#fuck bullseye and the horse he rode in on

[mistressemmedi]

DD nation, how we doing

[dreamdropxoxo]

Omg if you're still taking prompts, i would LOVE an omegaverse au where damen realizes laurent is pregnant during kr!! Can be either right before the okton, right after, at the trial, whatever, just smth w pregnant laurent during kings rising and people realizing it

Hello and thank you so much for your prompt. I had a blast writing this short story. Honestly, I almost forgot how much I liked writing Omegaverse :)

I hope you like the result :) I was very happy that I could write it, so thank you for that! I also think it has the potential for a longer story but unfortunately I am to tied up by my other long-term projects that I won’t be able to start another one soon. :( 

Whatever, here is what I came up with (please keep in mind that the original work is written by the incredible C.S. Pacat and I don’t own any of the characters or of the universe (I also pilfered some of the original lines)):

Damen couldn't really explain his sudden urge to smoother Laurent in his arms. Half of the time, he wasn't even sure if he liked the git. It made absolutely no sense to him, but his instincts screamed at him to not let the blond man out of his eyes, or even better, his reach.

True, Laurent was damn attractive, gorgeous even, everybody would agree with that. Even Nikandros, who hated him even more after he had realized what Laurent had done to his king, had admitted in a drunken stupor that the omega was beautiful beyond measures.

Damen's back looked horrible, he knew it himself but he could also admit that Laurent had had his reasons. Cruel as they might be.

However, the instinctive urges explained at least why Damen's blood froze when Makedon demanded for Laurent to ride in the okton. Was the man out of his bloody mind? Damen couldn't really justify the wish for Makedon's swift death, but it was undeniably prominent in the forefront of his thoughts as he scrambled for words, a reason for Laurent's absence on the field, anything really.

"Veretians do not train in the okton," he said finally, it sounded weak an argument even to his own ears. Yet, he couldn't really reason with the fact that Laurent was an omega, because if he did, he didn't know how Laurent would take retribution, but it was undebatable that he would. Damen wasn't fool enough to risk that.

"In Akielos, the okton is known as the sport of kings. Our own King will take the field. Does the Prince of Vere lack the courage to ride against him?"

Damn it, Damen wanted to place his fist in smug visage of his general. Makedon knew that it was impossible for Laurent to refuse now. He was already looked upon with condescension from most of the alphas in their joined forces, he couldn't afford to refuse.

And he wouldn't. Damen needed just one look at his face and he knew that Laurent would agree, out of his foolish pride, and sharp mind. Because Laurent knew better than anyone else what they had to loose and he knew that the people gathered needed to acknowledge him just as much as they did Damen.

Suddenly, he wished for a different world. He wished for a world, where Laurent wouldn't need to prove himself worth of following and recognition just because he was not the warrior Damen was or his brother had been. A world, where Laurent's secondary gender wouldn't limit him in the ways it did.

He risked a glance at Laurent, hoping that his outstanding mind would be able to somehow sidestep, he didn’t want him on the field. He would give almost anything to keep Laurent here, keep him safe and that was rather startling an insight. 

The omega beside him, though, didn’t even try. “Why not?” said Laurent and this made Damen’s stomach lurch. He needed all of his self-restrain to stop himself from dragging the blond man to the side and just straight out tie him up to keep him away from the course. 

He couldn’t pinpoint the source of this feeling exactly. He just knew that there was a very faint, sweet smell in the air. It was mouthwatering to Damen. It came from Laurent. And it was the main reason he wanted Laurent nowhere near the okton course.

He balled his hands on his thighs. He had scented the sweetness coming from Laurent before on another person and it confused him. He couldn’t remember when exactly that was. The implications lost on him. The only positive thing was that he would be there too. Maybe he could keep Laurent from the worst. It was just wishful thinking, if something happened, he had no choice but to watch it happen.

***

Laurent’s spears were tipped in blue. It was fitting. Damen tried not to think about what they were about to do. He was nauseates, his inner alpha pushed him to keep Laurent back, to not let him ride. His skin itched with the struggle from keeping himself back.

Laurent, he knew, was good at riding. He was not only good, he was outstanding and Damen knew that. This knowledge didn’t keep him from fretting. What if something happened to Laurent? The alliance would be over, all their struggles would have been for naught, he would never be able to explore the potential of their tentative relationship. 

