's just gotten kinda weird? Hope the rest of your day is nice."

Tagged by: @mmriesoftvat (thanks a ton!!)

Tagging: @ironbloodcd, @frozenambiguity, @freshsprout, and anyone else who wants to!

[bakerstreetbabble]

Sherlock Gnomes: my expanded review for IHearofSherlock.com

A couple weeks ago, I wrote a brief review of the 2018 film Sherlock Gnomes, and animated take on the legendary detective (as well as a sequel to an earlier animated feature, an animated version of Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet, called Gnomeo & Juliet). Shortly after I wrote that review, I offered to expand it a bit and submit it to I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere. They posted my expanded review today. I've copied it below.

"...scrambling over your garden wall." (EMPT)

Several years ago (in 2011, to be exact), when my older daughter was a lot smaller, we watched a fairly humorous children's film adaptation of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, entitled Gnomeo and Juliet. I remember how, as a five year-old, she was entertained, and there were enough tongue-in-cheek Shakespeare references to keep me interested as well.

As you can imagine, the “star-crossed lovers” do not take their own lives at the end, as the target audience would likely find such a thing a bit traumatic. Still, the animation was pretty good, the soundtrack was fun, and there was a very entertaining bit with Patrick Stewart as a statue of the Bard himself.

In March 2018, a sequel to Gnomeo and Juliet was released, this time a spoof on Sherlock Holmes: the title of this new gnomish adventure was—you guessed it—Sherlock Gnomes. The film is part sequel, involving the characters of Gnomeo and Juliet in new adventures, but it is also (of course) a spoof of some of our favorite Sherlock Holmes characters. In fact, the film starts out with a funny little bit where a few gnomes argue about which story they’ll tell next (“Game of Gnomes! Or The Gnome Ranger!”).  

Sherlock Gnomes (voiced by Johnny Depp) is a garden gnome detective (that is, a detective who happens to be a garden gnome), who is sworn to protect all of London's garden gnomes. He finds himself pitted against his old archenemy, Moriarty: a sort of "Bob's Big Boy" type of pie mascot (don't ask). 

Sherlock is a kind of self-absorbed character, who doesn't treat his sidekick Watson with the respect he deserves. Of course, this is a subject that has been explored in other Holmes films and spoofs. (The Holmes/Watson relationship in the Guy Ritchie films, or the spoof Without a Clue, both spring to my mind.)

Their paths cross those of Gnomeo and Juliet, who are attempting to improve the garden of the house they’ve just moved to, when their fellow garden gnomes are abducted by the evil Moriarty. Or are they? Sherlock Gnomes hears of that abduction and many more around London, and…the game is afoot!

Honestly, I found the film pretty entertaining. Depp was not the best Holmes I've ever seen (well...heard), while Chiwetel Ejiofor voices Watson with great subtlety and dignity. There were all kinds of goofy nods towards the Sherlock Holmes canon: Doyle's Doll Museum, Wisteria Lodge Florist Shop, a grating with "221B" on it, while Sherlock and Juliet encounter a "fierce" pug dog, which Mr. Gnomes calls "the Hound owned by the Baskervilles."

One character even delivers the entertaining line, “No ship, Sherlock!” And of course, there's the obligatory deerstalker cap, Inverness cape, and magnifying glass.

In a little homage to the BBC's Sherlock, perhaps, Mr. Gnomes occasionally retreats into a "mind palace" of sorts, with a completely different style of animation for those sequences (it looks like black and white cel animation, although I suspect it is still done mostly with computers). One little animation detail that I thought was odd: Sherlock Gnomes has a tiny little white beard on the tip of his chin! I think this was probably the only bearded Holmes I’ve ever seen on film. Not that a beard that small is really deserving of the name...

The voice cast is a panoply of celebrities: James McAvoy (Gnomeo), Emily Blunt (Juliet), Michael Caine (Lord Redbrick), Maggie Smith (Lady Bluebury), Mary J. Blige (Irene), and many more. Even Ozzy Osbourne has a brief role, as a somewhat befuddled ceramic fawn.

The animation is quite high quality, and the aforementioned "mind palace" sequences were bizarre and fun. The story is packed with enough action and silly humor to keep children entertained, while there are enough pop culture references sprinkled throughout to keep adults from being completely bored.

As mentioned above, Sherlockians will no doubt be amused by canonical references here and there. The plot as a few fun little twists, so the movie isn’t as predictable as some animated feautres can be. As a Holmes fan, I found it enjoyable enough, if not incredibly brilliant. The film only received a 28% on film review aggregator Rotten Tomatoes, but I've seen much poorer films with higher scores.

If you have young children, you could do a lot worse. Or if you’d simply like to indulge in 90 minutes of innocent fun, it’s worth a few laughs. Oh, and did I mention that most of the soundtrack is made up of Elton John songs? (One of the film companies that produced the film was founded by Elton John, so it’s no surprise.)

I would give the film 4 Calabash Pipes on a 5-Pipe scale.

[samstree]

Apple of My Pie

More on Jaskier x Sam the Baker

Because I need our dear Sam to compliment Jaskier’s singing with a superior pie analogy, ~800 words.

(prev: this one by @valdomarx​, another by @julek​, this one by me, another by @kueble​, and this one by @a-kind-of-merry-war​)

Also, we have a collection open on ao3 for anyone to join the party: a legend in the baking

“The name is Sam,” the baker says, drowning in the blue of the singer’s eyes, “pleased to meet you, Master Bard.”

“Jaskier.”

He takes Sam’s hand, palm warm and soft, the calluses at his fingertips meeting the barker’s. Sam didn’t know a musician’s hand can be equally strong.

“I come to this tavern every night,” Sam says, not quite letting so, and Jaskier seems just as reluctant, “and you always sing that song.”

“About the butcher, yes.” Jaskier agrees, his smile bright with performance.

But there’s something underneath it.

“About heartbreak.” The brightness splinters, just a little, so Sam adds quickly, “it takes one, I suppose.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier hums curiously. “Allow me to buy you a drink, dear Sam? A bard always seeks inspiring stories, and you look like you are full of them.”

The wink Jaskier sends Sam is a coy thing. Heat rises on Sam’s cheeks. Gods, does flirting come so naturally for all bards?

“Oh, no drink for me.” Sam smiles shyly, ducking his head for a brief moment to hide the blush. “Need to get up early in the morning for the shop. I own a bakery at the end of the street, you see. My ma said this to me when she passed down the business, that feeding people is a blessing. The only downside is the night life.”

“And yet, you are here every night.”

There’s something about Jaskier’s smile that draws Sam in. Perhaps it’s the warmth that comes with it, the interest which cannot be hidden. Or, perhaps, it is the hint of pain that shines through at the end of each set.

The bard puts away his lute carefully before acquiring an ale for himself and a mint tea for Sam. It’s his favorite—his shop always has it ready for customers who love to pair it with biscuits. The din of the tavern fades as they sit down closely, their knees touching under the table.

“So, Sam the baker.” Jaskier raises an eyebrow, his hands fidgeting with a silver ring. “Am I remiss to say that you might be a fan of my singing?”

“Might be a fan?” That would be an understatement, but suddenly all the compliments Sam has rehearsed in his kitchen leave his mind. He opens his mouth and splutters. “M…more than, Jaskier. Your singing is like—it’s like…”

Sam trails off, his face burning in such proximity of the poet, so he says the first thing that comes to mind.

“It’s like pie! The sweetest kind!” The way Jaskier’s eyes light up is encouragement enough for Sam to go on. “My grandma had this recipe back in her day. It’s not even complicated, just apple and cinnamon and other spices you can find ‘round the season. But the richness of it… The sugary filling warms you, the tartness too. I had it all the time until she passes away. My ma tried to make it later and I did too, but it was never like that.”

“It was about her.” Understanding gleams in cornflower blue eyes. “The time spent with her.”

“It’s about the memories, isn’t it?” Sam echoes. “Your songs too. They are about memories, the people you miss just like I miss her still. All art is like this, really—not that I’d call bread and butter art. Crafts, then. It takes something personal to make it right, something precious in your heart.”

The poet’s eyes are obscured in the shadow of his long hair, but the intensity of his gaze burns into Sam’s very being. Like the apple pie, indeed. Jaskier’s presence coats Sam’s tongue with all the sweetness that he longs for. Like a man possessed, he reaches out to tuck the hair away from Jaskier’s eyes.

The poet lets him.

“You are full of surprises, Sam,” Jaskier says, voice dropping deep. His head turns, just to the right angle for Sam to cup his chin in his palm. The stubbles at Jaskier’s jaw tickle a little, and they stay there for a moment longer.

Just when Sam means to say something else—mostly likely something dumb, like comparing Jaskier’s eyes to blueberries—someone calls the bard from the other end of the tavern.

Jaskier sits back, darting his eyes to that man and letting Sam’s hand fall away. He clears his throat. “Apologies, my attention is needed elsewhere.”

“Your set is over.” Sam frowns, his heart sinking a little.

The bard only smiles. It’s a different one from the one he puts on stage, relaxed, a little crooked, real. “Songs or bread, you are right in that art comes from a precious place, but it’s not the only precious thing in this world. If you are willing…” he takes Sam’s hand—hand that is rough from soaking in water and dry flour all day—and places a tiny kiss on each. “Come back tomorrow.

“I will,” Sam answers reverently.

And there are many more things he’s willing to promise Jaskier, but they’ll need to wait until tomorrow.

The bard seems worth it anyway.

~~

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod @kuripon @holymotherwolf @theamazingdevilgivesmehope @julek @glows-n-the-dark @jemmasimmons @daisyyydaisyyydaisyyy @rohrkatze

I keep two tag lists for smut-inclusive content and no smut content these days. Please feel free to tell me which one you prefer, or adding and removing in general.

[pillage-and-lute]

Hi, this is a Monday Evening Prompt: How about Jaskier coming to Kaer Morhen and bringing little presents for all the wolves? Could be his first visit or not. Have a nice evening!

Hi Petrificustotaluss! I really did some worldbuilding here.

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Geralt could smell the anxiety rolling off of Jaskier in waves all the way up to Kaer Morhen. The bard was practically vibrating out of his travel cloak. On the few stops on their way up the mountain he didn’t sing, choosing instead to pluck repetitive tunes on his lute. 

Their last stop before the keep was in a cave, long used by witchers returning home. This last haven before home always brought out something deep and maybe even proud in Geralt’s chest. 

The cave was not large, but deep enough that the weather didn’t permeate. Geralt lead Roach to the back, where centuries of hooves had worn a groove, and threw her blanket over her. Jaskier rubbed her nose affectionately, looking around in wonder, despite the fading light.

Geralt began setting a fire in the ring of stones left behind by one of his brothers. Two slashes were carved into the side of a larger stone. Lambert then, a sign left for whichever of his brothers cam behind.

Fire flared and Jaskier gasped. Every witcher who had stayed in the cave, since its presence had been discovered, had carved their name into the wall. Jaskier stepped immediately to the back of the cave, tracing names almost worn away with trembling hands. 

Geralt took his hand and guided his fingertips and his feet closer to the mouth of the cave. Jaskier brushed his thumb over the V in Vesemir. 

“Your name...?”

Geralt found it for him.

“I couldn’t read yet,” he whispered, when he found the marks he sought. “You know how the letters switch in my mind. Eskel told me what to carve.” 

The names were right next to one another and Jaskier pressed one hand against them, as if he was trying to reach into the past. 

“Lambert’s is here,” Geralt said, voice almost a whisper. It felt appropriate here. 

Jaskier traced it gently, too. 

They sat down to eat without much talking, unusual for the bard, but this much history could be oppressive for anyone. There were drawings among the names and Jaskier kept glancing at them. 

After dinner they huddled together, backs against one of the walls.

“That one,” Geralt said, pointing to the back of the cave, “That’s the first version of the wolf on my medallion.” He had smelled the anxiety rising on Jaskier’s scent again, and hoped talking could keep it at bay. 

“There,” he pointed again. “That’s Gawain of Ymlac’s  name, almost faded. He’s famous, bards wrote about his fight with a knight, Bertilak the Green.”

“I know the story,” Jaskier said, eyes wide. “But the way it’s always told, Gawain is a knight.”

Geralt shook his head. “Gawain was considered one of the best of us, but he was no knight. Bertilak visited here too, but he could not write, few could in those days.”

“So his name isn’t here?” Jaskier sounded disappointed.

“It is, the rough carving of the tree, beneath Gawain’s name, is his. It was the sigil on his shield.”

Jaskier’s eyes were so round he looked like a child at Yuletide.

“There,” Geralt pointed, “is the name of another famous visitor. I wonder if you know him.”

Jaskier stood and walked over. “Here?” he asked. “Taliesin, I’ve never heard the name, was he from another witcher school?”

“No,” Geralt said, walking to Jaskier’s side. “A sorceror and a bard. I think you would know him better by another name.” He couldn’t resist the dramatic pause. Jaskier looked up at him, hanging on his words.

“I believe they call him...” Jaskier leaned in. “Merlin.”

“Never!” Jaskier cried, hopping back. “Geralt you’re pulling my leg!”

“I am not,” Geralt said. “He wrote notes in some of the books in the library.”

Jaskier was no longer nervous, hopping about in excitement. 

“Which ones? Do you know? I have to read them all. Geralt can you think of the stories!”

Geralt chuckled. 

“This one,” he said. “Is Aiden’s signature.” It was hard to read, the rock was soft, but carving was still difficult work.

“Lambert’s friend?”

Geralt nodded. “From the cat school. I think you’ll like him.” The pair of them would probably manage to burn the keep down.

Jaskier looked around him with a stunned grin. Geralt pulled out the heavy work knife he kept at his thigh and offered it to Jaskier, hilt first.

“What?”

“Well you need to carve your name, don’t you?”

Jaskier’s eyes filled. “Really?”

“Of course, someday someone will point out the name of Jaskier, the Continent’s famous bard.”

Jaskier grinned bashfully. He sat at the wall of the cave and scratched out his name. It was slow going for a human, without magic or mutant strength, but he did. Then he began a new carving.

Geralt didn’t ask yet, but restocked the fire and waited. 

At last Jaskier pulled back, there was the carving from Geralt’s medallion, a lark, and a flower. 

Geralt felt his chest tighten, but in a warm way. 

That night, beside eachother in their bedrolls, Jaskier tossed and turned.

“Stop,” Geralt said. “Sleep, it will be alright.”

“The ground is hard,” Jaskier said. 

“They’ll like you,” Geralt said. “You’re my-” friend, he wanted to finish. The word couldn’t seem to break from between his lips. 

“Bard,” he finished lamely. “They know that, they’ll respect it.”

Jaskier gave a little twitch that was maybe a shrug under the layers of fabric.

“They’ll see what I see,” Geralt said.

“A fillingless pie?” Jaskier said jokingly. Some of the anxiety had gone, though. 

Geralt huffed. “Everyone knows the crust is the best part, anyway.”

He rolled over and went to sleep. 

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

They arrived at the gates of Kaer Morhen midmorning the next day. Jaskier was looking around in awe, taking in the crumbling architecture. 

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered.

Geralt was about to respond but was tackled into a snowdrift by his younger brother.

Geralt laughed and tossed Lambert off him, only for Eskel to join the fray, the three of them scrapping and laughing, rolling about the courtyard. 

Vesemir pulled them apart by their collars. Then he nuzzled Geralt before gruffly ruffling his hair. “Welcome back, lad,” he said.

Jaskier was looking on wide-eyed, but Geralt didn’t have time to explain the odd greeting because Eskel was next. 

His brother gave him a rib shaking hug and roughly grated his cheek along Geralt’s, snuffling a little as he took in his brother’s scent. 

Lambert, still a pup, didn’t wait his turn and butted his cheek agains Geralt’s other one, then delivered a bit of a nip to Geralt’s ear. He pulled back looking a little embarrassed, but the brother’s understood, sometimes the wolf instinct was a little strong.

“Um,” Jaskier said. Four pairs of golden eyes turned to look at him.

“I’m Jaskier, Geralt’s bard...should I greet you like a wolf or....?” He stuck out his hand awkwardly.

“A handshake is fine, lad,” Vesemir said, taking the bard’s offered hand. Geralt watched Jaskier almost not wince as his fingers were, accidentally, ground together. “The wolf is just a little stonger in winter for my boys.”

Geralt noticed that Vesemir’s nostrils still flared as he took in Jaskier’s unfamiliar scent, but didn’t say anything.

Eskel and Lambert both somewhat sheepishly shook the bard’s hand. Then the little party unloaded Roach and continued into the great hall.

Jaskier gratefully warmed his hands at the fire before sitting at the table with the rest of the witchers. He began digging in his pack.

“I, uh, I brought gifts,” he said, pulling out packages. “Since I’m your guest and all.”

Vesemir huffed good naturedly “still put you to work, guest or no,” he said.

“Of course,” Jaskier said. He looked around. “I have one for Aiden too? Is he here?”

“Eavesdropping,” Lambert said. A witcher slunk around a doorway and sat next to him, not even bothering to look ashamed. He was of a leaner build than the wolves, more wiry.

Aiden extended a hand to Jaskier, who took it politely. 

“I’ve heard good things,” he purred. 

“Thank you.”

“Heard you’ve tamed Pretty Boy.”

