#gennkier

[jaskiersvalley]

Silver Tongue and Silver Hand

Content warning for: major character injury, loss of limb, lots of blood.

It wasn’t all that unusual for Geralt and Jaskier to part ways for a little while at times. Which was why it never occurred to Geralt that something might have been wrong when his path was silent for a few weeks. Yennefer had been there though, keeping him company with her own brand of social scorn. They were at a tavern, Geralt trying to pin down the person who put out the call for the contract while Yennefer got to wander through the town.

How the group got the drop on her was still beyond logic. One moment she was admiring some cloth that would make for a gorgeous, sleek dress and the next moment she was waking up cuffed, her magic suppressed and with a throbbing headache.

“They got you too, huh?” A familiar voice pulled her violently back into consciousness.

“Jaskier!”

“The one and only.” Jaskier really sounded far too cheery for someone who was also chained up. At least he looked whole with only the softest hint of bruising in faded yellows on his temple.

There wasn’t much they could do, Yennefer’s powers were bound, both of them were chained and without a hope of getting out. All they could do is talk, not even quietly at that given the distance they were from each other.

“Geralt will come, don’t worry.” Yennefer tried to reassure their bard but it only earned her a mildly worried “oh I hope not”. Which was never something she wanted to hear. While Jaskier didn’t know the ins and outs of it, he’d picked up enough to know that their captors were planning some kind of ritual and choice was involved.

Unfortunately, it was something Yennefer had heard about. A potion to boost luck which meant that while life couldn’t be taken for it, a sacrifice had to be made by an external party. And the harder the choice, the more sacrificed, the more powerful the potion. With Yennefer and Jaskier there, it could only mean one thing. Geralt was going to have to choose.

Sure enough, not long later they were being dragged to a cavern. In the middle was a cauldron, slowly bubbling away and there was a wooden block on either side. Their captors wrestled them into position, Jaskier’s left arm was forced onto one block, hand dangling over the gently steaming cauldron. Opposite him, Yennefer’s right arm was pushed into the same position. Not a few minutes later, Geralt marched through the door, looking murderous. His swords were dripping blood and he was breathing harshly as he took in the scene before them.

“Geralt! I am so glad you could join us,” the leader of the group crooned. “As you can see, we have a game set up here.”

A gesture to the cauldron and a smile. Both Jaskier and Yennefer were pinned, a blade to their throats. And a good with an axe to their sides, poised and ready to make the cut.

“It’s a simple choice. One of your companions will walk out of here unscathed. The other, well, they’ll be leaving minus a hand. So what will it be? No more spells? Or no more songs?”

Everyone waited, all eyes on Geralt as his gaze flickered between Yennefer and Jaskier. It was the moment Jaskier remembered what the sorceress had said, the spell needed a sacrifice. Without it, it was ruined. And any ingredient could upset it, it was a fussy potion and one that required more work than it was worth.

“I don’t-” Geralt licked his lips nervously.

“Choose!” Their captor demanded. But it was obvious Geralt was stuck, unable to decide, to condemn either of his companions.

The lull from the lack of choice meant their captors weren’t as attentive, focus on Geralt. That was broken when Jaskier twisted, right hand reaching for the axe and, without hesitation, he swung it through the air and onto his own arm. His scream was lost in the yells as his hand fell into the cauldron and the whole room descended into chaos.

Prioritising was difficult, Geralt couldn’t get to Jaskier without his opponents getting in the way. And Yennefer was helpless too, cuffed as she was. It was only years of practice that meant he could fight his way through those throwing themselves at his sword to free Yennefer. For good measure, Geralt sent the cauldron and its contents flying, strewn over the floor and utterly useless. Together, they whipped through the room, killing all until they were by Jaskier’s side. The bard was curled up, his bleeding arm clutched to his chest and tears of agony streamed down his cheeks.

“Let me see,” Yennefer urged and tugged at the injured limb despite Jaskier’s pained protests. A curse left her lips.

It was the matter of seconds to open up a portal and Geralt was hefting Jaskier into his arms as though he weighed nothing. Stepping through, they were in a mansion, Yennefer’s home without a doubt.

“Put him on the bed,” she pointed Geralt in the right direction. She was already off and gathering her supplies. First things first,something to dull the pain before cleaning the wound to stop infection taking hold.