This last thought was something that surprised Damen in its vehemence. He realized that he wanted to get to know Laurent better, he wanted the chance to court the other man properly, he wanted a future with Laurent. The one night together was not enough. 

All of that meant nothing in the face of the okton. Men died during the okton. Damen almost sickened up, only the focus on the impending challenge kept him from swaying on his horse.

Suddenly, he remembered Laurent’s scent with such a vividness it caught him off guard. He had smelt the mouthwatering omega scent only once, Laurent’s control otherwise impenetrable. Through their night it had surrounded him, made his head swim and convinced him of their compatibility. He knew that Laurent could bring him to his knees with a whiff of his scent. 

He was almost grateful that Laurent kept his scent under iron control. He wouldn’t be able to talk to him without thinking of fucking him, otherwise. Not that it wasn’t already challenging enough without Laurent’s scent added to the mix.

Damen’s focus was almost forcefully dragged back to Laurent. He catalogued every single micro movement from the Omega at the front of the line. The blond man sat relaxed and securely in the saddle. He didn’t look fazed or nervous. His face was concentrated and self-assured. 

However, there was something else, he couldn’t put his finger on. He couldn’t keep himself from breathing in deeply, although he knew that he wouldn’t smell Laurent in the slight breeze. But his nose caught something else. There was this sweet scent again, coming from the omega. It made his head spin.

He saw Laurent assessing the course. He was clinical in his observations and Damen wished he knew what Laurent was thinking in that moment. His whole focus on the other man. 

Then it hit him. He almost bolted towards the omega. The urge to leap out of the saddle overwhelming and desperate. He wanted to shout, demand that they stop. He wanted to rage and imprison Makedon for even suggesting Laurent should ride today.

But then Laurent already rode out on the field. Damen couldn���t admire his prone form, his flawless control or his effortless grace, because he felt so faint he almost fell from his mount. Gods, he felt the bile rise. The cold terror had him almost missing how Laurent hit a perfect bullseye. 

He missed entirely how Pallas rode out. The fear gripping his heart incapacitating him of rational thought. But he needed to concentrate. He couldn’t afford a single slip up, not when it could mean that he somehow hit Laurent. 

When the third horn sounded he flung his horse into a gallop. Trying to block out the noise, earsplitting in its intensity, trying to forget that on one of the horses sat Laurent, the omega he wanted to court, the omega pregnant with his child.

As soon as he thought it, it was as if someone had his heart in an icy grip. The coldness spread through his body. He felt numb and he almost looked at Laurent. Only the danger of accidentally causing a mishap kept him from doing so. 

After the first course he allowed himself a glimpse towards the omega. He was still just as composed as when he sat at the dais with him some hours before. He also realized that Laurent dealt with the danger of the okton by simply behaving as though it did not exist. 

Damen admired him for it but at the same time he wanted to drag him from his horse and shake him before snogging him senseless. He wanted to wrap him up in silk and satin and keep him save. He wanted to worship his body from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. 

He compelled his focus back to the course. Pallas, Laurent and he himself had yet to miss a shot. Aktis and Lydos were no real competition. It was extraordinary enough for three riders to ride a flawless okton. 

They thundered into the final circuit. The mistake, which finally broke their graceful ride, was one that anyone could have made. It was a simple miscalculation and it stopped Damen’s heart. Aktis threw his spear too early, which caused the target to collapse.

Lydos and Pallas both lost their spears. Time seemed to stand still as Damen watched Lydos’ spear soar through the air in Laurent’s direction. It was going to hit either Pallas or Laurent and Damen couldn’t tear his eyes away from the blond omega. Even when he realized that Pallas’ spear aimed for him.

Instinct reacted before thought. He caught it out of the air, his hand closing hard around the shaft, the momentum of it wrenching his shoulder back. The crowd exploded into noise as he absorbed the force of the throw and tightened his grip with his thighs to stay upright. 

However, his whole focus was on the other end of the field, on Laurent and the spear flying towards him. The blood froze in his veins. The only thought he had was that he couldn’t loose this, couldn’t loose Laurent, not now. The blind panic immobilized him, forced him to watch what would inevitably happen next.

He could see Pallas shocked face and he knew the impossible choice the younger alpha faced. Either he saved his own life at the expense of Laurent’s, a Prince and more importantly an omega or he died right there and would be celebrated as a brave and honorable alpha. And, worse even, Pallas didn’t even know that Laurent carried the next heir to the Akielon and Veretian throne. Damen, however, knew, he knew and he prayed to every deity out there that Pallas wouldn’t move out of the way.