Geralt snarled, mostly playfully.

Jaskier smiled. “I get him to take a bath once in a while, I’m not sure it counts as tame.” It got a chuckle from Aiden, and Geralt felt his sanity slipping away already as he pictured their friendship. 

“Um,” Jaskier said, proffering a package to Vesemir. The old wolf took it with a nod and pulled at the rough twine. 

“Candles,” Vesmir said, looking at the slightly misshapen lumps in front of him. Four of them, in waxed paper, and an odd color, a pale, pale green. Geralt realised it first, but Vesemir said the name before him.

“Strydwen wax,” he said approvingly. “Burns without smoke or heat. Never goes out or melts away. Thank you.” 

The ‘thank you’ was said with a resonance that Geralt had never been able to master. It sort of took up place in your chest and stayed there. Jaskier fairly glowed with it.

“For Eskel,” he said, handing another package over. 

Eskel smiled at him and pulled apart the wrapping to reveal a large, leatherbound book.

“Poetry,” Eskel said delightedly.

“Newly published by a former professor of mine,” Jaskier confirmed. Eskel examined the cover.

“You studied under Rumi?” Eskel looked impressed.

“Six semesters,” Jaskier said ruefully. “He isn’t an easygoing grader.”

The final two gifts were dispensed at the same time, and Lambert and Aiden tore into their packages to find twin daggers, balanced for combat, not throwing. 

Lambert admired the round stone set into the end. Geralt, trained in the same school, figured he was picturing bludgeoning someone with it.

“Twist it,” Jaskier suggested. Lambert gave it a go.

The stone on Aiden’s dagger glowed faintly. 

Aiden twisted his and Lamber’s glowed, both fading after a few seconds.

“To communicate?” Aiden asked.

Jaskier nodded shyly. “I thought...for when you separate on the Path.”

Lambert grinned at him, his smile all teeth. “It’s perfect, I’ll annoy him with it constantly.”

The table descended into cheerful bickering and Jaskier sat back, smiling. He looked at Geralt and a furrow laid itself on his brow.

“I should have given you a gift.”

Geralt looked at his cheerful family, thought of a song that made witchers’ lives easier like a magic spell, a companion. He thought of a cave full of stories, with his and Jaskier’s carved together.

“You have.”

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Some history notes! Because I’m a nerd! Gawain of of Ymlac and Bertilak the Green are of course a reference to the Arthurian legend of Gawain and the Green Knight. 

Taliesin is also a reference to Arthurian legend, being a famous 6th century Welsh bard, one of the first bards we know of who told the tales of Arthur (although many of the stories are based in pagan sun god myth). Over centuries, the name Taliesin sometimes appears in Arthurian legend as another sorcerer, a wise sage, a poet, a demi-godly figure, or another name for Merlin. I picture Jaskier’s story sometime much later becoming something like Taliesin’s on the Continent.

Jaskier’s former professor is  Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī, a 13th century Persian poet.

Also, I couldn’t resist having our wolves greet eachother as such. It’s too cute and I’m taking this headcanon as canon. Permanently.

[teresa-of-ficwill]

Silly Hat (Geraskier Fic)

I've got too inspired by Season 2 trailer and Jaskier's new look so here we are.

‘Your hat looks silly,’ it was the first thing Jaskier heard from Geralt after- well, it has been a long time. A year or so since what happened on the mountain. Since Geralt broke his heart with all the cruelty the witcher was capable of.

Jaskier wanted to say that he healed. That he was capable of leaving his feelings and his dear witcher behind. He wanted to say it but he couldn't because it would be a terrible lie.

He didn't heal, not even a little. Now, looking into these yellow cat eyes, it felt even worse than it was before. Because Geralt was here for some reason. And for some reason, he didn't like his hat.

Jaskier took off his hat. ‘I think it looks cute,’ he answered.

The hat was not the only thing that changed. His hair became longer and his clothes- well, they just became different. He didn't feel like himself recently. Actually, never since the mountain.

‘It's silly,’ the witcher repeated, and Jaskier didn’t feel like arguing with him so he left his hat on the table.

‘Well, maybe,’ he said and then sat on the bench. ‘Do you want something else or telling me I look silly was your purpose?’

‘You don't look silly. Just the hat,’ Geralt sat on the bench too. ‘You look- different.’

The bard chuckled sadly, ‘Should I take this as a compliment or-’

‘I liked your performance,’ the witcher interrupted him, and Jaskier looked him straight in the eyes, a little bit confused. Surprised.

‘Em- thanks,’ the bard muttered. ‘No need to lie tho. I know you don't like my singing.’

‘It's not true.’

‘Well, you said it's like ordering a pie and finding out it has no filling, so-’ Jaskier remembered, trying not to remember how much these words hurt him back then.

‘I don't like pies with filling,’ said Geralt and the bard's eyes widened. ‘They are too- sugary.’

Okay- now Jaskier was confused more than ever. So it was- a fucking compliment?

‘I like your singing,’ the witcher added in case the bard still didn't get it.

Jaskier shook his head. ‘Anyway, why are you here?’ he asked because everything felt strange.

‘I came to- to invite you with me.’

‘Where?’

‘To Kaer Morhen.’

‘Why? After all you said it isn't even logical.’

Geralt sighed. That's it, that's the talk he was so afraid to have. ‘I was wrong. And I'm sorry.’

‘You said that my disappearing from your life would be a blessing!’ Jaskier exclaimed. ‘Don’t expect me to believe that you are sorry.’

‘I am. It was a huge mistake. I didn't mean all these words.’

Jaskier shook his head, staring at the table. ‘It's not fair,’ he muttered.

‘What?’

‘It's not fair!’ Jaskier shouted, suddenly jumping to his feet and making Geralt flinch a little. ‘After all these days when every word you said tortured me and my broken heart didn't let me sleep, you just come and say you are sorry?! What do you expect me to do? Believe you FUCKING AGAIN?!’

‘Jask-’ Geralt reached out but Jaskier immediately jerked back.

‘I can't, Geralt. I just can’t. I won’t survive another broken heart,’ he said before grabbing his lute and running away.

The witcher sighed, looking at the silly hat the bard left on the table. Some mistakes cannot be fixed and it was so painful to think that Jaskier’s broken heart was one of them.

***

Jaskier wasn't sure where exactly he was running but he was definitely running away. He wasn’t ready to believe Geralt again because he had already felt like a fool after believing that Geralt would someday love him back during all these years. He was a fool. Such a fool.

‘Are you alright?’ a girl with long blonde hair approached him.

‘I- I'm not sure,’ Jaskier answered, completely out of breath.

‘Do you need help?’ she asked. ‘My name is Cirilla, by the way, but you can call me Ciri.’

‘I'm fine, don't worry.’ he tried to assure her.

‘Why were you running then?’

‘Well, I-’ Jaskier struggled to find the answer. ‘It's complicated,’ he finally said. ‘And what are you doing here?’ the bard asked because he managed to run away from town and now was somewhere in the field. To meet a 12 years old girl there was strange.

‘I'm waiting for my dad,’ she answered. ‘He said he needed to go to town to talk to someone very important. I think he meant “apologize for what he has said and done” but he actually isn't good at those things,’ Ciri chuckled.

‘And he left you alone?’

‘I can take care of myself. And also he said he will return soon,’ the girl smiled. ‘Our camp is near, do you want some tea? You can tell me what made you so sad.’

‘I’m not sad.’

‘Yes, you are.’

In a few minutes, he was sitting in a small camp near the fire. A few trees were hiding it from the main road. A horse was grazing not far from the hastily organized camp. Ciri held out a cup of tea to Jaskier.

‘Where are you traveling with your dad?’ the bard asked when the girl sat near him.

‘I’m not sure. He said that he would take me home. I've never been there so it’s kinda exciting.’

‘Never been- home?’ Jaskier repeated, a little bit confused.

‘Well, he is not my real dad, I’m kinda adopted. But he likes it when I call him that. Never admits it but I know he likes it.’

‘Mhm,’ the bard muttered, processing the new information. ‘Do you have a mother?’

‘Do you mean the real one or if dad has a wife?’ Ciri asked, smiling.

‘In all this situation, I think the second,’ Jaskier said, taking a sip of tea. If this girl was adopted by a man who wasn’t her father, it seemed like she didn’t have any relatives or all her relatives were dead. The bard wasn't sure what was better.

‘No, he hasn’t. But he has someone he loves. Really loves, like with all his heart. Talks about him for hours. Actually, he went into town to find him. I have never met him before but dad assured me that I would like him. Dad said he sings beautiful songs. It seems like you sing too,’ she pointed at the lute which was laying near them.

‘I’m a bard. Songs earn me a living,’ Jaskier answered.

‘Bards are cool,’ Ciri smiled, making Jaskier smile too. ‘What’s your name again?’

‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. My name is Jaskier.’

The girl looked really surprised, ‘Jaskier?’

‘Yes. Why are you-’ he started but wasn’t able to finish the question because they suddenly heard approaching footsteps.

‘It must be my dad,’ Ciri said.

‘Well, maybe I should go then-’ Jaskier started but she interrupted him.

‘No, wait here. We’ll be back in a minute.’

***

If you wanna find out what happened next, follow the link to my ao3 😉.

[brasskier]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You know I didn't…" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[adarlingwrites]

Taste

Summary: The blue bard is sickeningly sweet for Astarion's preferences, but he'll never forget her taste.

Author’s Notes: Taste is a collection of retellings of Astarion's scenes with the player character from the Baldur's Gate 3 early access, but with a little more embellishments. Plus, it has glimpses of my tiefling's backstory.

I had horrible, horrible artist's and writer's block and I needed to get this out of my system to get the creative juices flowing again. Please excuse any typos or lack of quality.

Larian give us the bard class pls I am begging of you

I - Blueberry Wine

The time for rest has come.

Bedrolls are strewn on the campgrounds, and most of its inhabitants are already asleep. Nothing can be heard save for the crackle of fire, the chirp of birds in the woods, and soft snoring.

If it wasn’t for their common goal of removing those damned illithid tadpoles from their heads before they undergo ceremorphosis, the members of this party wouldn’t even spend five minutes within each others’ presence. Now, they’re sleeping in one place. It takes some measure of trust for that.

The dreams of the tiefling in their ragtag group aren’t sweet tonight, to say the least.

Brows furrowed as another nightmare wormed into her psyche, the tiefling tosses and turns in her bedroll, a thin film of sweat giving her forehead a slight sheen in the firelight. Eyes shooting open, she choked back a gasp, lest she wake up her companions in the camp. The crackle of the campfire and the smell of burning wood gave her some semblance of comfort, at least, reminding her of distant memories.

A warm hearth, a kind face, the smell of freshly baked blueberry pie; simple comforts from her youth that she missed terribly.

The comfort that accompanied the nostalgia was enough to make her drift back to sleep. Woefully, it didn’t stop the nightmares from coming back, now centered around the tiefling’s early years.

Small, bare feet pitter-pattered on the wet pavement, frantic gasps escaped her dry mouth. Choking back a sob, more people went after her, shouting, hurling words that scraped her heart.

“Stop! Thief!”

“Devil!”

“Slay the demon!”

Lungs burning from exertion, the little tiefling whelp coughs, rasps for air, and slides under a cart. In the dark, she can see a narrow alleyway, which she scurries into. The men run past her hiding spot, cursing and muttering amongst themselves. Relief floods through her as their torchlights grew dim.

Safe, at last.

Her trembling arms had been holding on to precious cargo; a stale loaf of bread, wrapped in linen. It’s not a delectable morsel of steak, or rich bone marrow, but it’s better than the rocks she grinded with her sharp teeth for breakfast.

As she takes it out of the cloth, a stone drops in her stomach and horror twists on her young face. The tiefling isn’t holding a loaf of bread, but a severed head of a drow. A scream threatened to escape her throat and pierce the night air, but the tiefling maiden could only gasp as she felt a presence behind her.

Wine red eyes still heavy with sleep met with alert, ruby ones. She isn’t dreaming any longer.

In the dim firelight, she sees him. Astarion.

Truth be told, she doesn’t quite know what to feel about the posh elf. Astarion’s handsome face and fair curls are easy on the eyes, but it only reminded her of how hellish she looks in comparison due to her infernal ancestry. His sharp, calculating eyes puts her at unease, even when his gaze isn’t directed towards her. He has a way of making people feel beneath him, like vulnerable prey. Serenity is not exempt from that, despite her efforts to be pleasant to him. Not to mention, Astarion’s attitude and mannerisms reminded her of the uppity nobles she had the displeasure of encountering in her colorful past.

In short, he’s a handsome fellow with a revolting attitude, at least to Serenity’s standards. Lust and indignation battles with each other in the tiefling’s psyche.

It doesn’t help at all that the elf is fond of calling her pet names, such as “sweetheart” or “dear”. No one calls her such sweet things with genuine intent, not after she saw the drow’s head on a pike, and to hear them from his condescending mouth stirs something dark in her heart.

It especially inflames her whenever he calls her “darling”.

She wanted to pounce on him. However, she wasn’t sure what she wanted after that.

Tear his pretty face asunder with her nails and watch his handsome features contort in agony, perhaps? Or watch him writhe underneath her in a more… carnal manner as she takes out all of her frustration by mashing her ravenous mouth against his lovely lips?

Maybe both?

“Oh, Serenity. You have no need for that sort of… decadence,” she thinks to herself.

Alas, her body says otherwise.

“Shit,” he says upon meeting eyes with her, distracting the tiefling from her thoughts. Serenity didn’t expect such a vulgar word to come out of his pretty mouth, and she didn’t expect the gleaming fangs inside of it either.

How could she not see it the first few times?

The dead boar they found on the road, the fact that she had never seen him consume any food, and the wolfish way he eyes her neck when he thought she wasn’t looking should’ve given it away.

Astarion is a vampire. Worse, he's a vampire who’s intending to sink his teeth in Serenity’s neck.

Whatever terrible things she secretly wanted to do to him, she had no chance of enacting them in this situation. Hells, if anything, Astarion is the one with the capacity to do terrible things to her. The tiefling will be at his mercy, if she doesn’t act fast. So, why isn’t her body doing anything to move?

Heart racing, she needed to say something, at least.

“Stop,” Serenity warns him, voice low, baring her own sharp teeth. The tiefling had considered smashing her precious lute over his head as a last resort. Before the bard can lash out, he pulls back, alarmed.

“No no, it’s not what it looks like, I swear!” Astarion hastily blurts, panic evident in his voice. “ I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed- well, blood.”

The elf’s admission confirms it; Astarion is a vampire, a creature enslaved to sanguine hunger.

At that moment, an expression that Serenity hasn’t seen on the elf before twists his features: guilt. The vampire knew he’s betraying her trust, and it shows.

“How long since you killed someone? Days? Hours?” Serenity asks, on guard now, but still sitting on her bedroll.

Eyes widening, Astarion’s tone becomes defensive. “I’ve never killed anyone!” he exclaims. Then, his expression turns grim. “Well, not for food. I feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds! Whatever I can get.”

The lass feels slightly reassured that she’s not dealing with a blood-sucking serial killer, but the possibility of him lying puts her on edge again.

“But it’s not enough,” the pale elf speaks again. Serenity half expected him to say this, he did try to bite her after all. “Not if I have to fight. I feel so… weak.”

And there it was, the last thing she expected from him: vulnerability. His reluctance to show weakness was written all over his face. Perhaps it wounds his pride? Regardless of the doubt she has for him, it changed Serenity’s perception of the vampire ever so slightly.

“If I just had a bit of blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please.”

Now this is a pleasant surprise. Astarion saying please? Is this a dream?

Still, the tiefling wanted to dig deeper at the truth. Brows knitting together in concentration, she knew better than to use the tadpole, but the damn thing established a psionic link with other infected individuals. 

Serenity pushes into the vampire’s mind to search for the truth.

“I- what’s this? What’s happening?” Astarion blurts, experiencing slight discomfort from the intrusion.

Pushing deep into the elf’s cracked and quivering memories, Serenity strains as she sifts through centuries worth of them, until she has reached its heart. There, she found herself in Astarion’s shoes; quite literally. She sees dark eyes that commanded her to feed, and instinctively, her body follows suit. Serenity, experiencing this through Astarion’s memory, opens her mouth, biting down, but not into a tender, pulsing neck. Though she wanted to recoil in disgust, there was no other choice; she couldn’t physically resist. The choice had been made for her- no, made for Astarion.

Astarion’s fangs pierce the twisting body of a rat - the only thing his master allows him to eat.

In return, Serenity’s own memories leak through the cracks of her psyche, and Astarion finds himself in the body of a wee girl with horns too big for her head. Ravenously, he inhales the sweet, buttery aroma of a freshly-baked pie resting on a windowsill. Astarion’s hands, now small and of bluish color, reach for the baked good with caution. A warm, ash-colored hand presses on his shoulder, and he sees the smiling face of a tall, drow man. Instead of hurting him for attempting to steal, the dark elf ushers him to a table, and offers him a slice with a compassionate smile. Serenity will never forget her first taste of the buttery pie crust, the sweet blueberries, and a hint of lemon and salt.

Now, Astarion will never forget that taste, either.

The connection between them severed, Serenity takes a moment to collect herself.