Blood and tear streaked, Jaskier looked up at them and swallowed the potions Yennefer pushed towards him. The burning agony died down into a dull throb and finally, he could think.

“Why did you do it?” Geralt demanded, trying to keep his attention way from where Yennefer worked.

“It was the only way. Ruined their potion, you didn’t have to choose. It was the logical option.” He whimpered and tried to pull his arm from where Yennefer poured something over it that burned to his core. A ‘tsk’ and an iron grip kept him in place. “You need her spells more than my songs. And-” Jaskier looked away, ashamed, “-her beauty had more value. Her looks have more of an impact than mine ever could.”

Two sets of eyes regarded Jaskier in silent disbelief. Sadness filled Geralt’s eyes while Yennefer tried to tamp down on her emotions. The dumb bard actually cared for her. Idiot. Words weren’t going to be enough this time, this wasn’t a debt she could clear with a few sharp words hiding some kindness or help.

Silently, she finished doing what she could for Jaskier. Ensured that his wound would heal cleanly, as pain free as possible. All through it, Geralt held Jaskier’s remaining hand.

Healing took a lot of energy, and Yennefer may have slipped something in Jaskier’s medicine to help him sleep. She needed to talk to Geralt without him overhearing.

“I can’t grow a hand back, no matter how much I want to.” She told him and was met with a soft, resigned ‘I know’. “He’s never going to play again.”

That time, the ‘I know’ held more pain. Geralt was slumped forward in his seat, shoulders hunched.

“He knew it. Before he cut his own hand off. I saw his face.” And she wished she hadn’t, the realisation, the determination, the agony. Yennefer had seen it all and it was going to haunt her for a long long time.

“Who would you have chosen to save?”

The guilty look that flashed over Geralt’s face told her everything she needed to know. Jaskier never really stood a chance in the face of such a choice. He knew it too, that was what the realisation had been. It didn’t stop the guilt from eating away at both Yennefer and Geralt.

“He’s lost his livelihood,” Yennefer finally said, knowing they needed to lay out all the facts. “He won’t be able to follow you around and earn his keep, and he’s even more helpless, defenceless like this. And nobody will want to take him in without a way for him to pay.”

It was the truth but damn did the truth hurt. Geralt gritted his teeth, trying to find a loophole, a way to ensure Jaskier had a future that was comfortable and safe. He couldn’t even teach at Oxenfurt when he couldn’t play his beloved lute.

“Fuck.”

They sat in silence, not looking at each other, ears attuned to the soft breaths of their bard in the other room. Without saying anything, both Geralt and Yennefer made a vow to try and do everything in their power to help Jaskier.

Healing took a while. There was a false cheer around Jaskier as he tried to make light of his situation. Once, Geralt even caught him with his lute, held the wrong way round, trying to learn how to place the fingers of his right hand for chords. In the end, the lute was carefully laid down next to Jaskier and a shaking hand stroked over it.

By the times soft, pink skin covered the end of Jaskier’s arm, his smiles were brittle, breath hitching around the forced jovial attitude. Magic had eased his healing, left him free of gnarly scarring but it didn’t help the fact that Jaskier still only had one hand.

“Right, well,” he looked at Yennefer who stood by the door expectantly. “Thank you for everything but I suppose I really ought to get out of your hair.”

Where he was going to go was beyond Yennefer and Geralt. They hadn’t asked because they suspected Jaskier had no idea, but they could afford him the dignity of not ripping open his facade. Even as Jaskier refused steadfastly to stay, citing adventure calling him. All three of them knew he had no way of repaying care he had received and each day was another he couldn’t afford.

“Come with me,” Yennefer said, not accepting refusal. When Geralt moved to join them, she fixed him with a glare. “You stay.”

She led Jaskier through a portal and Geralt was left alone in the home. He thought it was especially cruel that Yennefer had Jaskier’s lute on her back. There was no telling when she would come back and where she was dumping Jaskier. It was almost better to not know because Geralt would have gone after him, with the noble notion of rescuing him, even though he knew full well that his lifestyle was not one that could keep a one handed bard alive for long.