He knew it was a horrible thought to have. He also knew that it changed everything. He realized that Pallas wouldn’t ever move out of the way because it’s what they were waiting for their whole life. Fighting to protect others and giving their lives for the greater good. Pallas, who was one of the best, despite his young age, would never be able to put Laurent in danger.

Damen could see that Laurent knew it too. It shouldn’t surprise him anymore. He already knew that Laurent was exceptionally perceptive. He had seen the collapse of the target early on, and that had given him the time necessary to react. 

The prince acted without a seconds hesitation. Laurent leaped from his horse, a feat almost impossible with the momentum he still had from the ride, and jumped into the path of the spear as he launched himself for Pallas’ horse, stirring their course to the left. 

Laurent pushed Pallas down as the spear sailed past them. Damen watched in stunned amazement how Laurent picked up Pallas’ last spear and threw it at the last target. Hitting bullseye. He completed the okton with a perfect score and Damen couldn’t really decide if he wanted to fuck him right there, in the middle of the arena or if he would prefer to drag him away to his chambers and have his wicked way with him.

When Laurent’s eyes met his gaze across the course with an obvious challenge in them, Damen grinned. Dizzy with relief and overwhelming confusion. He threw the spear he had caught across the full, incredible length of the field. Sent it flying right into the centre of the final target, where it rested, quivering.

Pandemonium.

[mypoisonedvine]

I Never Danced Until I Met You - Chapter 4

[Chapter 1]  [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

Taglist:  @a-banana-for-your-thoughts @saint-hardy @sophiasescape @letscici @itsametaphorbriansblog @wackiekebab @tinyybiceps @lilredbird101 @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @terrainhead @100percentamess

Word Count: 4k

Rating: E (less E than last chapter but yknow. still E lol)

Before we start, a warning that this is the final chapter... thank you so much to everyone for reading, it has truly been a pleasure.  Love to you all!! xx

Everything had felt so right this morning.  Laying in bed, holding each other, sharing whispers and kisses and soft touches.  Now it was the afternoon and you were in the same room, your own room, but it was so much colder than before, and the three of you were standing around and it might have looked like a normal conversation but really, your heart was breaking.  How had everything gone so wrong so fast?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, fighting the emotions threatening to taint your speaking voice.

"I didn't know how to say goodbye,” Jaskier admitted. “I've never been good at goodbyes.”

"You must've known we couldn't stay forever," Geralt posited.

"You must've known I wouldn't have- we wouldn't have- I would've done things differently," you said to Jaskier with a pointed tone, hoping he understood what you were referring to, "if I'd known you'd be riding off a day later."

Jaskier looked down to the floor shamefully.  Geralt’s eyes went wide, and he suddenly grabbed Jaskier’s arm, pulling him into an interrogation.

“Care to enlighten me to what she’s talking about?” Geralt asked intently.

“It’s- it’s not what you think,” Jaskier defended weakly, shifting uncomfortably in the witcher’s grip.

“I think you fucked her,” he growled.  You felt shame crawl under your skin.

“Oh… er, then in that case, it is what you think.”

Geralt let out a grunt so loud it was nearly a roar, tossing Jaskier to the ground.  “I told you to stay away; she’s like my sister.  Gods, Jaskier, of all the people you sleep with… you had to pick her?”

You felt sick, your gut starting to twist around itself.

"Is this what you do?” you asked Jaskier quietly. “Ride around the Continent, pick the toughest nut to crack and then… crack it?"

"No, no,” he began to deny as he picked himself up off the floor, but Geralt started laughing.

“He never puts that much effort in, but yes,” Geralt explained.

“Geralt, shut up,” Jaskier grumbled.

Tears began to burn your eyes.

“I can’t believe I fell for it,” you shook your head in disbelief.  I can’t believe I fell for you, you added internally.

“No, you don’t understand,” he replied desperately, though you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or Geralt.  “It’s not like that.  It’s not like the others.”

Something about the phrase ‘the others’ made your blood boil.  Even now, perhaps especially now, you were heartbroken that he had been with so many people.

“What is it then?” you asked. “You’re going to tell me I should be flattered that you put so much effort into deceiving me?”