“You ate animals because you were forced to. Not because you wanted to,” she mumbles, eyebrows knitted together. Is it sympathy? Or perhaps his experiences reminded her of her own relationship with food?

Whatever it was, the tiefling’s perception of Astarion drastically shifted. On the surface, Astarion is a noble who turns up his nose at folks like her, but in truth, he suffered under the hands of a cruel master.

Being a pompous ass is a defense mechanism for him.

“I- yes,” Astarion says with resignation. “Yes, I ate whatever disgusting vermin my master picked. So, you can see why I’m slow to trust you,” he continues, and Serenity swore the expression he wore on his face tugged a few strings in her heart.

“But I do trust you, and you can trust me,” Astarion tells her.

Serenity thinks it might not be fair for her not to. How can she say that she can’t, after she saw his past for herself, and he didn’t show any hostility towards her for intruding upon his darkest, most haunting memories?

“I do. I believe you,” the bard responds, and she can hear his relief when he mutters “Thank you.”

Perhaps Serenity had judged him too harshly in the past. The drow who took her in cultivated compassion in her heart, and it’s beckoning to her.

“Do you need blood?” Serenity asks him, and there is genuine surprise on his face.

“I was about to ask,” he tells her, expression shifting into something more pleasant. “I only need a taste, I swear.”

“As long as you don’t take a drop more than you need,” Serenity replies, loosening her clothing slightly, her smallclothes peeking through.

“Really?” he asks, and he sounds almost eager.

“I- of course. Not one drop more.”

That damn vampire flashes her a smile that sends lightning rippling through her veins.

Astarion’s yearning eyes flicked to her exposed flesh, barely making out the purple tinge on her bluish skin as blood rushed from her chest to her face. Seeing where his eyes are roaming, Serenity feels her heart racing faster, and she swiftly lies down, back turned away from him. The tiefling bard is not about to let her companion see her flustered state.

Face inches away from her head, Astarion catches a whiff of the tiefling’s scent. He quietly thanked the gods that she didn’t smell of sulfur or rotting meat; instead, the bard smells of ash from freshly burned incense, laced with a warm, spiced scent.

The vampire holds her gently, delicately, until he strikes.

Astarion sinks deep, fangs like shards of ice piercing her neck. Serenity lets out a gasp, and her face contorts into an expression of pain and discomfort. Thankfully, the pain is quick and sharp, and as the vampire continues to feed, it fades gently into throbbing numbness. The bard feels her blood coursing through her body, into Astarion’s mouth, who sucked and slurped it hungrily.

He leans forward, one arm almost draping over the bard’s torso to support his weight, while the other still holds her head. Palm running through her short obsidian hair, he stops as they touch one of her horns, hand enclosing into a fist around it. Gently tugging, the elf tilts  her head for better access.

Astarion’s lips are wet from his meal’s blood and sweat, and his own saliva. They glided on the sensitive skin ever so slightly as he pursed them and sucked harder. Serenity found her breath catching in her throat from his actions, pulse quickening as her hand flew to grasp Astarion’s arm, filed fingernails turning white at the end.

In a figurative and literal sense, she’s holding on to dear life.

“Ah, Astarion, that’s enough,” she mewls, hand moving to grasp his hair, fingernails running through his scalp. Not enough to hurt, but enough for the vampire to snap out of it due to the sensation it produced.

The vampire moans, almost carnally, then it is followed by a surprised, questioning grunt. Serenity’s pleas, and the scrape of her fingernails took him from his trance-like state. Immediately, he removes himself from her neck, swallowing thickly.

“Oh. Of course.”

Serenity sits up as he pulls back, light-headed from the blood loss. She turns to the pale elf, her breathing ragged as her fingers gingerly pressed on her bite wound. The tiefling felt a blush creep on her face, neck, and pointy ears as she gazes upon Astarion’s face. In the firelight, she can see that his pupils are blown out in ecstasy, and blood is trickling from the corner of his mouth.

“That- that was amazing,” Astarion purrs, wiping off her blood and bringing his fingers to his mouth, savoring it to the last drop. “My mind is finally clear. I feel strong. I feel…”

He pauses, and Serenity stopped breathing for a moment.

“Happy,” he continued, sighing in contentment as he gave her a gentle, genuine smile.

Serenity had to blink a few times to confirm that she wasn’t seeing things.

She clears her throat, hoping to dissipate the delicious tension between them. “I look forward to seeing you fight,” the bard says to him, drawing her knees to her chest.

“Shouldn’t take long. So many people need killing,” Astarion responds, bowing ever so slightly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more… filling.”

The pale elf turns around and just like that, he is back to normal, snobbish self.

Serenity slumps back on her bedroll, exhaling slowly as her heart finally slows down. Her body crashes from the surge of adrenaline and the blood loss. Turning her head, she watches as the elf stalks towards the forest; stronger, more confident, and ready to hunt.

“This is a gift, you know,” Astarion tells her, back still turned from her, looking over his shoulder.

“I won’t forget it.”

Serenity won’t forget it either.

It didn’t take long before Astarion found a deer in the forest. As he drank the beast’s blood, he couldn’t help but compare the taste to Serenity’s blood. The animal is more filling indeed, but now? Nothing compares to the taste of the tiefling’s delicious blood.

She is the first humanoid he ever tasted, after all.

And how will he describe her taste?

The darling tiefling is bubbly, gentle, and sweet, much like her demeanor; almost sickeningly so, for his standards. It’s comparable to the Monastery of the Yellow Rose’s blueberry wine: a fragrant dessert wine he had the pleasure of consuming with delicate cheeses and light cakes back when he didn’t have any fangs.

Or perhaps he had associated her with the fruit due to her memories mingling with his.

Either way, when he said that he won’t forget it, he wasn’t just referring to the favor she did for him. Astarion was referring to Serenity’s taste as well.

Meanwhile, in the camp, Serenity draws her lute to her chest, plucking the strings softly in an attempt to lull herself to sleep. It doesn’t ease her into slumber like it usually does. Sighing, she squeezes her thighs together, heat pooling between them as she recalled the vampire’s lips on her pulsing neck. Perhaps it’s not the lute that she should be plucking at.

Reaching into the waistband of her trousers, the bard gives in to her secret desires.

At least there weren’t any more nightmares for the night.

[justmakeitatvshow]

EPISODE 1: YOU'VE GOT THE FUTURE IN YOUR HANDS

(PLAY MUSIC)

SIGNED, SEALED, DELIVERED (I’M YOURS) BY STEVIE WONDER STARTS PLAYING

1. HOGWARTS – CLEAR DAY

The camera goes up from behind a group of trees revealing the Hogwarts castle. It starts moving towards MCGONAGALL’s window office where she is writing names on envelopes. She writes “Mary Macdonald” and the envelope gently flies to a pile next to her as another slides to be positioned under her hand. Then she writes “Remus Lupin”, and the envelope flies to a free space, alone. We see the hand of a house elf take it and then the camera follows the trail of flying letters all the way to the owlery. There, a bunch of elves wrap the letters to the owls’ paws and they fly away. The camera follows the flock flying with the letters with Hogwarts behind.

2. THE POTTER HOUSEHOLD – CLEAR MORNING

An owl flies in direction to a fancy house. JAMES wakes up hearing an owl’s squeal. He gets out of his room very excited and hurriedly walks down the stairs to the living room and entrance of his house. There, his father FLEAMONT is wearing an apron while his mother EUPHEMIA is wearing office attire. They present the letter to JAMES happily (even their owl ADRIAN appears to be smiling), and JAMES runs to meet their parent’s embrace and they all jump a little in joy.

3. 12 GRIMMAULD PLACE – CLOUDY AFTERNOON

The camera shows how the letter enters the house through the mailbox. KREACHER picks it from the doormat and crankily walks towards the great dining hall where WALBURGA, ORION, REGULUS and SIRIUS are eating in silence and places it next to WALBURGA. SIRIUS rises up his face from his plate showing that half his face is red as if he had recently been slapped and looks at the letter in awe, and then at his mother with fear. WALBURGA glares at the letter and says nothing, taking a bite of her meat.

4. THE PETTIGREW HOUSEHOLD – CLOUDY AFTERNOON

PETER is looking through the window, waiting and seeming hopeless. He frowns, suddenly looking dazzled, as if he’s heard a sound. He opens up the window to get a better view and immediately a huge owl races through the window into his living room, crashing with him and making him fall.

LINDA: (in a worried voice) PETER? PETER ARE YOU INJURED?

PETER straights himself and attempts to smack the owl, but it flies away. Then he realizes there is a letter by his side and looks at it, happy at first and then worried. He decides to open it and breaths in relief. At the same moment BARREND takes his face off the newspaper and gets up from the armchair. LINDA also enters the living room wearing an apron, and they both walk towards PETER very happy and relieved, hugging his son.

(PLAY MUSIC)

5. SOMEWHERE IN WALES – RAINY LATE-AFTERNOON

The ambience is gloomy. DUMBLEDORE stands in front of a doorway. It’s pouring rain but he is using an umbrella, disguised as a muggle. He is also carrying a briefcase. He rings the bell and waits.

LYALL (from the inside): Hope, can you get the door?

The door opens after a while, and DUMBLEDORE smiles at the woman in front of him.

HOPE: (in a worried voice) Sir… we-we weren’t expecting you (she rectifies and adopts a more relaxed, joyful tone) Please, come in.

DUMBLEDORE: (calmly) Thank you, my darling.

DUMBLEDORE enters the house and HOPE leads him to the living room. LYALL is messing up with some potions on the kitchen counter, wearing a very stained apron.

LYALL: (surprised) Headmaster. Is everything alright?

DUMBLEDORE: (distractedly) Yes, yes… (he paces around the room a little) (sniffing) Pardon me, Lyall, do I smell… Clark’s pies?

HOPE: Yes! You do. I was just baking some.

DUMBLEDORE: Delightful.

LYALL: Please, Headmaster, get comfortable (he points at the couch)

DUMBLEDORE: Call me Albus, please (he turns to HOPE) Could I get one of those Clark’s pie, good woman?

HOPE: Definitely.

LYALL: If we had been expecting you we would have managed a better welcome, Headmaster (he takes off his apron and places it on the counter)

DUMBLEDORE: Oh, don’t bother yourselves. There is no need to make a fuzz over an old man.

HOPE hands DUMBLEDORE a small plate with a Clark’s pie.

DUMBLEDORE: Thank you, darling.

HOPE sits nervously on the armchair facing him. LYALL walks slowly towards DUMBLEDORE and sits on the welting of his wife’s armchair. A big clock ticks and for a few seconds there is silence.

DUMBLEDORE: (observing the Clark’s pie closely) How has the insurance business been lately, Mrs. Lupin?

HOPE: (doubtedly) F-Fine, sir. Dumbledore.

DUMBLEDORE: I have heard it is a rising sector.

HOPE: I-

LYALL: (sated) Did you come all the way from Scotland to ask my wife about her job, Headmaster?

DUMBLEDORE: No, I have not.

DUMBLEDORE takes a bite of the Clark’s pie and nods at HOPE, delighted. He takes out a small handkerchief and wipes the corners of his mouth.

DUMBLEDORE: (declaratively) I am here to see the boy.

HOPE gasps, softly but audibly. LYALL sits up, aiming for his wand.

DUMBLEDORE: I thought we could enjoy a little conversation before the imminent happens.

HOPE: (hurriedly) He is just a child. He has’t hurt anyone. He is a good boy…

LYALL: (hurriedly) We take all the precautions, Albus. And I haven’t stopped, not for a single day, looking for a cure.

DUMBLEDORE: (unbothered) I applaud you. However, I could not care less about any of that.

HOPE gets up and goes to DUMBLEDORE, crawling onto him and taking his hand.

HOPE: (crying) S-Sir, please! Remus is just a little boy! He’s not even dangerous, I-I…

DUMBLEDORE: (without looking at her) Lower your wand, Lyall. I am afraid there has been a misunderstanding. I do not intend any harm for the boy.

LYALL: (untrustful) But the Ministry will if you rat him out!

DUMBLEDORE: Lucky for us that is the least thing I desire to do.

LYALL: (lowering his wand) For us?

DUMBLEDORE takes out an envelope from the inside of his cape and presents it to them.

DUMBLEDORE: The mail.

HOPE sits up in a hurry, recomposing herself.

HOPE: Lyall? (looks at her husband)

LYALL: Is that…?

DUMBLEDORE: Apparently your son has been accepted into Hogwarts.

LYALL drops his wand and it falls to the floor making a sound.

LYALL: Merlin… Is this for real?

DUMBLEDORE: So it seems.

LYALL and HOPE look at each other with fuzzy expressions. Then, they smile at each other.

DUMBLEDORE: Hogwarts will be a more inclusive place for young wizards this year. We will prepare the necessary arrangements for the safety of everyone, and that will make of Remus a student like anyone.

HOPE: (crying) Thank you so much…

DUMBLEDORE smiles at their happiness, but quickly gets serious again.

DUMBLEDORE: Now. I want to speak to the boy.

6. INSIDE REMUS’ ROOM

The door is ajar. REMUS is sitting next to the entrance, he has been listening. He is hugging his knees and his face is half buried between them. There is a book beside him, but he’s not reading it. DUMBLEDORE knocks.

REMUS: (in a small voice) Come in.

DUMBLEDORE: Hello, Remus.

REMUS doesn’t answer. DUMBLEDORE enters the room and takes a look. Then he kneels beside him, taking the book from the floor and observing it.

DUMBLEDORE: The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Nice reading. Which one are you on?

REMUS: The Warlock’s Hairy Heart.

DUMBLEDORE: (hums). A sad story.

REMUS: I like it.

DUMBLEDORE walks around the room, examining it. It is an obscure place for a little kid. There are not many drawings on the walls or colorful toys. There are a lot of books.

REMUS: (trying to act up) You’re here to imprison me, right?

DUMBLEDORE: (looking at him fondly and pitifully) Why would you think that?

REMUS: Because I’m dangerous to other people. (sadly) I’m a monster.

DUMBLEDORE: No, Remus. I am not here to imprison you. I am only here to give you this.

DUMBLEDORE hands REMUS the letter. REMUS takes it and, frowning, turns it around a couple of times, caressing it with curiosity. He opens it and starts reading. The camera follows its content, which is:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Remus Lupin,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Term begins on 1 September.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall.

REMUS: (looking at DUMBLEDORE with shock) You’re him. You’re Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.

DUMBLEDORE: (hums)

DUMBLEDORE pulls out his suitcase and opens it before him. REMUS looks at its insides with awe.

DUMBLEDORE: I have taken the liberty of borrowing this for you from an old friend at Flourish & Blotts. You will need them for the school year.

REMUS: (crestfallen) I am still not allowed to go out, right?

DUMBLEDORE: Nonsense. You will board on the train on the 1st, just like every other student at Hogwarts. I thought your parents would appreciate the help. It didn’t come to mind that you would have preferred to shop for your own books, Mr. Lupin.

REMUS smiles and walks towards the briefcase, looking at the books. Then he looks up at DUMBLEDORE, eyes shining.

REMUS: Is this for real?

DUMBLEDORE: (smiling) So it seems.

REMUS: I thought I couldn’t get accepted.

DUMBLEDORE: You have magic, right?

REMUS walks towards one of his tall shelvings and rises his arm to grab a book that’s too high for him. The book wobbles to his hand, flying in the air.

DUMBLEDORE: (eyes sparkling with curiosity) Not many children your age manage that amount of control.

REMUS: Thank you, sir.

DUMBLEDORE: Well, that is all whom should be required for a boy to start learning magic, right? The ability to perform it.

REMUS: I agree with you, sir.

DUMBLEDORE: Delightful.

(PLAY MUSIC UNTIL ANNOYING)

INTRO

The previous image turns into an inked drawing in the style of the marauders map. CHAPER 1: YOU'VE GOT THE FUTURE IN YOUR HANDS shows up in the centre of the frame. In the background sounds The Marauders Theme.

7. PLATFORM 9¾ – CLEAR DAY

The platform is filled up with people. From the upside we can spot all four boys: SIRIUS is getting up on the train while KREACHER waves. Behind him, BELLATRIX gets in smacking KREACHER in the head and laughing about it. JAMES is talking to his parents, who look at him in awe and laugh at what he’s saying. PETER is beside him a little uncomfortable and his parents are looking at JAMES with the same expression of awe than his own. REMUS is talking to his parents.

HOPE: Take good care of yourself, and write every day. My God! I can’t believe my little boy is going to school!

REMUS: Thanks, mom… I will.

LYALL: And if you do good at school we’ll buy you that record-player you liked so much, alright?

REMUS: Yes!

HOPE fixes REMUS’ jacket and LYALL pats his hair. REMUS’ expression turns gloomy.

REMUS: Hey dad… About that mind-reading hat…

LYALL: What about it?

REMUS: What if it… What if it finds out?

LYALL: (serious) That’s not possible. The hat won’t look into those parts of your mind. It will only see your heart. Or your brains; in which case, it will surely place you in Ravenclaw.

REMUS: (a bit cheered up) Like you!

LYALL: That’s right.

REMUS smiles contently. A few meters from there, EUPHEMIA points at REMUS and says something inaudible to JAMES. REMUS frowns and steps back, scared.

HOPE: What’s the matter, honey?

REMUS: Nothing…

HOPE turns around, looking for what startled her son.