A portal opened on the other side of the room and Yennefer strode through, accompanied by the soft sounds of a lute being strummed. And Jaskier’s laugh. He stepped through after her, playing with the world’s widest, teariest smile Geralt had ever seen. Where his hand had been missing was a silver replica, dancing over the neck of the lute.

“Geralt!” Jaskier beamed and waved his new hand. It reeked of magic, freshly wrought and powerful. Yennefer only looked a little smug.

“You sure you don’t want a glove?” Yennefer asked, offering the garment up to Jaskier.

“Who plays lute in a glove?” Jaskier shook his head. “This is now my signature look. Silver tongue and silver hand. Oh the ballads I’m going to write!”

It seemed that their worries were over. All debts paid off in one fashion or another. The guilt still lingered but Jaskier’s smiles were genuine now, easing the tightness in Geralt’s chest. Though he hadn’t had to make the choice, he still had to live with the consequences, as did Jaskier. But at least, now, they wouldn’t have to separate as a result of it all.

[jaskiersvalley]

ok first of all, your latest fic is gorgeous and i love the ot3 dynamic (yenraltkier? is that their ot3 ship name? geraskierfer?) but oh my lord THE ANGST jakier literally prefer to lose his music, an essential part of his life, of who he is, face the pain of losing a limb rather than face the pain from seeing geralt choosing not to save him, rather seeing geralt forced to choose between them, and im just???? this is literally PAINFUL

Nonnie, please come into my inbox so I can shower you in all the love. Because you have just summarised everything I wanted to write in that story. Jaskier knowing he would never win when faced with a choice between him and Yennefer. And he absolutely didn’t want to hear Geralt choose someone else over him (again). This way, he could keep his dignity and an illusion of hope that Geralt might have picked him (even though he knows better).

This unspoken fact would put a bit of a dampener on their relationship. Jaskier felt like a third wheel, the hot water bottle that only ever came out on cold nights when needed. Despite his inner turmoil, he tried to smile, to pretend that nothing was wrong. Even though he heard the other two talking about his fate, knew that he wasn’t an asset anymore, he served no function. On the most bitter of days, Jaskier cried, knowing he didn’t even have two hands to please both his lovers at once. His only purpose in the relationship and it was gone.

Of course, the other two didn’t see it like that. They loved Jaskier in their own ways. But guilt over the choices they didn’t make but knew the outcome of anyway blinded them. Touching Jaskier was a privilege Geralt didn’t think he deserved anymore because he wouldn’t have picked him. And Yennefer found that while she loved the fact she was first choice for someone, she looked at Jaskier and all he had lost in the face of her victory and it felt hollow.

As much as they could, Geralt and Yennefer tried to make it up to Jaskier. But it was Jaskier pulling away from kisses, shying away from touch. He didn’t feel complete and the others didn’t dare challenge him on it. They accepted his withdrawal and he understood it to mean they were grateful they didn’t have to be with him. It wasn’t a happy few months. Lots of assumptions, veiled conversations at cross purposes. The only thing Jaskier couldn’t make sense of was the few times he did end up sharing a bed, it was still just a loving and care filled as before. But perhaps Geralt and Yennefer were good at pretending. Or they were just good lovers. Either way, it messed with Jaskier’s head.

When Yennefer ushered him through a portal without Geralt and lute in hand, Jaskier had assumed many things. He almost hoped she was going to slit his throat and use the lute as a grave marker. Tell Geralt Jaskier had run off or left them. It might hurt Geralt but it would be easier on them all. Only, Yennefer didn’t do any such thing. She introduced Jaskier to a blacksmith who crafted her wares with magic and fire.

The silver hand didn’t quite feel like his own, not immediately but Jaskier was too floored at the idea of having a left hand again to worry about it.

“The more you use it, the more it will be yours. But you can also remove it when you need,” the blacksmith had said but Jaskier barely heard her. It was only when Yennefer stood opposite him with a small, genuine smile and offered up the lute that he understood. She didn’t need to tell him she loved him.

“Go drive Geralt up the wall with your songs. He’s missed them.” Yennefer missed them too. The last few months of silence from their bard had been difficult for them all. As they returned, Jaskier didn’t miss the flicker of disbelieving delight that crossed Geralt’s face.

And, if that night, Yennefer urged Jaskier to put his new hand to the side, he did as asked, finally allowing himself to be loved as he had been all along.