“I didn’t deceive you,” he answered, his tone becoming dead serious. 

“You convinced me that I was important to you,” you remembered. “I know we never really talked about it, but it didn’t seem like a one-time thing—”

Suddenly he interrupted: “I love you.”

Instantly, you slapped him across the face, hard.  Hard enough that his face spun to the side, cheek already turning red; hard enough that Geralt winced just by seeing it.

“How dare you say that to me?  You don’t even know what that means,” you seethed, tears streaming down your face. “All you know how to do is lie.”

“It’s not a lie,” he replied softly.  And you almost believed it.  But you’d believed the wrong person too many times to fall that fast, at least not this time.

“Get out,” you hissed through your teeth.  

You were prepared for him to fight back, to keep pleading, but he didn’t.  And so the three of you stood there for a moment, until Jaskier sighed a little and walked out the door.  You shared a look with Geralt, briefly.  

“Do you have to go now?” you asked quietly.

“If we stay much later, we’ll have to travel in the dark.”

You sighed, and there was nothing good to say, so instead you crossed the room and pulled him into a hug.  He returned the embrace, not with much passion or anything but not begrudgingly either, which was nice.  You wanted to ask him if he really saw you as a sister like he’d said, but it would hurt too much in a number of ways.

“You’re always welcome here,” you told him as the hug ended, trying not to put too much emphasis on the you since you didn’t even want to think about Jaskier right now.

“Write if you need anything,” he offered.

You looked at each other and you wondered if he was struggling to decide how to say goodbye as well.  

As Geralt rode out of the castle gates, Jaskier plodding along beside the horse, you watched from a small window.  You saw Jaskier look back, scan around the walls, and you wondered if he was just appreciating the architecture or looking for you.  You stepped back behind the stone, not sure you could take it if he looked at you again.

You wanted to run to your room and sob, mourn for your dignity and everything else you couldn’t get back.  You wanted to fall asleep and sleep for a week, so that you could soak up the precious nothingness and blissful ignorance.  Instead, you went to the training fields and concentrated your anger into some archery practice.  

Must have been the will of Destiny, his voice rang in your head as you remembered being here with him, his perfect shot, the way he looked at you when you were standing so close, how exhilarating it felt just to touch him in the most mundane ways.  You scoffed to yourself, at least able to appreciate he was an expert in his craft: he’d made it all feel so real.  You swallowed uncomfortably as your mind wandered to the night you spent together, which not only felt real but felt like the realest thing you’d ever known.  It was everything else that seemed fake by comparison now.  Everyone else would say that he took your honour, even that he dishonoured you, and yet every touch had felt like his way of honouring you.  Patience, respect, reverence was palpable in everything you could remember about the encounter.  You also didn’t feel as different as you expected… for so much drama surrounding it, virginity apparently had no real emotional or physical ramifications.  Some things had changed, though: for one, you understood why people did terrible things to each other because of sex.  They would lie and cheat to get it, and maim or kill those who got it from someone they loved.  And as much as you could never have empathy for their crimes, you appreciated better why people were so obsessed with it.  Then again, you realized that maybe all sex wasn’t actually that good… maybe it was just him.  Or maybe it was both of you — maybe it was just how good you two were together.

You were trying your best to steady yourself before taking the shot but your patience ran thin.  Acting hastily, you ended up releasing too soon and hitting the outermost edge of the target.  You sighed in frustration and tried again, only to miss the target entirely.  Frustration turned quickly to rage, and you threw your bow onto the ground with a yell.  

Looking at it in the grass, the fire of rage died down into the embers of shame.  What was it about Jaskier that always made you lose control?  Even now, when he should have the least control over you, you couldn’t control yourself.  You slapped him, twice.  You laid with him, once.  And now you’d subjected an innocent bow to your cruel whims.

You bent down and picked it up, seeing that it had survived the throw; you’d never keep a bow around that couldn’t handle that kind of treatment, anyway. 

Repositioning for another shot, you closed your eyes in an attempt to still your mind.  All you could see when you closed your eyes was him, though, and the way he looked at you in this very place just a few days ago.  And the way he looked at you before he kissed you.  The look he’d had in his eyes was gentle, and soft, and vulnerable.  You felt a tear roll down your cheek; there was love in his eyes, the way he looked at you.  And the way he looked at you when he stood outside your door, waiting for you to come back.  And the way he looked at you after you hit him, both times… there was love there, too.  Even then.  Perhaps especially then.