HOPE: Don’t worry, sweetie. You’re kind, and smart. Keep your secrets close to your chest and you will make friends very soon. I’m sure of it.

LYALL: Yes. Be safe, son. And take care.

REMUS: Thanks…

PLATFORM WORKER: LAST CALL TO GET ON BOARD!

LYALL: Let’s get you up there.

They say their goodbyes and REMUS gets on the train.

HOPE: We love you!

REMUS: I love you, too.

8. HOGWARTS EXPRESS

REMUS enters the train and immediately bumps into PETER, who is holding his wand. PETER is pushed onto the wall, and his wand cracks in half.

PETER: Oghh!

REMUS: (upset) Oh my God! Sorry! I broke your wand!

PETER: Wha-? What? Where? When? Where is it?

REMUS: (regretfully) It’s… it’s on the floor.

PETER searches for it frantically, overwhelmed. When he spots it he breaths in relief and grabs it.

PETER: This? This is not my wand.

PETER takes a bite of the stick-like thing.

PETER: It’s licorice!

REMUS smiles a little, relieved.

REMUS: That’s odd licorice.

PETER: What’s odd about it?

REMUS: Isn’t licorice red? Or– black, for a change?

PETER: I don’t know… it’s just licorice.

JAMES appears from the side of the corridor, a bit annoyed.

JAMES: Peter? I was talking! Weren’t you listening to me?

PETER: Yes, yes, I was–!

JAMES notices REMUS and studies him. He then smiles at him and reaches out his hand.

JAMES: James Potter. Here to serve you, sir.

REMUS looks at him untrustworthily, but takes his hand and shakes it.

REMUS: Remus Lupin.

JAMES: Lupin? That’s an unusual name. (JAMES frowns a little and touches his chin) Wait a minute… You’re Lyall Lupin’s son!

REMUS opens his eyes wide, a bit surprised.

REMUS: You know my dad?

JAMES: Of course! My father talks about him all the time. He knows everything about non-human spectral appearances! He’s a genius.

REMUS nods, understandingly.

JAMES: We were just looking for a compartment, do you want to join us?

REMUS bites his lips doubtfully, a bit shakily.

REMUS: Okay…

JAMES smiles and starts walking, encouraging them with a wave of his hand.

PETER: Now, James (he takes a bite of the licorice) What were you saying?

JAMES: I was telling you about how my great-great-great-great-grandfather Phileas Potter, who was a brave Gryffindor, managed to win the heart of a muggle princess that was locked up in the highest tower of the highest castle…

9. HOGWARTS EXPRESS CORRIDOR

Compartment door closes.

STUDENT (from the inside): Sorry!

JAMES: Merlin’s beard, they’re all full!

PETER: We just have to keep looking, there must be a free compartment somewhere!

REMUS: I think I see an open door…

JAMES: You’re right!

PETER: Finally!

JAMES opens the door. Inside the compartment there are BELLATRIX, NARCISSA, LUCIUS and SIRIUS. BELLATRIX, NARCISSA and LUCIUS are much older, appearing to be in 6th of 7th year.

BELLATRIX: (in a high pitched voice, mockingly) Oooohh… did you get lost, little one? (she bends to get a better glance) Oh, look! It’s a bunch of them!

NARCISSA frowns lightly at her and turns to see through the window. SIRIUS, who is looking down, rises his head to look at JAMES, REMUS and PETER disgruntedly.

JAMES: S-Sorry sirs! A-And misses!

LUCIUS: (laughing) Don’t be! Come, come inside! You’re Potter, right?

JAMES: …

JAMES: It has been a pleasure talking to you!

JAMES closes the door quickly. PETER lets out a small squeak.

LUCIUS (from the inside): The pleasure is mine! (he laughs)

PETER: Oh Merlin, Oh Merlin, Oh Merlin, Oh Merlin, Oh Merlin!

JAMES: “Sorry sirs!”? I’m so stupid! (he hits himself on the head) Stupid!

REMUS: What happened?

PETER: What happened?! What happened??!! Those were The Blacks!

JAMES: And Malfoy.

PETER: And Malfoy!

JAMES hurries to find an empty compartment and invites them in with a hand gesture, confidently.

(STOP MUSIC)

10. HOGWARTS EXPRESS COMPARTMENT

REMUS enters the compartment and sits beside the window. JAMES sits in front of him and PETER sits by JAMES’ side, closing the door behind him.

REMUS: Who are The Blacks?

PETER: (getting up to safe the door anxiously) You don’t know The Blacks? Where do you live, under a rock?

JAMES: The Blacks are only the most powerful family in the entire Wizarding World.

REMUS: I see…

JAMES: Also, they are all insane.

PETER: And they are very, very rich!

REMUS: I didn’t know.

JAMES: How could you not?

PETER: Are you a muggle?

JAMES: No, he’s not, he’s Lyall Lupin’s son!

PETER: Ah, right…

REMUS: My mum’s a muggle, so… We live in a muggle town.

JAMES: So, you’re closer to the muggle way of life?

REMUS: Could say so…

PETER: So you’re basically a muggle.

JAMES: (upset) Peter!

PETER: No wonder you’ve never seen licorice… Do you even know what candy is?

REMUS: Y-Yeah, I do…

PETER: Don’t worry, Lupin. We’ll get you some candy.

JAMES: (looking at REMUS) It’s okay you’re half muggle, you know? A lot of people is these days. You don’t have to feel ashamed.

REMUS: I’m not… Or… I wasn’t…

PETER: (checking his own temperature) I still can’t believe we bumped into the Blacks like that. I am so scared of them…

JAMES: Well, I am not! I won’t be belittled by the likes of them…

PETER: Alright, you won’t– But I will!

REMUS: (curious) What is so scary about them, anyway?

PETER: It is no joke they’re all insane.

JAMES: And it gets worse every generation. For example, everyone knows that Bellatrix, the black haired girl, keeps his hair that curly because she washes it every night with house elves’ blood!

PETER: (insistently) Every night!

JAMES: That’s a lot of blood.

PETER: And the young boy that accompanied them was Sirius, her cousin and the House heir, Walburga’s son. He is our age. And everyone who knows him already says he’s much worse than she is…

JAMES: All of them are in Slytherin, of course.

PETER: … and I am so scared of him!

JAMES: Compose yourself, Peter; he’s just a boy like us…

PETER: They say dark magic runs in their veins… that they don’t need to learn it!

JAMES: (unsure) That’s nonsense. That’s not possible.

PETER: That’s what makes them insane, they say!

REMUS: (shakily) Yeah, that… that’s not possible. Dark, magical things… on people’s bodies. That would be awful, I would hate that.

JAMES: Yeah, mate. Not cool.

REMUS opens his suitcase nervously and takes out a book.

JAMES: You read? Sweet! What are you reading?

REMUS: The Tales of…

PETER: The Tales of Beedle the Bard! (proudly) The best book in the world.

JAMES: Yeah, the only one you have ever read…

REMUS looks at them, amused for the first time.

REMUS: Do you know each other from before?

PETER: Our moms are friends. We have known each other for years.

JAMES: We only meet on summers, though. When my parents and I go to our vacation house, which is near Peter’s.

PETER: Do muggles not have books? Why don’t you read muggle books?

REMUS: I have a couple…

JAMES: Do you know in which house you’re going to be placed? Or which one is your favorite house?

REMUS: (startled, remembering his fear of the Selecting Hat) Well, my dad was in Ravenclaw…

JAMES: That’s cool. Ravenclaw’s a cool house. Not cooler than Gryffindor, but definitely better than Slytherin… or Hufflepuff.

PETER: Hufflepuff is the worst. It's just lame…

REMUS smiles at them and starts reading.

JAMES: Definitely.

PETER: No one in my family has ever been in Hufflepuff.

JAMES: (sighing) Don’t worry, Peter, they won’t place you in Hufflepuff…

PETER: (revealing his fear) How do you know!? And what if it happens!? I will run away! I will, I swear!

JAMES: A nagger like you would never be a Hufflepuff! Hufflepuffs are sweet, boring people. YOU’RE TOO ANNOYING!

PETER: (relieved) I hope you’re right, James… I hope you’re right.

JAMES: I’m not afraid like you. I know I will be placed in Gryffindor.

PETER: Yeah… I’ve heard your monologues about how your family has been chosen into Gryffindor since the 13th century. And I heard you repeating to yourself “Gryffindor! Gryffindor!” when you thought no one was listening for the entire summer… what was that, anyway?

JAMES: I was practicing how I would like the Selecting Hat to announce my placement.

PETER: Right…

TROLLEY WITCH (from the outside): Anything from the caaaart? Anything from the caaaart?

JAMES: Do you want something, Pete?

PETER: Yes!

JAMES: Remus, do you want something?

REMUS: (distracted by the reading) Eh… alright.

PETER: Yeah, let’s get you that candy. You look very pale. Are you sick or something?

JAMES: Peter… That’s rude.

REMUS: (uncomfortable) It’s okay. A lot of people ask me that, really… That’s just… the way my skin looks.

JAMES opens the compartment door.

TROLLEY WITCH: Anything from the cart, dears?

PETER: I’ll take three licorice wands, four chocolate frogs, six acid pops and a package of jelly slugs.

JAMES: Two chocolate frogs and a dozen Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans for me, pretty please!

REMUS takes out his money and he counts it. He doesn't have much.

TROLLEY WITCH: That will be two galleons and seven sickles!

JAMES: What–? Oh, no, no; you didn’t understand me. I want a dozen boxes of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. (he turns to REMUS). What do you want, Lupin?

REMUS: I’ll just have… a sugar quill.

TROLLEY WITCH: Alright– That makes five galleons and six sickles.

JAMES hurries to pay. He has a pretty full coin purse. TROLLEY WITCH leaves closing the compartment magically and REMUS takes his money and offers it to JAMES.

REMUS: How much do I owe you?

JAMES: Don’t worry– It’s on me! Just a small treat for my friends.

REMUS stays still, with the money on his hand, and swallows hard.

REMUS: But… but we’re not friends.

JAMES: (startled) Oh. Alright. Well, it’s on me anyway.

The compartment falls in silence and REMUS goes back to reading. PETER eats absolutely everything he purchased. JAMES looks through the window.

PETER: (caressing his full belly) I’m just gonna take a little nap… wake me up when we get there (he closes his eyes and immediately starts to snore)

ANY MUSIC STOPS

11. NIGHTMARE SORTING CEREMONY

WOMAN’S VOICE: Lupin, Remus!

REMUS walks up and sits on te sorting chair. A woman dressed in black robes places the hat on his head. The Great Hall is full of people, the whole school is looking. He turns to see DUMBLEDORE on the professors’ table. DUMBLEDORE smiles at him and nods.

When the hat touches REMUS’ head, everything goes black.

SORTING HAT: Let me see…

We dive deep into REMUS’ thoughts. REMUS sees himself transforming, chained in the basement of his house. The image switches from the transformation to daily memories. The wolf howls. He sees his parents, talking to each other worriedly. The wolf scratches the stone walls. He looks from the window at the other children, playing near his house. The wolf scars himself. The transformation ends and he is again a boy. He faints, and a real wolf appears and starts eating him alive violently.

SORTING HAT: Well, well, well… What do we have here?

WOMAN’S VOICE (from the outside): What is it?

SORTING HART (aloud): A WEREWOLF!

REMUS opens his eyes, scared. All the students scream and start running away. Also some teachers are running, including DUMBLEDORE. Someone grabs REMUS and starts dragging him to lock him down. REMUS cries but he lets it be.

12. HOGWARTS EXPRESS COMPARTMENT – NIGHTIME

REMUS wakes up suddenly. It’s dark outside.

JAMES: Come on, we’re here. You both fell asleep.

REMUS: I’m sorry…

JAMES frowns at him.

JAMES: Why are you apologizing?

REMUS: I don’t know.

JAMES: It’s alright. I’ll wait outside the train, I need some air.

JAMES gets out. REMUS. and PETER stay in the compartment, REMUS still dazzled from his dream.

PETER: (stretching, newly awakened) You really broke the guy with that not-being-friends thing of yours, mate.

REMUS: Excuse me?

PETER: I’m just saying… James is too much of a nice guy to understand that sort of thing. I mean, he keeps on being my friend, and he doesn’t even like me…

REMUS: Oh.

PETER: You should tell him you didn’t mean it. Even if it’s not true. He just won’t feel comfortable any other way.

PETER gets up and picks his things. REMUS gets out of the compartment and into de corridor.

REMUS: Um… alright? I-I just… I’m not really looking forward to making friends…

PETER: Ah. Oh.

REMUS: I just… I don’t know if I’m gonna be staying here long enough…

PETER: Are you getting transferred to Durmstrang, or something?

RANDOM STUDENT: Please, can you hurry up? You’re blocking the corridor!

REMUS: (starting to walk) Sorry.

PETER follows him.

PETER: Look, just speak with the lad. As a favor for me? It’s likely we’re going to be roommates and I don’t like it when he gets all grumpy.

REMUS: Alright, alright. I’ll speak to him.

PETER: Great.

They get out of the train alongside the rest of the students.

13. HOGWARTS’ STATION

BELLATRIX and NARCISSA are talking to SIRIUS near the express’ exit.

BELLATRIX: Just think of beautiful things and that stupid little hat will put you in Slytherin, no doubt!

NARCISSA: (indifferent) The hat will also attend to your requests. In reality, you just have to ask. That's all.

SIRIUS nods quietly, looking discouraged.

HAGRID: First years! Come on, first years!

HAGRID and FILCH are guiding the students to get near the lake and onto the boats. REMUS and PETER join JAMES and they walk behind HAGRID.

HAGRID: First years, this way to the boats, come on, follow me!

They get on the boat and it starts moving, slowly. They contemplate in awe how all the boats start moving together, making a beautiful picture with their little lights.

JAMES: It’s so cool, right?

REMUS: Yeah…

As they get closer the Hogwarts castle gets visible, and it occupies the whole frame.

(PLAY MUSIC)

14. HOGWARTS’ CORRIDOR

MCGONAGALL is waiting for the students on a staircase, and waits for them to be standing on the staircase to start speaking.

MCGONAGALL: Welcome to Hogwarts. In a few moments you will pass through these doors and join your classmates but before you can take your seats you must be sorted into your houses.

JAMES smiles excitedly and jumps a little. SIRIUS, standing a couple people away from him, is biting his nails and breathing heavily, head down.

MCGONAGALL: …There are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Now, while you’re here, your house will be like your family…

SIRIUS rises up his face as if he just realized something, and he stops biting his nails.

SIRIUS: (purposeful) I’m ready!

VARIOUS STUDENTS: (laugh)

MGONAGALL: (surprised but momentarily interested) Congratulations, Mr. Black. Now, as I was saying… Your triumphs will earn you points… (continuous in off)

JAMES: (whispering) Nuts, I’m telling you.

PETER: I just hope he isn’t planning on killing us all…

(MUSIC STOPS)

15. SIRIUS’ ROOM, 12 GRIMMAULD PLACE – CLOUDY AFTERNOON

SIRIUS and REGULUS are laying in bed laughing quiety, as if they don’t want anybody to hear, while looking at some pictures.

REGULUS: (laughing) And great-aunt Cassiopea’s scarf! It looks like a bird!

SIRIUS: (laughing) Ew! It probably is…

REGULUS: I can’t believe mother keeps all this pictures hidden… they’re hilarious.

SIRIUS: That’s probably why she keeps them hidden.

REGULUS keeps laughing and looking at pictures. SIRIUS laughs with him for a bit longer but them gets staid and sits up.

SIRIUS: Reggie… we’re friends, right?

REGULUS: Yes, of course.

SIRIUS: And we’ll always be friends, right? We’ll always be brothers.

REGULUS: Of course, Sirius.

SIRIUS: Then… can I tell you something?

REGULUS: (worriedly) I don’t know… what is it?

SIRIUS: It’s something about… Hogwarts.

REGULUS: (interested) Okay, tell me.

SIRIUS: I just… (very quietly) I think I don’t want to be in Slytherin…

REGULUS: (surprised) What? Why?

SIRIUS: I don’t know, I just… I don’t see the point of joining a House or something just because it is expected…

REGULUS: (worriedly, distant) Why are you saying those things?

SIRIUS: (reflexive) …

REGULUS: Why are you thinking those things?

SIRIUS: It doesn't matter… It's stupid.

REGULUS: (confused) …

SIRIUS: …

REGULUS: You’ll have to get into Slytherin. That’s what mother and father want.

SIRIUS: Yes, but that’s the point, right? That’s what they want. It might not coincide with what I want.

REGULUS: But you don’t know what you want… you’re only eleven years old.

SIRIUS: …

REGULUS: Mother and father know what’s best for us better than us.

SIRIUS: Maybe…

REGULUS: Sirius.

SIRIUS: Yes?

REGULUS: Promise me you’ll get into Slytherin?

There is a small silence, and the SIRIUS chuckles, dismissing the issue.

SIRIUS: … of course, silly. (he forces a smile) I’m a Black, aren’t I? It’s not like I can help it, anyway.

REGULUS: (way more relaxed) Then why were you saying all those things?

SIRIUS: Just to think about something, I guess… Summer in London is SOOO boring!

REGULUS: (laughing) Totally! If only we could visit cousin Andromeda up in Oxford…

SIRIUS: We’ll find a way to have fun, Reggie. Don’t worry. I can escape again this Sunday and buy that muggle magazine you like.

REGULUS: Really? Pleeeease do!

SIRIUS: Of course.

KREACHER makes a disgusted face. He is listening from the other side of the door.

16. SORTING CEREMONY – CLEAR NIGHT

MCGONAGALL (distant): Abbott, Igmar!

SORTING HAT (distant): HUFFLEPUFF!

MCGONAGALL (distant): Boromir, Michael!

SORTING HAT (distant): RAVENCLAW!

MCGONAGALL (distant): Blabse, Theresa!

SORTING HAT (distant): SLYTHERIN!

MCGONAGALL: Black, Sirius!

SIRIUS rushes to the chair. JAMES glances at him with a frowned face and PETER bites his nails. BELLATRIX is holding an unhinged smile and NARCISSA contemplates quietly the event.

NARCISSA: (whispering, worriedly) Just ask… Just ask…

SIRIUS sits down and MCGONAGALL places the SORTING HAT on his head.

SORTING HAT: Uhmm… A Black! This should be easy… Although you have brains… in your own way I must clarify… You also have a good amount of loyal in you, Hufflepuff could be an option… But you’re cunning, so cunning… plotty… and ambitious…

SIRIUS: (whispering) Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, not Slytherin…

SORTING HAT: Pardon me?

SIRIUS closes his eyes.

SIRIUS: Not Slytherin, please, not Slytherin…

SORTING HAT: “Not Slytherin”?

A Black!?

GRYFFINDOR!

SIRIUS opens his eyes. The Great Hall is silent. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables start clapping cordially, but stop when no one follows.

BELLATRIX stands up to get a better glance and throws a hateful glance at SIRIUS. NARCISSA imitates her, looking at SIRIUS with her mouth and eyes wide open.

DUMBLEDORE looks shocked for a while during the silence but then he smiles, stands up and starts clapping alone.

The rest of the teachers follow and small number of Gryffindors start clapping then, and eventually they start clapping more and more until they are chanting and whistling. There is a sense of victory an gain from the oldest students.

SIRIUS walks towards the Gryffindor table and sits alone, relaxed, not looking anxious anymore. Some older students welcome him and pat his back, and he smiles.

BELLATRIX starts walking to the Gryffindor table but NARCISSA follows her and grabs her arm.

BELLATRIX: (screaming) This is outrageous! That fucking hat is a LIAR!

NARCISSA: Compose yourself, Bella!

The Slytherin table starts whispering. MALFOY approaches them and try to calm BELLATRIX down. Another few Slytherins gather around to pacify them.

MCGONAGALL calls to order making a small sound with a cup.

JAMES contemplates the scene with eyes wide open. PETER looks like he’s about to faint.

PETER: Merlin’s beard!

JAMES: (mouth open) …

PETER: That was…

JAMES: That was the most badass thing I have ever seen!

PETER: … awful! Now that means we’re going to have to be in class with him!

JAMES: I don’t think he’s all that bad. He’s a Gryffindor. Did you see how Dumbledore stood up to applaud?

PETER: But he’s a Black!

JAMES: And a Gryffindor! The Gryffindor crosses out the Black.

PETER: I’m not so sure about that!

JAMES: What do you think, Lupin? Isn’t that something?

REMUS: (distracted) Uh? Oh. I guess it’s… uncanny.

REMUS looks nervous and uneasy, like the waiting is taking too long. JAMES keeps looking back in awe at SIRIUS who is already sitting at the Gryffindor table.

MCGONAGALL (distant): Evans, Lily!

SORTING HAT (distant): GRYFFINDOR!

MCGONAGALL (distant): Hollyheat, Winnie!

SORTING HAT (distant): HUFFLEPUFF!

MCGONAGALL (distant): Jaspers, Hugh!

SORTING HAT (distant): RAVENCLAW!

MCGONAGALL: Lupin, Remus!

JAMES: (bumping REMUS softly with his shoulder) You’re on, mate.

PETER: Good luck!

REMUS nods at them and slowly starts walking towards the hat. His legs look like they’re about to fail at any moment.

MCGONAGALL smiles at him warmly and he tries to return the smile, unsuccessfully. He sits up and closes his eyes very hard, as if he is about to receive an impact, and MCGONAGALL places the SORTING HAT on his head.

SORTING HAT: Well, well, well… What do we have here?

REMUS: (whispering) I’m sorry.

SORTING: You’re sorry? Oh… Oh, I see…

REMUS: (whispering, scared) Please, don’t tell anything…

SORTING HAT: Tell what? I’m only a hat, boy… And I can see that you are probably one of the bravest people that has ever wore me. Congratulations. You have also a keen mind… you think you could make a good Ravenclaw. But you aren’t only intelligent… you pursue knowledge.

REMUS: (whispering) I know that. I have always liked books.

SORTING HAT: I am of the idea that a mind like yours would be more fitting for Slytherin… What are your thoughts on this?

REMUS: …

REMUS: (whispering) … no.

I’m brainy… I know that.

But I want to be brave.

SORTING CHAT: Clever boy… GRYFFINDOR!

The Great Hall bursts into applause, just like it does with any other student. REMUS gets up smiling and walks to his table. He sits by a small group of first years, next to a red haired girl, who instantly turns to him.

LILY: (cheerfully) Hi! I’m Lily.

REMUS: (a bit awkward, glancing around) Hello. I’m Remus. Lupin.

LILY: I saw you at the train station. Your mom is a muggle, right?

REMUS: (uncomfortable) Yes… that seems to be a topic of conversation.

LILY: Both my parents are muggle. And my sister. I noticed because of her cross necklace. Wizards don’t believe in religion.

REMUS: (more relaxed) Oh! That’s a relief. I was talking to these two boys, but I think we don’t get along so much because they’re both full wizards…

LILY: Yeah… I haven’t really talked to anyone yet. Apart from Severus. But he hasn’t been sorted yet, he’s still waiting.

REMUS: Who is he?

LILY: He’s a friend from my neighborhood.

REMUS: Seems nice. In my neighborhood… there are only muggles. So I don’t really have any friends. Here, I mean.

LILY: Well, that's fun. It gives you the opportunity to meet a lot of people.

REMUS: I guess…

MCGONAGALL (distant): Pettigrew, Peter!

SORTING HAT (distant): GRYFFINDOR!

PETER sighs in relief, so stressed out that it seems like he is about to faint, all sweaty, and trips on his way to the Gryffindor table, but luckily doesn’t fall.

MCGONAGALL (distant): Potter, James!

SORTING HAT (distant): GRYFFINDOR!

JAMES smiles triumphantly, proud of himself, bows to his audience and shakes hands with MCGONAGALL when she grabs the hat, who looks at him frowning but amused.

PETER welcomes JAMES warmly into the table and points at the place that has saved for him. But JAMES walks straight towards SIRIUS and sits by his side. SIRIUS turns around to examine JAMES, a little surprised.

JAMES presents his hand to him.

JAMES: (joyfully) James Potter. Here to serve you, sir.

SIRIUS shakes his hand, entertained.

SIRIUS: Potter… (in a reflexive way) Ah, I know you. My mother says you are all a bunch of blood traitors for being related to muggles and connecting with their culture. She opines you and your family are not pure-bloods, but a disgrace to the wizarding community and should all be locked up in Azkaban.

JAMES: I… guess?

SIRIUS: Do you want to be friends?

JAMES: Yes.

SIRIUS: Fantastic.

JAMES smiles and takes out his chocolate frog card deck. SIRIUS notices and takes out his own deck instantly.

JAMES: I was wondering… is there any chance you own a Jocunda Sykes card you would trade for, not one, but TWO Artemesia Lufkins?

SIRIUS: (checking out his cards) You are out of your mind if you think even two Artemesia Lufkins are worth a Jocunda Sykes… I’ll trade if you give me a Godric Gryffindor one, too.

JAMES checks his cards and when he finds the one he’s looking for he looks up cheerfully and smiles.

JAMES: Deal!

SIRIUS: (exchanging cards) Great…

PETER looks at them sadly and sighs.

17. DOORMROOM – CLEAR NIGHT

The moon is visible before the camera focuses on the kids. It is almost full.

PETER: It’s such a coincidence we’re all in the same room! Don’t you think?

REMUS is lying on his bed already wearing pijamas and reading Alice in Wonderland.

JAMES: It’s not a coincidence, Peter. They pair you up magically with whoever you meet first.

PETER: Oh…

SIRIUS: I don’t think that’s true.

JAMES: Do you have a better theory?

SIRIUS: Not really…

JAMES: Then that’s settled. You three are the first people I met at Hogwarts, and now I’m stuck with you for all long seven years! Not that I’m complaining.

JAMES hops to his bed and starts jumping on it.

PETER: Ha! Good one, James!

PETER imitates.

SIRIUS: What are you doing?

JAMES: (laughing) Stretching out the strings!

SIRIUS gets on his bed and starts jumping too.

SIRIUS: This is fuuuuuuun!

REMUS looks bothered from his bed.

REMUS: Excuse me… can you make less noise?

SIRIUS stops, and so do JAMES and PETER.

SIRIUS: Sorry. I hadn’t seen you there. You’re so quiet.

REMUS: (dismissing it) It’s alright.

SIRIUS hops off his bed and walks up to REMUS’ bed.

SIRIUS: What’s your name?

REMUS: Remus Lupin.

SIRIUS: (reflexively) Lupin… doesn’t ring a bell.

REMUS: (in a mood) Do you lot have to know the story of every family? In what world do you live in?

SIRIUS: (surprised) Whoah… easy there, mate.

REMUS:  Sorry, I just… (apologetically) I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just very tired. And tomorrow’s the first day of school…

SIRIUS: (frownish) And?

REMUS: I don’t know. Aren’t you excited?

SIRIUS: About school? No thanks. I have been tutored since I was three years old. I’ve had enough school for life!

JAMES: I am actually a bit excited. Curious, even.

SIRIUS: Enjoy yourselves, then.

REMUS: (annoyed, still focusing on SIRIUS) Are you just not gonna care about school? And just fail every class?

SIRIUS: I don't know. I’ll decide on the fly. Where are you from? You speak funny.

REMUS: I’m from Cardiff… and you’re from London, you don’t need to tell. (rolling his eyes)

SIRIUS: Yes, I am. Even though I technically descend from France… my family emigrated from Normandy on the 10th century, you know…

REMUS: Yeah. (he snorts, entertained) You’re so french. And I’m so very going to sleep.

REMUS places his book on the small table beside his bed.

REMUS: (ironically) Bonne nuit!

REMUS closes his curtains.

SIRIUS: (innocently and sincerely) Bonne nuit!

PETER: (pronouncing badly) Bonnui!

JAMES looks at SIRIUS raising his eyebrow.

SIRIUS: What?

JAMES: Never mind. Do you wanna play flavored beans?

SIRIUS: Sure! But I warn you, I play the hardcore version. I stick three of them in my mouth and try to guess each flavor distinctively.

REMUS looks sad inside the curtains of his bed, and sticks his head under the pillow to avoid the noises.

(chatter starts fading)

PETER: Ha! That’s nothing. This summer I stuck SEVEN beans in my mouth.

JAMES: That’s true.

(chatter fades into yet ANOTHER frame of the moon)

18. HOGWARTS STAIRS – MORNING

The stairs are crowded with students trying to make their way to class.

REMUS spots LILY in the multitude and makes her way through to her.

LILY: Hi Remus!

REMUS: Hi Lily.

LILY: It’s impossible to get to class, is so crowdy!

REMUS: Yeah… I guess everyone is trying to get to the same place.

MCGONAGALL appears and starts making space, encouraging students to move along.

MCGONAGALL: Come on! Don’t block the stairs! Third years, up, second years, down, first years, with me!

REMUS and LILY start following MCGONAGALL alongside the other students.

REMUS: Where are your roommates?

LILY: They’re braiding each other’s hair in the dorms. I didn’t want to be late to class.

REMUS nods understandingly. SEVERUS looks at them sorrowfully from the crowd lead by SLUGHORN, already down the hallway.

19. TRANSMUTATION CLASS

REMUS and LILY are sitting next to each other. The classroom is wide and the students’ desks are distributed in pairs. MCGONAGALL’s table is at the top centre, in front of a blackboard.

MCGONAGALL: Welcome, students, to your transmutation class! Some of you might be wondering what transmutation is all about. Well (she moves in front of her desk) I’ll show you–

The door opens abruptly. JAMES, SIRIUS and PETER enter the classroom with their ties untied and carrying their sweaters alongside their books on their hands.

SIRIUS: Sorry, Miss!

MCGONAGALL: It will be “Professor” for you, Mr. Black. And for the rest of you (gestures the room). Is there any particular reason why you lot decided to be late today?

JAMES: We fell asleep, Professor. And our roommate who got here early didn’t wake us up.

REMUS purses his lips and bows down, a bit regretfully.

MCGONAGALL: (unpitifully) Pitiful. Now, please, find your seats.

PETER and JAMES look at REMUS disgruntedly as they seat. SIRIUS looks unbothered and sits alone on the back of the class.

MCGONAGALL: As I was about to show you, this is all Transfiguration is about.

MCGONAGALL transforms into her cat form, MINNIE. The students gasp and MINNIE jumps up to the professor’s table. There she transforms back into MCGONAGALL, sitting.

MCGONAGALL: Transfiguration focuses on the alteration of the form or appearance of an object via the alteration of its molecular structure. (stating) Does anyone know what a molecular structure is?

No one raises their hands. Some students look at each other questioningly.

LILY raises her hand.

MCGONAGALL: Yes? Ms. Evans, right?

LILY: That's right, professor.

MCGONAGALL: Go ahead.

LILY: The molecular structure of an object is the very very small pieces that conform it. They can’t be seen with the human eye, so we use special lenses for that, like microscopes. It’s something that physics study.

MCGONAGALL: Very interesting, Ms. Evans… for a Muggle Studies class. (severely) This is Transfiguration. (some students laugh) Does anybody have a better answer than Ms. Evans?

There is a silence. Students look at each other again and whisper. LILY rises her hand again.

MCGONAGALL: Yes, Ms. Evans?

LILY: (awkwardly) The molecular structure is the essence of an object.

MCGONAGALL: Very well, Evans. That’s an answer. A wrong one, but an answer still.

The students laugh again. LILY looks down, covering her face with her red hair.

MCGONAGALL: In Transfiguration we don’t use words like “molecular structure”. Are we clear?

STUDENTS (simultaneously): Yes, professor.

LILY: (whispering to REMUS) I didn’t know.

REMUS: (whispering back) I didn’t know either.

20. OUTSIDE OF CLASS – MORNING

LILY and REMUS are getting out of class when JAMES, PETER and SIRIUS reach them.

JAMES: (laughing) Molecular structure! Ha, ha, ha! I think I’m gonna be laughing for ages!

PETER and SIRIUS laugh with him.

LILY: …

JAMES: (mockingly) Did you plan on answering forever until you got the right one? Ha, ha, ha!

PETER: Good one, James!

LILY: (fed up) Leave me alone!

REMUS: (shyly) Yeah– sod off, James.

JAMES keeps laughing but walks away, and PETER and SIRIUS walk with him.

LILY: Those are your roommates? They’re absolute idiots!

REMUS: Well– That’s a strong word.

LILY: They mocked me!

REMUS: (uncomfortable) Well, technically– the whole class mocked you.

LILY: (looking treasoned) I see.

LILY throws him an upset look and starts walking away fast.

REMUS: Lily!

REMUS is about to walk after her but he stops and sighs, letting her go.

21. THE GREAT HALL – LUNCHTIME, CLEAR DAY

REMUS is sitting and reading while eating whole boiled eggs, peacefully. He keeps his books next to him on the bench so no one sits. Suddenly three people burst out of nowhere. SIRIUS puts the books up on the table and sits with him, JAMES rolls under the table to sit in front of them and PETER follows him, getting stuck.

SIRIUS: (stretching out) Finally lunchtime! I’m STARVING.

PETER: (stressed out) I’m stuck, I’m stuck!

JAMES: Don’t worry, Petey, I’ll save you!

JAMES gets under the table and starts pulling him up from the arms.

SIRIUS: (laughing) OH MERLIN, we have a F. A. T. code!

JAMES: (laughing) Good one, Sirius! (still pulling)

PETER: That’s not funny! I’m going to DIE here!

REMUS: OH MY GOD, STOP SCREAMING!

PETER: STOP! STOP PULLING, JAMES, MY ARM HURTS!

PETER suddenly slips through the table and slides a few meters from there until he crashes with the Hufflepuff table, hitting his head.

PETER: Ouch!

MCGONAGALL is sticking out her wand and pointing it at PETER. She guards it down again and looks down at the boys severely.

MCGONAGALL: You will access your seats from the side of the table and not from under. Are we clear?

SIRIUS, JAMES, PETER: (scared) Yes, professor.

MCGONAGALL glances severely at them. Afterwards she looks down to REMUS and smiles at him. REMUS returns the smile shyly, and MCGONAGALL leaves.

JAMES, SIRIUS and PETER find their seats, PETER walking from the Hufflepuff table scratching his head. REMUS returns to his book and keeps eating. SIRIUS looks at him slightly disgusted.