But that didn’t matter anymore, because he was gone.  

I’m in love with him, you finally admitted to yourself.  Not I was, not I almost, not I could have.  

I am. I did. I do.  

But that didn’t matter anymore, because he was gone.

Eyes still closed, you raised your bow, pulled back the string, and took the shot.  You felt the feathers graze your face and heard the wind whistle around the arrow.  You opened your eyes.  A perfect bullseye.

~

You were laying on your bed the next morning, reading and trying not to think about anything, when you heard it.  You weren’t sure what the sound was, but it came again, and you sat up in the bed.  Looking around, you realized it was coming from the window, you stood up and opened your shudders.  You stepped back just in time to avoid getting hit in the chest with a pebble.  Peering out, you saw quite the scene: Jaskier, sitting on a white horse (where did he get that?!), lute on his back, pebbles in his hand, love in his eyes.  When he saw you, he dropped them, instantly grabbing his lute.  He started to sing, and he had to do it pretty loud so you could even hear him from a story down, but even then his voice nearly brought tears to your eyes.

There lives a fair maiden in Revellon, A defender of justice and peace, She’s as sweet as honey but cold as ice, And yet kinder than soldiers should be

I melted her heart with a kiss, And broke it without a goodbye, I long to earn her affections once more, I pray to see her smile,

There lives a bard who wanders the world, Searching for purpose, writing his songs He found what he’d wanted for all of his life But fears he cannot right his wrongs

You were about to ask him what this was all about, why (and when) he came back, what he wanted from you, when he started talking.

“I’m not strong — at least not compared to you,” he shouted up at you.  You simply looked back at him with a puzzled expression.  “I’m not very brave, either,” he added. “This, right now, is the bravest thing I’ve ever done.  Before, it was just… running away from stuff.”  

You fought the desire to chuckle.

“I can’t cook,” he continued, “I get jealous too easily.  I’m a flirt, and I’ve fallen for the wrong people too many times to count.  I'm not good at goodbyes, as we've established.  I don’t read enough, considering how much my parents spent for me to learn how to read, and I’m not all that smart.”  You weren’t sure you believed that last one.  

“But, if you let me,” his voice wavered a little, “I will love you with everything I have.”

You smiled, a tear escaping from your eyes and rolling down your cheek.

“And now that I say it out loud, it sounds more sexual than I intended,” he added nervously.  You laughed, aloud this time.

“If not sex, what are your intentions?” you called back.

“Marriage,” he replied simply, and your face nearly hurt from smiling so hard, “with sex to hopefully follow.”

“Well, spell it out for me then, I’m not so good at the inductive reasoning,” you demanded.

He sighed, begrudgingly addressing you by your full name before finally asking: “will you be my wife?”

“Come up here and let’s talk about it,” you offered with your best attempt at a mischievous smile, face still wet with tears.

“You can’t even give me an answer first?” he whined.

“You’re going to like my answer a lot better if you get it in person,” you explained with a wink, slamming your shutters and waiting patiently for his knock at the door.  In just a minute you heard his footsteps coming down the hall faster than you knew he could even run.  You opened the door before he reached it, and he only stopped running when he had wrapped his arms around you, kissing you like it was the end of the world.

You fell back onto the bed, thankfully taking a moment first to shut your bedroom door.

“Marry me,” he asked again, although it didn’t sound like a question as much as it did a desperate mid-kiss request.

“Hmm, I don’t know, that song wasn’t very long,” you pondered with a quirked eyebrow.

“I didn’t have long to write it!  Besides, the next verses were going to be about the bard and the maiden either being together or splitting up, so I had to know what you would say first.”

“Maybe don’t write about this part, specifically,” you suggested as you started to undo his trousers.

“And to think I worried you wouldn’t forgive me,” he chuckled, helping you pull your blouse off from over your head.

“You’re the one who should forgive me,” you replied.  “I don’t know why I didn’t believe you, when you told me the truth.  And I keep slapping you, so I’m sorry for that.”

“Don’t apologize,” he dismissed as he kissed up and down your neck, “although, feel free to stop slapping me.”

You laughed, and the way his body felt pressed against yours made you wonder how you could ever be angry at him.  

Clothes were hurriedly shucked off, and as soon as he could, he plunged inside you.

“Fuck,” you moaned, and he kissed you again.  

“I love you,” he mumbled, seemingly with no real prompting.  Thankful for another chance to do this right, you smiled against his lips.

“I love you, too,” you replied.

“Then say yes,” he pleaded.

“Make me,” you demanded.  He took that challenge very seriously, thrusting into you deeper, harder, faster.

“Yes, yes, Jaskier,” you moaned, gripping tightly at his arms as if it would stabilize yourself.

“Is that a yes to my question?”

You thought about it for a minute.  Really you were just worried that once you said yes, this wonderful tension would cease.

“Don’t hold out on me any longer, I can’t take it,” he begged.

“Yes,” you repeated.

“Yes?” he re-repeated.

“Yes, I’ll marry you,” you clarified.

You weren’t sure you’d ever seen him smile quite like he did when you said it.

~

“You called for me, my liege?”

“At ease,” Queen Araja commanded, and you stood up out of your bow. “I’ve come to give you something.”

“I ask for nothing,” you dismissed.

“I ask that you stay quiet and accept my gift with grace,” she snapped back.  You nodded silently. 

She motioned for a servant to approach her, and when you saw that they were carrying a box, you assumed they would bring it to you on behalf of the Queen.  Instead, she took it from them and stood up, approaching you.  To have the Queen walking towards you and not kneel was very difficult.

As she was finally just a few steps in front of you, she stopped and handed you the box.  You felt yourself blushing as you accepted it.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, unsure what exactly to say or do at this point.

“Just open it,” she encouraged.

You pulled open the golden ribbon and lifted the lid.  Before you even knew what it was for certain, you gasped to see that it was made of purple silk — a rare and precious material.

“Araja,” you whispered in disbelief, a sort of you shouldn’t have being implied.

“Take it out of the box!” she pressed, and you set it down so that you could pull on the end to reveal that it was a gown: ornate, magnificent, enormous.  Gold floral embroidery covered nearly every inch of it, with pearls and precious stones sewn on around the collar and sleeves.  You were sure you’d never touched anything so decadent in your life.

“I figured it was time that you own your first dress.  You might want to wear one for your wedding,” she explained.  You looked at her to find her smiling at you with a softness you weren’t sure you’d ever seen on her.

“This is your wedding gift to me?” you asked, eyes welling with tears.

“Heavens, no; this is your engagement gift.  Your wedding gift is retirement,” she responded casually, as if it were nothing.

“What?!”

“Your own estate, a little land not so far from here, some servants… and freedom.  You’ve been a great warrior, and a great protector, best of all a great friend.  Now go live a normal life.”

You looked at the dress, and you looked at her, and you looked around the hall: the same hall where you danced for the first time, as Jaskier guided you through the motions; the same hall where you defended your country when you were only a teenager, Geralt of Rivia at your side; the same hall where you were knighted by Araja, and where you returned after every battle to report on losses and victories; the same hall where so many new soldiers were commissioned, where their funerals were held.  

“Your grace,” you began, “I am overwhelmed by your generosity.  But with all due respect, this is my home.  I cannot abandon my duties.”

“Does your betrothed know that?  Would he marry a working woman?” 

You laughed.  If anything, he’d be disappointed if he couldn’t get to see you in armor anymore.

“He knows that my people come first,” you explained.

“All right.  When your final day of duty arrives, if it does at all, your land will be waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” you bowed.

“Feel free to use the space for a honeymoon,” she winked.  You shuddered to imagine her concerning herself with things like that.  

~

“You look stunning,” the maidservant said with a smile.

“But do I look like… me?” you asked nervously.

“I’ll admit that if I didn’t know it was you, I don’t know how quickly I’d recognise you,” she answered.

You sighed, looking yourself up and down in the mirror as you twisted your body to see different angles.  Araja’s dress — your dress — was stunning, but you wondered if your wedding day was the wrong day to look like an entirely different person.  Was this the person Julian wanted to marry?

“You told me to wait for a good man,” the maidservant suddenly interjected. “Have you? Was it worth it?”

“I have, mostly,” you winked, and she giggled. “If it’s worth it, well, I suppose we’ll see in fifty years whether I’m happily married or not.”

“I can’t believe someone who claims to be conservative got married so fast.”

“I didn’t say I was conservative, I said I was traditional: it’s traditional to marry quickly,” you explained. “When you know, you know.”