SIRIUS: (unbelievably) What are you doing?

REMUS: Excuse me?

SIRIUS: Why are you eating eggs like that?

REMUS looks at the half-ate boiled egg on his hand and shrugs.

REMUS: I’m hungry.

JAMES: Have you actually eaten all that?

JAMES points at the huge empty trays of food before them.

SIRIUS: Yeah, you know that’s supposed to be for everyone, right?

REMUS: I-I…

PETER: And how come you’re so skinny if you eat so much?

REMUS: I-I don't know!

SIRIUS, JAMES and PETER look at each other and shrug

(PLAY MUSIC)

The trays fill themselves magically.

PETER: Cool!

SIRIUS smiles and starts eating. From the Slytherin table he sees BELLATRIX, smiling at him maniacally like she knows something he doesn’t know, and he stops for a second.

JAMES: (perceptively) What’s the matter?

SIRIUS: N-nothing, I…

A black owl flies inside the Hall catching everybody’s eye, and doesn’t stop anywhere particularly. It is holding an envelope.

JAMES: (mouth full) What is that? Mailed arrived during breakfast.

SIRIUS looks at it terrified, recognizing it. The black owl starts flying lower and closer to the Gryffindor table. Some students have to bow their hands down to not be hit by it.

STUDENTS: Hey!

The owl starts flying down around SIRIUS, JAMES, REMUS and PETER until it squeaks loudly and falls on the table before them. Some students gasp.

FEMALE STUDENT: Is it dead???

The owl squeaks again and cries in pain, squirming on the table. Tears start falling down SIRIUS’ eyes, disgusted. Its black feathers start convolving and rearranging its form, revealing WALBURGA’s bust, who is looking at SIRIUS hatefully. Students around them and around the Hall gasp, and DUMBLEDORE gets up, alarmed.

WALBURGA (DEAD OWL FORM): (calmly) You are a disgrace. You have humiliated me. You are a bad son, and for that you shall by punished.

Tears rush down SIRIUS’ eyes, out of fear.

WALBURGA (DEAD OWL FORM): (speaking loudly) You are a freak. Surrounding yourself with blood traitors, filthy half-breeds and nasty squibs! (screaming on top of her lungs) FILTH, SCUM, BY-PRODUCTS OF DIRT AND VILENESS…

DUMBLEDORE stands up and diminishes the spell with a flip of his wand. WALBURGA (DEAD OWL FORM) vanishes leaving a trail of feathers on the table.

(MUSIC STOPS)

DUMBLEDORE: Lunch shall continue.

DUMBLEDORE sits down.

Tears are rushing down SIRIUS’ eyes and he is breathing difficultly. BELLATRIX smiles, amused, and NARCISSA looks at her rolling her eyes. JAMES, PETER and REMUS stay very still, unsure of what to do.

SIRIUS wipes away his tears and looks down at his plate, meddling with his fork. There is an awkward silence between the four.

SIRIUS: So… the Cannons are back on first.

JAMES swallows hard without looking up.

JAMES: Yeah… that’s what everyone is talking about since Ursula Tobbytott’s signing.

SIRIUS: She’s a great player. The Holyheads don’t know what they’ve lost.

JAMES: And they won’t know what hit them on the 23th! (JAMES looks at SIRIUS smiling). That game’s going to be epic.

SIRIUS: (smiling softly) Probably a bludger from her side of the pitch.

JAMES laughs, and PETER joins in.

JAMES: That’s right.

REMUS looks at them with his eyebrows furrowed, worried and a bit surprised. He takes another bite of egg and turns back to reading silently.

22. HOGWARTS – LATE AFTERNOON, ALMOST SUNDOWN

REMUS is following MCGONAGALL through a hall. The paintings follow them with strange looks.

They walk in silence. They get out of the school and walk the field to a big tree.

MCGONAGALL: We called it the “Whomping Willow”

REMUS: Why?

They are close enough now, and the willow starts to shake. One of its thick branches attempt to hit REMUS, who needs to bow down.

REMUS: (surprised and a bit scared) Okay! I see.

MCGONAGALL: You must pull this branch here.

MCGONAGALL bends down to where the roots end, a few meters away from the willow.

MCGONAGALL: It will calm it long enough for you to get through.

MCGONAGALL pulls the root and the willow stops its motion.

MCGONAGALL: Come on. Follow me.

They get inside the passage under the willow.

23. THE SHRIEKING SHACK

When they get out, they are in a cozy living room.

MCGONAGALL: We figured you would need a place to ready yourself and feel comfortable in case Madame Pomfrey is late to pick you up. There is also a first aid kit in the bathroom.

REMUS: (looking around, surprised) This is not a jail.

MCGONAGALL: It is not.

They walk around the house. REMUS goes to the kitchen sink and opens it: there is running water.

MCGONAGALL: I will place protection spells from outside the house so you won’t be able to get out during the transformation. (she looks at the sunset) It is almost time. I better be going.

MCGONAGALL turns around to come back to the passage.

REMUS: Professor!

MCGONAGALL turns her head.

MCGONAGALL: Hm?

REMUS: (moved) Thank you. Please, thank the Headmaster for me. And Madame Pomfrey, too.

MCGONAGALL smiles fondly.

MCGONAGALL: You’re welcome, Mr. Lupin. And I will.

MCGONAGALL disappears under the passage.

24. DORMROOM – CLEAR NIGHT

The boys are sleeping. All of them, but PETER.

PETER is rolling on his bed trying to sleep, muttering something.

PETER: “Good one, Sirius” “You’re so funny, Sirius”. Ugh… stop it.

PETER realizes he is cold. The window is open and he gets up to close it. By the window he notices REMUS’ bed. The curtains are closed.

PETER: Psst. Psst. Lupin. Do you want to be my new best friend?

PETER opens the curtain a little bit, and the realizes the bed is empty. He opens it wide and wonders if he should tell the others.

JAMES (on his sleep): Molecular…

PETER turns around, afraid he’s been caught, but SIRIUS and JAMES are still sleeping soundly. PETER closes up the curtain again and gets back to his bed.

25. DORMROOM – RAINY MORNING

The boys are dressing up in a hurry, they’re late again.

JAMES: (jumping around putting on a sock) That damned Lupin!

SIRIUS: The guy just wants to get there early (looking at JAMES’ quidditch magazine). It’s not like we care, anyways.

JAMES: Whatever. (knocks in the bathroom door) Peter, are you done!?

PETER (from the inside): Not yet! I ate a looooot of potatoes last night. Sorry!

JAMES: Ugh!

SIRIUS shrugs.

JAMES: We better run, then.

26. TRANSMUTATION CLASS

JAMES, SIRIUS and PETER enter in a hurry. Luckily, MCGONAGALL is not there yet.

JAMES glances around trying to find REMUS, but REMUS isn’t there.

PETER: Sirius, do you want to sit with me?

SIRIUS: Sure.

JAMES looks at them surprised and is left alone to sit with LILY.

LILY: (upset) God, please, no.

JAMES: There aren’t any free desks!

LILY: You have some nerve.

JAMES: (awkwardly) It’s not like I want to sit with you, anyway…

LILY: We’re on the same page.

JAMES: Great.

JAMES turns around to speak to SIRIUS, who is bending back on his chair looking at the ceiling.

JAMES: (mouthing) Lupin’s not here.

SIRIUS: (mouthing) And?

JAMES: (mouthing) It’s odd.

PETER: (mouthing) Maybe he left for Durmstrang. He said he wasn’t gonna be here long.

JAMES: (mouthing) Really?

MCGONAGALL enters the room and behind her the door closes magically with a bang. She stands in front of her desk and places some books there.

MCGONAGALL: Good morning, students. Today we are going to talk about viciousness. Can anyone tell me what viciousness is?

A few hands rise, and the class begins.

LILY: (whispering to JAMES) I know where Lupin is.

27. THE INFIRMARY – LUNCHTIME

MADAME POMFREY is walking towards REMUS’ bed with a tray of food. REMUS is asleep, and MADAME POMFREY leaves the tray on the side table and sits beside him on the bed.

MADAME POMFREY: Come on, little darling, it’s lunchtime.

REMUS slowly wakes up. He yawns and scratches his eyes.

MADAME POMFREY: How are you feeling, sweetie?

REMUS: (voice broken) Well… pretty good, actually. It don’t feel pain. I don’t… feel, in general.

MADAME POMFREY: You were experiencing great pain from the transformation, so I put you on a sedative and some Sleeping Draught. Are you okay with that?

REMUS: (surprised by the question, grateful for the sedative) Yeah… Anything.

MADAME POMFREY: Well, I have been a healer for a few years now but I had never encountered a case such as yours! I don’t know right away what’s going to work so the firs months I will switch remedies to find the one that works best, okay?

REMUS: (smiling gratefully) Okay…

MADAME POMFREY: Now, how are we feeling about some lunch?

REMUS: I’m staving…

MADAME POMFREY: Interesting… I mean…! Here you go.

MADAME POMFREY places the tray on REMUS’ legs and he starts eating frantically. MADAME POMFREY smiles fondly at him.

A sound of the door opening causes MADAME POMFREY to get up, walking away from the frame to find who’s getting inside. REMUS keeps eating.

MADAME POMFREY (distant): I’m sorry, you can’t be here.

SIRIUS (distant): We’re visiting!

REMUS sits up, surprised, and tries to move the tray to put it on the table, but it is too heavy.

MADAME POMFREY (distant): Lunchtime is almost over, you must come back to your lessons.

JAMES (distant): But we brought eggs! And pie!

MADAME POMFREY (distant): Who are you visiting?

JAMES (distant): Remus Lupin!

REMUS opens up the curtain and waves, with his mouth full of mashed potatoes. On the other side, near the front door, there are JAMES, SIRIUS and PETER, who is holding a plate with a generous portion of pumpkin pie.

JAMES: There he is! Can we at least give him the pie?

MADAME POMFREY frowns but looks at REMUS. REMUS witnesses the scene with a bit of a shock: he wasn’t expecting anyone to visit, and he is gladly surprised.

REMUS looks at MADAME POMFREY and nods slightly.

MADAME POMFREY: (sighing) Alright. But just five minutes!

JAMES: Great!

JAMES, SIRIUS and PETER approach REMUS and stand by his bed.

JAMES: (worriedly) Remus! What happened?

REMUS: I had a stomach ache yesterday afternoon so… I went to the infirmary. And I stayed because it got worse during the night, but I’m better now.

SIRIUS: It’s no surprise considering how much you were eating.

PETER: Here, Remus. (presenting the pie) We brought you pie. We thought it’d cheer you up, but considering you’re stomach ill…

REMUS: (taking the plate from PETER’s hands hungrily) No, no; as I said, I’m feeling better.

PETER: I’m glad.

JAMES: So… are you coming back to class? Or will you have to stay here longer?

REMUS: I think I’ll stay longer, but I’ll sleep in the dorms today… I hope.

JAMES nods. REMUS starts eating the pie in silence. He looks at the three boys, and they are all looking at it.

REMUS: Do you want some?

JAMES: Yeah…

SIRIUS: Yes!

PETER: Do you have extra forks? Can I use my hands?

REMUS smiles seeing them split up the pie.

(TIME LAPSE)

The boys have already finished their pie pieces and are chatting about their class day. REMUS’ tray is on the table, and they are all sitting around the bed.

SIRIUS: And then Caradoc did that thing with his wand and his nose just stretched up like a pig!

JAMES: It was hilarious.

PETER: Even Flitwick laughed!

JAMES: Yeah; he said he had never seen a student succeed in that spell so early, specially while trying to perform a different one!

They all laugh.

MADAME POMFREY is reading some files on her table, and smiles at the sight of them, shaking her head.

REMUS yawns and gets comfortable on the bed.

REMUS: You should go. You’ll be late to class, otherwise.

JAMES: Right. Let’s roll, gentlemen!

SIRIUS: We’ll see you at the dorm.

PETER: Yes! You missed mail today: my parents sent me my chess game.

JAMES: Oh, the damned chess game!

PETER: I love to play chess.

REMUS: (smiling) We’ll play.

PETER: Great!

SIRIUS and PETER wave their hands and leave. JAMES waves as well, but starts walking slower.

REMUS: James.

JAMES turns around rapidly, brows raised. REMUS half smiles.

(PLAY MUSIC)

REMUS: I’ll see you later, friend.

JAMES smiles widely, thrilled.

JAMES: I’m looking forward to that, fine sir.

REMUS smiles and JAMES turns around with one last smile, hurrying his pace to meet PETER and SIRIUS’.

REMUS lays down, ready to sleep. MADAME POMFREY goes up to cover him with the sheets and turns out the light beside his bed with a tip of her wand.

CREDITS

(MUSIC STOPS)

28. DUMBLEDORE’S OFFICE – CLEAR NIGHT

DUMBLEDORE is reading some papers on his desk. FAWKES is pecking on her feathers calmly, almost effortlessly. The spiral staircase spins and MCGONAGALL enters the office. DUMBLEDORE looks up and takes off his glasses, leaving the papers beside him. MCGONAGALL walks towards the desk and stands in front of him.

MCGONAGALL: You wanted to see me, Albus?

DUMBLEDORE: Please, take a sit.

MCGONAGALL sits on one of the chairs in front of the desk.

They stay in silence for a while, DUMBLEDORE fiddling through his drawers. Finally he takes out a small piece of candy and presents it to her.

DUMBLEDORE: Would you care for a sherbet melon?

MCGONAGALL: A what?

DUMBLEDORE: A sherbet melon. I have been trying muggle sweets lately. They are rather tasteful.

MCGONAGALL: No, thank you.

DUMBLEDORE nods and puts it on his mouth.

DUMBLEDORE: Something extraordinary happened this year.

MCGONAGALL: Yes.

DUMBLEDORE: The boy is going to require protection from within his house. And we cannot miss the opportunity.

MCGONAGALL stutters. She was understanding at first, but she isn’t anymore.

MCGONAGALL: Opportunity? Opportunity for what?

DUMBLEDORE: We cannot sit blind to the fact that war is ahead. His numbers are growing bigger, not smaller. I have to ask too much of you, Minerva. You have to look for the boy.

MCGONAGALL: I–

DUMBLEDORE: It is likely the Black family is going to retaliate. And for when that happens, he must be protected.

MCGONAGALL: (refusing) Tens of students are in danger, Albus. Specially muggle-born students. And only because he belongs to an important family...

DUMBLEDORE: A dangerous family, Minerva. A powerful family. And he is a Gryffindor, let us not let that pass.

MCGONAGALL: (upset, raising her voice) Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin... what does it matter? These are children we are talking about! They’re not chess pieces for you to play with.

DUMBLEDORE: (harshly, raising his voice higher) Either I play with them, or He plays. I suspect you to be bright enough to discern which of both options is preferable.

MCGONAGALL looks down. She sighs.

DUMBLEDORE: (calmly) You must have heard he is recruiting werewolves.

MCGONAGALL looks up, eyebrows furrowed.

DUMBLEDORE: I do not know when it is going to be, but we only stand once chance to defeat him.

MCGONAGALL: So if he starts recruiting giants you are just going to follow?

DUMBLEDORE rises one of his eyebrows.

MCGONAGALL: Hagrid...

DUMBLEDORE: Precisely.

MCGONAGALL: I can’t believe this...

DUMBLEDORE caresses FAWKES, who is squeaking a little, at the limit of her life.

DUMBLEDORE: Difficult times are ahead. And we have to think of the future. We cannot know how things are going to be in five, six, seven years. His power could be immense.

MCGONAGALL: (displeased) I know. I know.

DUMBLEDORE: I trust you the most within these grounds, Minerva. But we cannot afford infighting. Sometimes you are just going to have to accept my decisions, and maybe, watch me make mistakes. I need to you trust me as much as I trust you.

MCGONAGALL stares at FAWKES for a bit. She squeaks loudly one last time and bursts into flame. The fire shines in MCGONAGALL’s eyes.

MCGONAGALL: (still looking at FAWKES) Yes. I understand.

(PLAY MUSIC)

FAWKES’ ashes start churning, and a small chick rises its newborn head. MCGONAGALL caresses her head a bit. DUMBLEDORE observes them putting his glasses back on and reaching for his papers.

END OF EPISODE 1

[crowleyellestair]

Imagine being Jaskier’s Destiny

AN/// I hope everything is correct cause I wrote this kind of fast and I’ve never tried this format before, so I hope you guys like it

Destiny was an interesting thing that strikes fear into the hearts of everyone on the continent

Jaskier had always believed in it, like most

He had heard the stories of destiny catching up with those who don’t listen to it and he saw firsthand what happened at the party of the Cintra

Sometimes his mind wandered to Geralt’s attitude towards fate. What will happen to his friend if he decides to ignore his child surprise?

He trusted the Witcher with his life and lute, but would he be powerful enough to stand against the stars?

After months of worrying about his friend, he started to worry about his own destiny

Was he destined to fame and love or heartbreak?

A companion to travel through life with, other than Geralt, or will he die alone?