“That’s so romantic,” she cooed.  You weren’t sure you agreed.  It was simply the truth.

“Say, what’s your name, girl?” you asked.

“Hana,” she replied.

“Hana, would you like to be my maid of honor?” 

She choked a little. “What?”

“Well, Julian made Geralt his best man and I don’t have any friends to even out the whole thing.  So, you can be my first friend and be in my wedding, if you’d like.  The position comes with a nice dress.”

“Thank you, madam,” she curtsied, “I’d love to.”

She scurried off with another servant to go find an appropriate dress, and you still worried that this look was all wrong for you.  You did your best to pick up the skirt, moving into the hallway.  You knew where Jaskier was waiting, and you knocked on the door.  Just as it began to open, you grabbed the handle.

“Don’t open the door,” you commanded.

“Sorry, I suppose I was thrown off by the knocking,” you heard him reply.

“You can’t see me before the wedding,” you explained.

“Well, it was nice not seeing you, then?” 

“I needed to ask your opinion on something.”

“Go ahead,” he offered.

“I was wondering what you think of my outfit.”

An awkward moment passed silently.

“Looks great,” he groaned.

“I know you can’t see it, I just mean…” you trailed off, and started over: “were you expecting me to wear trousers?”

“When I imagined you on our wedding day, I wasn’t really thinking about that.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“I was thinking about how wide your smile would be, how your eyes would sparkle, the colour of your hair when the light hits it just right…"

"...Okay, but was I wearing my dress blues?  Or an actual dress?” you asked, confused.  He sighed.

“Darling, you’re going to look amazing either way.  Wear whatever you want.  I’d marry you if you came out there in a burlap sack!”

You smiled, feeling yourself blush.  It might have sounded simple to anyone else, but to you, knowing his refined fashion sense, it was quite meaningful.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed.

“Alright,” he replied.

“Are they closed?” 

“Yes,” he answered.

“Don’t open them,” you commanded sternly.

“Yes, I get it darling, these instructions aren’t nearly as complicated as you’re making them out to be!”

You opened the door slowly, to find him waiting with eyes closed and a small smile.  You stepped closer, trying not to bump your skirt into him, and pressed your lips against his.  He returned the kiss, and his hands started to reach for your waist, but you grabbed them first, hoping to prevent him from feeling the fabric.  He smiled against your lips, his fingers interlacing with yours.

You pulled back a bit, appreciating how lovely he looked up close like this.  “Thinking of running off?  Again?” you asked.

“Not a chance,” he whispered back.

“You’re not craving adventure?”

“Of course I am,” he answered.  “My greatest adventure is right here in front of me.”

~

The ceremony was traditional, elegant, not obnoxiously lavish: fitting for a woman like you.  The reception, meanwhile, was rowdy, energetic, full of laughing and dancing, bathed in orange glow, warm and inviting: fitting for a man like him.

He practically dragged you to the middle of the hall, waving some instructions to the band (which he still played with most of the time at his own wedding) and swinging you into a dance.

“You know, I never danced until I met you,” you told him.

“I can tell,” he replied with a smile.  You laughed at the burn.

“I hate you,” you chuckled, shaking your head.

“You love me,” he grinned.

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive,” you countered.

He kissed you; it didn’t feel as different as you expected, now that he was your husband.

My husband Julian, you thought to yourself.  It had a nice ring to it.

Time seemed to go by quickly when the two of you were together.  A whole lifetime passed in an instant.  He had a habit of fiddling with his ring, twirling it around his finger.  He sang all the time, most of it just sentence fragments and little riffs, his way of working out new songs.  He was a ridiculously anxious parent, barely willing to take his eyes off the kids for a moment.  The only time he seemed to calm down was when he was serenading them to sleep.  He wrote so many incredible songs in his life; all his best love songs were not about you, actually, but the children.  Not that the love songs about you weren’t wonderful, because they were.  You had plenty of awkward moments when you met a new person and had to explain that yes, you were the Lady Pankratz of Revellon from the songs— even more awkward when it was someone you were arresting.  

Araja wanted you to do something spectacular for your fiftieth wedding anniversary, but you had one appointment you knew you needed to keep.  You had dinner with Hana, herself a girl turned wife turned mother turned old woman now (if this little girl is an old woman, how fucking old am I? you’d thought when you saw her again), and told her that you had made the right choice; that all these years later, you were still happily married.