But one day he was granted more answers than he had before

Jaskier had been with Roach as Geralt had gone off in the woods to hunt for a witch that he was commissioned to capture

He wasn’t supposed to kill her, but she had apparently skipped out on paying back a local shop for supplies she took

Dandelion thought he spotted something out of the corner of his eye

So naturally he went to go look at it

But nothing was there

Until something caught his eye again farther into the woods

After a while he was brought to a cabin

It was a quaint little place, that was in the middle of the woods, so he assumed it belonged to who they were looking for

The towns folk all said she was nice, but she rarely listened to humans or did what they asked, thus the need for the Witcher

Jaskier had knocked and was met with a kind, old face that welcomed him in

She had spouted nonsense until he had him sitting across from her at the table in the middle of the room

The woman had grabbed his hand and her eyes glazed over

“A warrior wallowing will wander into your arms”

“That’s quite the alliteration-.” Her hand clamped harder and his normal smile dropped from his face

“It’s just past tomorrow’s dawn where she has unknowingly been waiting. The siren will capture her heart just as her heart will capture the music man.”

Now, Jaskier had no idea what destiny was going to give him, or how he was going to recieve it, but he assumed this might be it

After his hand was released with a pat, the woman asked if he wanted some pie, to which he accepted

Geralt had busted through the door an hour later

“Jaskier.”

“Geralt, you are just in time. Margery was about to tell me about the ghoul that had tried to fight a griffin. Now, I couldn’t say if she is lying or not, but it has made for a great story.”

He hadn’t been really listening to what she had been saying, just as she never listened to any of the questions he had

He was too focused on the wording of her statement

Was he going to lose his destiny to a creatrue right after he fell in love with her?

That’s a shitty destiny

Geralt had gotten the lady to listen to him and they made their way back to Roach, then the town

It had taken most of the night to find their way back out of the forest

So by the time they had reached the tavern, the sun broke the tree line and basked the three of them in gold

And Jaskier was  excited

Because it was tomorrow’s dawn

But nothing came of it

He performed his heart out, but nobody stood out to him, and almost everyone in the room was married or was dissinterested in the man

A year past

He had forgotten about it, really

Until Geralt was injured and out of medicine and they had to stop in town, despite their original plan of traveling through the night

“Welcome to ‘Tomorrow’s Dawn’. ‘Ow can I ‘elp you?” The bartkeeper rasped

Despite the man’s tone, Jaskier was taken back to the woods and the old, kind woman

So Jaskier brushed him off, let Geralt tend to himself for once, and picked up his lute

He felt bad for Geralt having to deal with the man himself

But he had to know

He was in the thick of it, being more in tune with the audience more than usual

And that riled them up

People were dancing and singing along, but his attention was drawn to a figure plopping down in the corner of the room

The woman had dropped her hood to show a dirtied face

It looked as though this person had been in a recent fight, and her action of shouldering her broad sword off her back and onto the table helped furthure the assumption

She looked like a warrior

That’s when he noticed shining eyes focused soley on him

After he had finished the song, he pushed through people to get to her table

She put up the act of being bothered by his presence, but somehow

Somehow

He knew that she was lying, so he proceeded to sit

“You wouldn’t have been waiting, by chance, for something recently. Have you been?” Confusion struck her

“Yes?” There was a pause so she continued. “I was waiting to walk my friend home. It’s not safe outdoors at night by one’s self. As I expected, we had company. It was just past-.”

“Just past Tomorrow’s Dawn.”

“I mean, I guess it could be considered ‘just past’, but I was going to say the library. It’s more like a couple streets away, which holds many establishments in between, but sure. Just past.” Jaskier had let out a laugh at her sass, her playful attitude relieving him somehow

“And what could I call a hero like yourself?” She had also let out a small chuckle and a brief smile that had his heart doing flips

“I was merely being a friend. Y/n.”

The name had felt so right

“I’m-.”

“Jaskier. I know. I’ve heard of the Witcher and his famous bard. I must admit, the stories of your voice don’t give you credit. You could have easily been mistaken for a siren considering how wrapped up I was in your performance.”

Oh

Masterlist I have a few more Jaskier fics you should check out!

[to-be-small]

Chapter One

Part Two Part Three

It was a miserable wet night when I reached the tavern. The moon was a silver faintly glowing behind light clouds. The rain was just letting up, that hadn’t helped with the fact I had been walking through hours of downpour just to reach this town.

By wrist ached its pain slowly crawling up the rest of my arm, and my stomach felt ready to lose itself any second if I didn’t get something to eat. If I wanted to eat I’d have to earn it, my pockets were as empty as a temple during a bacchanal.

I kissed my fingertips and raised them to the sky before pushing the door open to the tavern.

It was a decent tavern, if not on the smaller side. The furniture was well made and clean, worn but still presentable. It smelled like beer and unwashed bodies but that was to be expected. It wasn’t like we were in the cities where people bathed daily. Patrons scattered across tables all farmers and work men. I grimaced slightly, not the type to appreciate fine art much less loosen their purse strings for it.

I could be wrong of course. I could always be wrong.

Not that it happened much.

I made a beeline for the bar and to the man behind it. He was the best dressed in the room, under a stained apron he wore fitted clothes of muted purple and reds. Money to spare it seemed. I gave my most winning smile, pushing my hair out of my face. “Hello kind sir, I was wondering if you would allow me to let me perform in your most fine establishment?”

He gave me a once over. Noting my soaked dirt stained, ripped and soaked clothes and my bandaged wrist. “You won’t get any coin from me bard, but it’s no skin off my nose if you do.”

“Understandable, thank you.” My smiled was much more strained than before. When I was turned around I couldn’t help my shoulders falling slightly. I chose the emptiest corner of the room.

I unfurled my shawl from my hair stuffing it in my bag. I hummed slightly, realizing I wasn’t going to have time to properly warm up my voice.

It was going to be fine. I was sure.

My first song was a quick ditty about the Gods. It was the story of how the Nine divided the earth. It got a few glances my way but that was it. I moved onto a more bawdy song about a farmer's daughter which was a poor choice I got more glances some guffaws but mostly scathing looks. My voice was strained and it keep cracking. I only had one more song in me before I hurt my voice too badly.

I looked over the patrons some of the snoring into their drinks. I caught a trio pointing and snickering at me.

If that was the way the wanted things. I pulled off my bag and left it on the floor.

I started to stomp rhythmically, chanting an old prayer and heads started to turn.

I paid them no attention as I started to move my footsteps rattling drinks on tables.

I began to sing. “Eyes of gold, hands of hair and meat, the giants who wait for your sleep,

“The love the smell of blood, they wish to stomp you into the mud,

“The men who live in the mountain,”

“Hide your wives, hide your daughters,”

“They come, they come, the men of the mountain”

As I moved across the tavern for a few moments I remembered why I chose to live my life like this. Eyes watched me, memorized by me, by my song. They forgot drinks and worries and focused only on me. The song is more about proper rhythm and  enunciated than it is about vocal power.

When I was done, I was happy with my work. Sure that they would show their appreciation. Two men gave a copper each and the rest turned back to what they were doing.

I hated small towns.

Defeated I slinked back to the bar and put my two coppers down. “How much is will this get me?”

The bar keep looked down at me before slinging a towel over his shoulder. “How much do you want?”

“A warm drink and dinner?” And spiced wine and a bath and a bed and dry clothes.

“One or the other”

I stifled a groan and pushed the two coins toward him. “Give me the dinner,” purposely leaving off the please.  He scooped them up and put them into a pocket, he turned toward the back.

Two more copper coins fell on the counter. “I’ll pay for the drink” a new voice said.

The bar keep looked to me and shrugged turning away before I could say anything. “One dinner and warm drink coming up.”

I turned toward the man who paid for my drink. The first thing that hit me was his height. He towered above me, and it was a wonder why his head didn’t brush against the ceiling. He was built solidly, like an oak. Dark brown hair that pulled up and away from his face.

“Thank you,” I started unsure of what to say next.

He pulled at the chair next to me and sat down. “You’re welcome friend.” My eye brows rose at his forwardness. “You shouldn’t blame them too much you know.”

“Pardon?”

He jerked his head to the rest of the tavern. “Its been a bad winter, money’s tight.”

I huffed. “If money is tight then they shouldn’t be drinking, they should be saving their coins.”

He grinned and I noticed his green eyes for the first time. They looked as if they were built up of hundreds of tiny dots all different shades of green. It was like there was a forest in his eyes. “You can’t blame a man for wanting a bit of comfort in dark times. You always sing, or do you do anything else?”

“Of course I do” I snapped. “I was trained to sing and to play the lute.” I held up my hand and the other man’s smile faded. “I wouldn’t be just singing if I had another option.”

“What happened to your hand?” He asked eyes still on the purple and brown bruises, still slightly swollen.

“A man thought my services included late nights. I got it for my trouble.” The barkeep came back dropping a meat pie and a mug of what smelled like spiced cider. Both me and the man nodded to him.

I picked up the pie with my good hand and took a bite. It was cold and fatty and to my stomach the best thing I had in a month.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you or pry. I liked your singing but I can tell that its been awhile since you’ve had time to practice at it.” It was warm apologize and a glance to his face told me he was sincere. “My name’s  Pyotr.” He held out his hand.

I brushed off my hand and shook it. “Bria.”

His smile returned. “That’s quite a lovely name, got any good stories for me Bria?”

His smile was so wide and earnest, I hadn’t seen one like in almost a year. It melted my cold heart too quickly. “Only if you have a few yourself.”

I told myself it was worth it to have a reason to stay in the warm dry tavern. That was the only reason.

We talked for hours.  Pyotr was quick to laugh and it made him a good listener. He was quick witted as well, and I didn’t have to water down any of my stories like I normally did. He had good stories as well, mostly stories about him and brother. One story of how they tried to steal a cow, had me howling. I begged him if I could rewrite as a song and he said he’d be honored.

He also paid for drinks which made all of the stories much more funny. When I was into my cups and I couldn’t help myself. I hummed softly under my breath as he told another story, and watched the colors around him change.

He was outlined in purple. And if I wasn’t drunk I would have been more interested in that.

With magic I see colors that surrounded a person. Most ranged in earth and jewel tones. They told me if the person was touched by magic in any way and what type. Most had none or slight earth colors showing something but nothing they could call on. The more intense and thick the colors the more intense the magic ability. Earth tones meant simple magic, little spells things for witches and mages. But jewel tones, like myself meant different more unique talents tied to a skill. Singing was mine, but for another it could be painting or farming.

I had never seen purple before, not once in my entire life. But I couldn’t say anything. Magic was forbidden unless you were under the service of a noble. I couldn’t risk outing myself and him. So I brushed it off.

By the time we were done it was just before dusk. I picked myself off my chair and thanked him for the wine and the company.

“Where are you going?” He asked as I started to stumbled off.

“I’m going to go sleep all this off somewhere.” I said, slightly swaying as I stood.

“Ah, I see, stay safe friend.” I waved to him before turning toward the door.

“Hope to see you soon again friend.” I said. He said something but I was too far away to hear it clearly.

The moon was gone, and sunset was soon. What I needed was somewhere to sleep. I cursed as I stumbled through the underbrush my night vision failing me.

I stumbled around for maybe half an hour before I found a clearing.

A loud yawn escaped me as I stretched out my arms. I started to pull out my sleeping kit, when a rush of birds flew above and away from me. I turned towards them spooked myself, just in time to see something rushing toward me.

I raised my hands, stumbling back. Something pushed my legs out from under me and I fell backwards arms failing.

Something encased me and my vision went dark. I was still on my back my hands  still failing hit something warm, something pulsing with life. My chest grew heavy as I looked my my sight returning.

I realized what I was staring up at was two giants hands encasing me.

My entire body went limp my head slamming into the warm flesh. Quicker than I would like to admit, I passed out falling into a safe dark place.

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze pt. 9/25

Previous

The winter holidays were a chaotic affair for the wolf pack. Since their own families were a mess it had become tradition to come together as a team and spend the Solstice as one big found family. This year was extra special because it was Ciri’s first winter with them and her first without her own family. This year was Lambert’s turn to host and he was going to make damned sure it was the best Solstice that the team had ever had.

The only problem was his cooking skills.

Cooking had never been his strong point.

When he’d lived with his brother, Eskel had done most of the cooking in the house and had developed quite a passion for it. So Lambert, like any good younger sibling, had quite happily taken advantage of every second of it. Of course, once living together had reached boiling point and they’d decided it was best for everyone to move apart, Lambert’s quality of diet had dropped considerably. He now lived on ready meals and takeaways most of the time, unless Eskel took pity on him, which happened on a fairly regular basis.

He stared at the cook book in front of him. The woman on front was smiling brightly in a sunlit kitchen and holding a ridiculously picturesque pie.

“Fuck it.” Lambert growled as he flipped through the pages to the right section.

He’d brought all the right ingredients and he’d carefully written down all the timings for everything, just like he’d seen Eskel do in the past. He read through the recipe for the roast lamb a couple more times before tying an apron round his waist and pulling his hair back into a bun.

“Cooking. I can do this. Easy as pie!” He grumbled as he pulled the ingredients from the fridge.

Today was all about prep, chopping veg and potatoes ready for cooking tomorrow, baking cookies for snacks during the day. He was also making an onion soup to start with that could be reheated tomorrow. He grabbed his peeler and stared down at the sack of potatoes.

There were so many fucking potatoes.

He was going to be here all day.

He should probably ask for help. Eskel always called him and Renfri round to help chop shit up.

“Fuck off, I don’t need help.” He grumbled and got to work with the potatoes.

He was about three potatoes in when he decided he was going to die of boredom. He washed the starch off his hands and put on some music. The sound of acoustic guitar filled the kitchen. It was some unknown folk band that he’d discovered online by chance, called Dandelion and the Bards. The two lead singers Dandelion and Priscilla harmonised so perfectly that it was like they’d almost been born to sing together.

He spent the next hour or so dancing around his kitchen with the potato peeler and singing along to the songs. The music was so loud he almost didn’t hear the doorbell. He paused, turned the music off and dumped the potato in the bucket of water.

The doorbell went off another three times in quick succession.

Eskel.

“I’m coming you ass!” He called out as the doorbell continued to ring.

He swung the door open with more force than necessary and glared at his brother who was grinning back at him. Geralt was stood behind him with Ciri perched on his shoulders. Geralt raised an eyebrow at his appearance and Lambert looked down at his starch covered apron. He huffed but didn’t say anything, for Ciri’s sake.

“Ah Ciri! Hello little lion cub!” He waved the peeler at the young girl and then paused. “Wait. What day is it?”

“Don’t panic, you big lump. We’re here to help.” Eskel pulled him into a hug and thumped him on the back.

“Oh. Yeah. Well I have it all under control.” He growled.

“Nice singing.” Geralt said with a smirk.

He felt his cheeks heat up, damned ginger complexion. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Sooo… what’s the plan of attack?” Eskel asked as he pushed through into the house. “Apart from putting the heating on. It’s freezing in here!”

Lambert shrugged. “Kitchen’s hot.”

The four of them made their back into the kitchen. Eskel pulled out a bundle of aprons from his rucksack and a cloth carrier that contained his set of actually sharp knives. It took about three minutes to delegate the tasks between the four of them. Eskel was in charge of marinading the lamb and making sure it was properly trimmed and ready to go in the oven. Lambert was to finish the potatoes and start on the veg. Geralt and Ciri would be on cookies. It was a tad cramped in his kitchen with all four of them working together and they almost crashed into each other at every turn but they were laughing and chatting away.

It was actually sort of fun.

He was starting to understand why Eskel enjoyed cooking so much.

They sorted out a game plan for the next day. Eskel went through his list of times and corrected any mistakes. Honestly, how was he supposed to know you were meant to let the lamb rest out of the oven after cooking. Surely that just made the food go cold. He hated cold food but Eskel insisted it would be ok but they had to make sure the plates were heated. In the morning Ciri and Lambert would make cinnamon buns together for team breakfast, Eskel would be in charge of the savoury snacks and salad, and Geralt would make the mulled wine and hot spiced apple juice for Ciri.

That way Lambert wouldn’t be stuck in the kitchen for the whole day and he’d actually get to spend some time with the wolf pack. He breathed a sigh of relief as he collapsed down onto the sofa with a beer in his hand. Ciri was sat by his feet with a glass of chocolate milk and Geralt and Eskel were lounged out on the arm chairs.

“See that wasn’t so bad.” Eskel grinned.

“I would have been fine.” He growled back.

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. “Seemed like you were having a party in there before we arrived.”

He shrugged. “I like to cook to music.”

Eskel almost choked on his beer. “You don’t like to cook.”

He growled. “I do too!”

“You never once cooked!”

“Only because I knew you liked it so much!” He shot back.

“I had fun!” Ciri announced loudly. “Even if Dad did drop flour in my hair.”

“Sorry, Princess.” Geralt grumbled.

“It’s ok! I blame Uncle Lambert! He crashed into you.”

Geralt laughed. “I blame Uncle Lambert too.”

“So what was the music you were listening to, Uncle Lambert?” Ciri asked as she wiped chocolate milk off her nose.

Lambert chuckled as she scrunched her nose up. She still managed to miss a huge smear of chocolate that was on her cheek. He wasn’t even sure how she’d managed to get chocolate that far away from her mouth. Geralt sighed at went to the kitchen to get a damp cloth to help her clean up.

“A band I found on the internet.” Lambert smiled. “You wanna hear some of their stuff?”

Ciri nodded enthusiastically. “Yes please! Dad get off!” She squirmed as Geralt attacked her with the kitchen roll.

“Mucky cub.” He laughed.

“I can do it myself!” She squealed and grabbed for the paper towel. Geralt let her take it and she scrubbed ferociously at her face until she was sure it was all clean. “Good?”

“Perfect.” He ruffled her hair fondly and she grumbled under her breath like an angry kitten.

Lambert went to get his phone so he could put his music back on. The melodic tones of Dandelion’s guitar filled the room. They sat in silence for a few seconds before Eskel chirped up.

“Thought you liked the heavy metal stuff.”

Lambert shrugged. “I’m a man of many tastes.”

“I like it!” Ciri agreed. “Sounds like Mr Jaskier’s playing.”

Eskel and Lambert both rolled their eyes at that. They heard enough about Jaskier from Geralt at work. They had almost forgotten that it was all because Ciri was just as fond of her teacher.

The first song was sung almost entirely by Priscilla. It was a soft heartbreaking number that always left him feeling emotionally strung out. It was only about halfway through that he remembered the cursing and he coughed loudly over the swear words earning a glare from Geralt. Ciri didn’t seem to notice though, thankfully.

The next song began just as quietly on the guitar but this was one of Dandelion’s. The moment he started to sing, Ciri began to scream excitedly and Geralt spat a mouthful of beer out onto the floor.

“Mr Jaskier!!” Ciri shrieked.

“Calm down, Cub.” Geralt spluttered. “I’m sure it just sounds like him.”

Lambert and Eskel exchanged a despairing look.

“No!” Ciri stomped. “It is him!”

Geralt looked at Lambert with a fierce glare. “What the hell, Lambert?”

He put his hands up in defence. “Woah now. I didn’t know anything about Ciri’s teacher.”

“Jaskier isn’t exactly a common name.” Geralt challenged angrily.

“Exactly!” Lambert cried. “It’s not Jaskier!”

“It is!” Ciri demanded with tears welling up in her eyes.

“Well what’s the band called?” Eskel asked as he scooped Ciri up into a hug.

“Dandelion and the Bards!” Lambert exclaimed. “Not Jaskier. The guy singing is Dandelion.”

“No!!” Ciri cried.

“Ciri, Princess.” Geralt said calmly and tried to smooth the young girl’s hair as she squirmed in Eskel’s arms.

“No!!” She repeated.

Lambert sighed and turned the music off. “I’m sorry Ciri. It doesn’t say anything about any Jaskier.”

But it didn’t matter. Ciri was having a meltdown. No matter what they did or said helped her to calm down and in the end Geralt had to bundle the screaming girl into the car with the promise that they would email Mr Jaskier about the band. Eskel left soon afterwards with the excuse that his goat needed feeding and Lambert was left alone once more.

“Ah blessed peace.” He sighed happily as he watched Eskel amble down the road towards his own house.

__________

For the second day in the row, Lambert’s kitchen was covered in flour. Ciri’s hair was now as white as her father’s and her fingers were covered in sticky cinnamon sugar. Lambert’s shirt was covered in tiny floury handprints from where Ciri had hug attacked him, her tantrum from the previous day now a distant memory. He’d reluctantly made sure to uncheck all of Dandelion’s songs from his Solstice playlist. He would miss the calming melodies of his favourite band but it was not worth another screaming match from the youngest wolf cub.

Ciri was dancing happily in the middle of the kitchen. She twirled and leapt about effortlessly with all the energy of a six year old. She was incredibly graceful and Lambert wondered whether Geralt had secretly enrolled her in some sort of dance lessons. That was a thing girls did right? He groaned as he thought about his present for Ciri. He’d probably completely fucked up. He’d bought her a wooden sword and matching bow and arrow set, something he’d always wanted as a kid but never had the good fortune to receive. Ciri would like that right?

He ran a hand through his own hair with a sigh. How the fuck was the White Wolf raising a daughter? It seemed like only yesterday they were all just getting pissed at the pub after every shift. Lambert had to admit. Geralt had guts. He would probably have had a meltdown if the task had been left to him but Geralt seemed to have taken to it pretty well.

“Uncle Lambert!!” Ciri giggled excitably.

“Yeah?” He scowled at her mischievous grin.

“You made your hair all white!” She pointed up at him.

He looked down at his hands in horror and sure enough they were covered in sticky floury dough.

“Fudge.” He caught the swear just in time.

“You look like Dad!” Ciri exclaimed as she spun round in a pirouette.

“So do you!” He shot back.

“Do not!”

“Do too!” He argued and scooped her up into his arms. “And I’m right because I’m the adult!”

“That’s not true!” Ciri countered. “Mr Jaskier says even adults make mistakes!”

“Mr Jaskier hasn’t met me.” He growled.

Ciri laughed. “Yes he has! See you made a mistake!”

“I was testing you.” He grumbled and flushed as he realised the young girl was right. He had met Jaskier at the school back in October.

“Suuure.” Ciri sang. “Now let me down! I want to open my presents!”

Lambert chuckled and dropped the girl gently back on the ground. She sped off out of the kitchen like a blur. It was almost certainly a mistake letting her dip her fingers in the butter and sugar. He grinned. The sugar crash was Geralt’s problem. He was the fun uncle and got to enjoy eating sugar out of the pot. He squatted in front of the oven to check on their creation. The warmth seeped right into his bones and he hummed contentedly. It had been a cold couple of weeks and there was just something unsurpassable about the glow of a warm oven, especially when it contained baked goods. The kitchen was full of the smell of baking and cinnamon, the perfect scent for the winter holidays.

“Wolf!” Vesemir barked from the doorway sternly.

Lambert looked up sharply and almost toppled over from his squat.

“Exactly how much sugar did you give the cub?” Vesemir muttered wearily. “She’s bouncing off the walls.”

Lambert shrugged. “It’s Solstice. Give her a break.”

“Smells good.” Vesemir nodded at the oven with a softening smile. “We’ll make a chef out of you yet.”

Soon enough the oven timer went off and the kitchen was crowded by hungry firefighters. Vesemir ordered them to queue up properly and in no time they were all crammed into the living room. The fireplace was lit and crackling. Ciri stared into the flames, mesmerised by the ever changing patterns of the fire licking up the chimney. Lil’ Bleater was curled up next to her licking at her hands. Geralt had put on a pan of mulled wine and a smaller pan of spiced apples juice for his daughter and the spicy scents had permeated the air. It was warmth and homely. Lambert grinned as he looked around at his family. He’d never felt so at home in his house before.

“Presents!” Ciri demanded as she tore her gaze away from the fireplace. Her face was now covered in icing and crumbs, and her emerald eyes seemed to dance in the light of the fire.

The sound of laughter filled the air. Renfri and Vesemir got to work distributing the presents until everyone had a pile. Naturally the young girl launched towards the biggest present but Geralt had her in his arms before she could tear the brown paper off.

“Dad!” She whined and struggled to get free.

“That one is last.” He ordered. “Promise me?”

She glared furiously at the floor but mumbled an agreement under her breath.

“Good.” He let her go and she picked up the smallest present instead. She looked up at Geralt to make sure it was ok and he nodded with a small smile.

Ciri tore off the wrapping paper to reveal a small jewellery box. She opened it with an adorable confused expression on her face.

“Did you check who it was from?” Vesemir asked.

“Sure.” Ciri growled but Lambert didn’t miss the way she sneaked a glance at the shreds of wrapping paper on her lap that were already being chewed up by Eskel’s demon goat. “Auntie Yen!”

“What is it, Princess?” Geralt asked.

“A necklace, with a bird!” She held the box up to Geralt.

“Looks like a swallow.” Geralt mused.

“That’s what Uncle Vesemir calls me!” Ciri exclaimed happily. “Help me put it on!” She thrust the box into his hands.

Geralt fumbled a bit with the clasp but wouldn’t let Renfri help him and eventually Ciri had a beautiful silver necklace around her neck. The swallow pedant was embedded with what looked like emeralds, and knowing Yennefer, they actually were emeralds.

Most of Lambert’s presents were new pieces of gym kit which suited him just fine. His old boxing gloves had sorely needed replacing so he was very pleased with Renfri’s gift. Although he knew it was probably so they would have an excuse to spar again without him blaming his gloves every time he lost. Vesemir had bought him a new set of guitar strings and a subscription to his favourite boxing magazine, Eskel and Geralt had come together to get him a brand new set of weights, one’s he’d been eyeing up for months but hadn’t been able to justify the costs. Yennefer’s gift was bottle of very expensive vodka that he’d had once in a bar on holiday and had never forgotten. Ciri had bought him a DVD of a film they’d watched together in the summer and a box of his favourite chocolates.

Vesemir had a brand new collection of history and gardening books. He was settled into his arm chair closest to the fireplace with his nose buried in one the books. Next to him was a crystal whiskey glass that Yennefer had bought him. The damned witch seemed to be intent on showing them all up this year with her fancy job and her even fancier salary but who was he to complain?

Eskel had his arms full of new goat supplies from most of team. He turned round to show the little bastard his new stuff when they realised he was missing.

“Where’s Lil’ Bleater?” Eskel frowned as he looked around the room.

Lambert shrugged. The last he’d seen of the goat he’d been munching on brown wrapping paper. Ciri leapt to her feet and started looking for clues to track the goats movements. Something she’d seen on one of her tv shows.

“How about the kitchen?” Geralt suggested. “Goats like food right?”

“Everyone likes food.” Renfri poked the silver-haired man in the arm. “We sort of need it to survive.”

“Goats really like food though.” Geralt insisted.

“Goats eat anything.” Lambert countered. “He could just as well be in the bathroom by that logic.”

“Well I’ve looked under all the wrapping paper and sofas so he’s not in here!” Ciri chimed up from where she was buried half under cushions and half under brown paper. “Oooh what if we track his smell? Lil’ Bleater stinks!”

Eskel gasped at the accusation. “He’s a very clean goat! I take good care of him.”

“There’s a reason Vesemir bought you fancy pet shampoo.” Lambert smirked and punched his brother in the arm.

“Shut it.” Eskel grumbled. “He’s a handsome boy.”

“Who stinks!” Ciri agreed.

“I still think we should try the kitchen.” Geralt insisted and then paused looking at Ciri thoughtfully. “I think I can smell goat from that direction.”

Ciri squealed and ran into the kitchen. “Fucking liar.” Lambert hissed under his breath earning a smirk from Geralt.

They trudged after the young girl. There was no obvious sign of the goat but Lambert could hear a strange scuffling sound coming from the oven.

“He wouldn’t jump in a hot oven would he?” Lambert asked.

Ciri yelled at him for that and hit him squarely in the chest with her wooden sword. Lambert seized the opportunity to fall dramatically to his knees, pretending to be fatally wounded. He let some of his weight fall onto Ciri who shrieked underneath him.

“Uncle Lambert!”

“You got me real good, little lion cub.” He groaned as she tried to hold back his weight. He was still supporting himself enough that she wouldn’t get hurt but she didn’t need to know that. “This might just be my last day in this world.”

“Get off!” Ciri growled. “I didn’t hurt you!”

“I am wounded!” He fell to the floor and pulled her down on top of him.

“You’re an asshole.” Ciri grumbled and there was an echo of shocked gasps from the adults in the  room. “What? It’s not a swear!”

“And it’s true.” Eskel added.

“It is true.” Geralt agreed.

Lambert glared at them both. “Screw you.”

“You’re awfully loud for someone who just died.” Renfri pointed out and he had to bite his tongue so he wouldn’t swear colourfully at her.

“Yeah! I told you I didn’t hurt you!” Ciri poked his chest.

A loud bleating ended the argument there.

“Lil’ Bleater!” Eskel cried happily.

Seconds later the a fluffy horned head poked out from under the oven. Lambert hadn’t even realised the gap between the oven and his kitchen floor was big enough for the goat to hide under. He was only a little goat but still it seemed like an impossible accomplishment.

Eskel picked up his beloved pet and swung him round in a big hug. “I missed you buddy! No hiding under ovens again, alright?”

The goat bleated.

“I know, I know. The oven smells of yummy food but you could have been hurt!” Eskel continued.

“Melitele save us.” Renfri sighed and topped up her mulled wine from the pan before stalking back into the lounge. So they could finish unwrapping the presents.

Eskel clipped on Lil’ Bleaters brand new collar and kept the mischievous goat in his lap as he unwrapped his last present, petting his sandy white fur absentmindedly.

Lambert had bought his brother a new cookbook that he was absolutely not allowed to open in front of Ciri. The names of the recipes were all very crude and there were pictures to match. Eskel had barely removed the paper before bundling it into his bag. His face flushed with embarrassment as Lambert cackled until his stomach began to ache. Ciri obviously asked what the big joke was and Eskel grumbled some lame excuse that made no sense. Luckily Ciri seemed content to let it go as long as she could open her next present. Vesemir had bought her a collection of new books after hearing so much about her love of school and reading. Some of them were a little hard for her age but Geralt would be able to read them with her.

Renfri only had two presents. Ciri had bought her a leather bracelet with wolves stitched into the band chasing each other’s tails all around the strap and howling at some unseen moon. The wolf pack and Yennefer had all teamed up to get her a decorative dagger that she’d seen at a craft fair over the summer. It was a beautiful blade, engraved with some kind of fantastical elven language and there was a stunning moonstone embedded into the hilt. It had been extortionately expensive but between the lot of them they had managed to afford it. Renfri’s eyes had lit up when she’d ripped the paper off the box, not quite believing it until she’d carefully lifted off the lid with shaking hands.

“There’s no way.” She whispered and then pulled them into a group hug. Even Vesemir put his book down to pat her awkwardly on the back. The blade fell from her lap with a clatter but thankfully she hadn’t quite managed to unsheathe it.

Ciri pouted at the sudden outburst of emotion but Renfri pulled her into the hug as well. “Your’s was better obviously! You’re the only person to get me their own present. These guys cheated.”

Ciri preened at that and stuck her tongue out at the rest of them.

The hug fell apart when Lil’ Bleater head butted Eskel in the back and they all toppled in a pile on the floor, much to the oldest wolf’s amusement. After that it was Ciri’s turn to open another present. Renfri bought her a new colouring book with glittery pens that Ciri loved. She had a strange obsession with anything glittery. The young girl declared it was because glitter was obviously magical and the rest of the team just couldn’t understand its power.

Geralt’s presents were all of a practical nature, a new toolbox from Vesemir, a couple of new shirts from Yennefer with a letter telling him that he had to wear them or else she would know. Ciri giggled at that but Geralt just looked at the freshly pressed black shirts in disgust. He was definitely more of a baggy t-shirt kind of guy but at least Yennefer hadn’t strayed from his usual colour scheme. Renfri had bought him some new stirrups for Roach. Lambert had bought him a new pair of boots after Geralt had complained about his old ones leaking following a particularly rainy shift at work. Eskel had made a picture frame filled with photographs of their little family. He’d even included a picture of Ciri with her parents and grandparents. The whole team had gotten a little sniffly at that one. Ciri was still yet to get off of Eskel’s lap and had promptly decided that he was the best uncle.

Geralt also had another present in the form of an envelope that he tucked into the pocket of his jeans. Lambert raised an eyebrow at that but Geralt just shrugged it off.

After Geralt’s presents Ciri was the only one with any presents left. She got a new wolf onesie from Eskel, further cementing his place as favourite uncle, much to Lambert’s displeasure. He vowed to make up for it on her birthday. He hated it when Eskel got one up on him.

And then it was time for Ciri’s last present and the last present of the day before they had to get busy in the kitchen for dinner.

She pulled at the paper excitedly and screamed when the guitar case fell into her lap.

“You got me a guitar!!” She shrieked.

Geralt winced at the high pinched tone of her voice and Lambert didn’t blame him. He was sitting across the room and even his ears were ringing. Geralt shook his head. “I got you a Ukulele.”

“A ukulele?” Ciri scrunched her nose up. “Does Mr Jaskier play the Ukulele?”

Geralt nodded. “He can. He thought it might be a better fit for you. It’s like a mini guitar and you’ve still got little hands. There’s some music in there too. Once you learn you’ll be able to read it just like Mr Jaskier.”

“Will he teach me?” Ciri asked brightly and Geralt shook his head.

“Jaskier won’t have much time outside of class to teach you but he has recommended a friend of his.” Geralt explained but Ciri was already scowling.

“I want Mr Jaskier to teach me!” She pouted.

“I’m sure if you ask nicely he can show you some things at school?” Eskel suggested.

“And you wouldn’t want to upset his friend.” Vesemir added from his place at the fireplace.

“Her name is Priscilla and she’s very excited to meet you. You’ll be starting lessons after school when term starts.” Geralt pulled his daughter into a hug.

Lambert almost dropped his mug of mulled wine.

“Sorry what?”

Everyone turned to face him with matching confused expressions on their faces.

“Lessons are after school?” Geralt repeated, raising his eyebrow at Lambert.

“No no… What was her name?” Lambert’s hands were trembling around his mulled wine.

“Priscilla?” Geralt repeated slowly. “He didn’t mention her last name.”

“Fuck!” He cursed.

Ciri gasped and pointed her finger accusingly at him and everyone in the room glared fiercely at him.

“Dandelion is Jaskier!” He yelled out to try and defend himself.

Ciri squealed happily and all the colour drained from Geralt’s face at the revelation.  

“What the fuck, Lambert?”

______

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