#geralt and ciri end up in the audience at some point | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

weaknwanting · 3 years

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was it really how you sing it, dear?

read on ao3 here

geraskier (duh), 6.1k (yikes!), fluff with only a tiny bit of angst, but happy ending of course. no warnings, gen audiences. mutual pining my beloved. this is the second part of my geraskier x songs series

In the months since the fight against Voleth Meir, Geralt has only gotten worse.

Sullen and grumpy, he stalks Kaer Mohren’s halls until he is certain that he will pull it down, brick by brick, unless he can get out. He feels restless and trapped, a horrible mixture for a man used to being free to go where he will, to do what he chooses. Even his fellow witchers get annoyed, try to get him to leave, as he’s doing no good to himself here.

It’s all because of Jaskier.

He had left, only a week after the fight. Hadn’t said even a word to Geralt, but slunk out the keep in the middle of the night. Geralt had woken to find his room empty, not that Jaskier had even brought much of anything to the keep in the first place. With Jaskier gone, the keep seemed to echo the thick silence. Even though Geralt was used to the quiet here, it was suddenly deafening. It seems that Jaskier had left his trace on everything, even the air and Geralt’s own feelings towards his home.

Geralt tried so hard not to think of Jaskier, and failed dramatically. They had hardly talked even after the battle, but Geralt couldn’t even point out the reason. There was a tension, and Jaskier never seemed to be comfortable talking with Geralt, but he would never say why, even when Geralt forced himself to ask. Geralt could not help his thoughts from straying to Jaskier, trying to understand where they stood, what he had done.

He knew that he had been cold to Jaskier, but he was preoccupied. He had Ciri to worry about, and Yennefer to be mad at, and brothers to mourn. And he knew damn well that he had needed to ignore Jaskier during the battle, to keep him safe. But he couldn’t convince himself that he had done nothing wrong, that he was not to blame. He should have tried harder, he knew, to talk to Jaskier, to thank him.

After a particularly rough day where Geralt had growled at Vesemir for trying to ask him what the problem was, he’d had enough. He packed up his swords, armor, and Roach’s supplies, loading it all in his saddlebags. He knew that Ciri would be fine – she was heavily immersed in her training with Yennefer, and was progressing well. She loved it, and knew just as well as anyone that Geralt was unable to be here any longer.

So, he left.

He traveled just as he always has, following stories of monsters ravaging villages and cities. He would go where he was pointed, killing anything he could find. It was easy, straightforward. There didn’t seem to be any complicated cases – no intelligent creatures simply causing havoc, no mages dodging his path.

His thoughts still stayed with Jaskier, but the action helped. There was not a lot of room for rumination and guilt while in the middle of battles with creatures three times his size who were trying to eat him.

At some point along his way, though, he started hearing whispers. Of the famous bard’s new songs, which were said to be some of his best. Yearning and heartbroken, they sang of an ardent but disasterous love. Geralt is sure that Jaskier has only fallen in love with another countess or prince and will soon be over his heartbreak.

Still, for some reason whenever he hears a snippet of one of the songs, or listens to villagers in the streets wail over Jaskier’s broken heart, he feels his own chest tighten and spine crawl. He tells himself it is lingering guilt over his treatment of Jaskier and nothing more. Certainly not jealousy or longing for something he has never known and held in his own two hands.

He doesn’t hear a full song for himself until he is recovering from a particularly tiring contract in the back of a dark and reeking tavern, tucked in a worn-out wooden booth. The beer flows loosely and it isn’t half bad. Geralt is content, as much as he can be with the constant sense of unease seated deep in his stomach and bones that has made his body a home since he left Kaer Mohren. Or has it been since before?

Some farm boy with scruffy hair has camped out in the tavern for as long as Geralt has been there, singing the songs of the famous troubadours who are rarely able to travel to small town taverns to sing. They are in high demand in courts, in the homes of lower nobles and in thriving cities, where the coin falls from pockets freely and in abundance. So the country singers take their place, carrying their songs farther than one person alone could reach.

Even Geralt can admit that the boy isn’t half bad. His voice is deep and flows around the words like water over rocks, tumbling and bubbling. Nothing like Jaskier, though. The emotion is missing; it’s in the words, but not in the air the way it is with Jaskier. A pang, in the heart again. Constant.

The boy finishes his drink and starts his next song, at the request of several girls clustered and tittering in the opposite corner of the tavern. They are surely too young for drink, Geralt thinks, but seem safe enough as a group. He always makes sure, when he is in places like this, to keep an eye on those who look like they might be easy prey to a hungry man deep in his cups.

I am so tied up in you, not like a slipknot, dear heart…

The lyrics fade in and out of Geralt’s awareness, and it takes him a while to register that this must be one of Jaskier’s newer ballads. He had heard talk of the term dear heart that seems to have made its way into Jaskier’s songs as a personal signature, and which has many of the girls in the corner sobbing straightway.

Who but I would wash your hair, humm,

when you are shot, dear heart?

He’s paying attention, now. It may be the only way for him to get a glimpse into Jaskier’s life since he has last seen him. Someone was shot? He thought he was the only one who ever got within reach of the elves with their deadly bows. The singer continues, crooning the words, low and steady.

For I could never hate you, even if I ought

Not even all the times we fought

Did you ever even care,

With your swords and your stupid hair?

I tried so hard to love you

But you did not seem to hear

For what do you yearn?

It must not be me, or else you would return

But know this, dear heart –

If I don’t make it back from where I’ve gone,

Just know I loved you all along…

The singer stills and breaths deeply, bowing and taking in his applause, thunderous in the small wooden building. The song, though short, echoes against the walls and remains in the tears on the checks of the girls and even some of the men.

Geralt is stunned, even though an observer would not be able to tell. He processes the lyrics over and over. How many people with swords does Jaskier know? Does he wash the hair of all of his lovers? Geralt didn’t think so. But he had done, for Geralt, a few times when he was too tired after a fight to even raise his arms. Jaskier had refused to share a little inn bed in the only room that they could get with Geralt when he even slightly smelt of selkiemore guts. So, he poured water over Geralt’s head until all the gunk was gone before rubbing soap all over his scalp and down his hair.

Maybe he does that for everyone.

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

Geralt can’t see past the song. He thinks of nothing else for weeks, finding himself getting injured more and more in fights when he is too slow to raise his blade. It is getting out of hand, to the point where a kikimora almost takes his foot off.

He knows what he has to do. He must seek out Jaskier, finally, and get some answers. He has to know if the song is about him. Geralt might be thick, but he isn’t that thick. The lyrics of that song are much too close to their own relationship to be a coincidence.

The song might be about him, easily – except Jaskier has never loved him.

How could he?

Surely, the song is about someone else. But then why does it contain elements that only fit if it is regarding him? It makes no sense, and he needs an explanation.

So, he searches. He follows the knowledge of the lords and nobles who say they have seen Jaskier, from Kagen in Sodden to Maribor in Temeria, all the way to Vattweir in Aedirn. Any hint of him, he follows. He doesn’t even quite know why at first, but he is starting to figure it out.

He wants the song to be about him. He wants the love poured out to be for him, even with the heartbreak. That, he thinks he can fix. He knows that he caused Jaskier pain, and that even though Jaskier might have some affection towards him, Geralt has caused him so much hurt that it might be dried up by now. But if he can fix that, and the love is for him…well, he will not live his life not knowing what he could have had.

Even if the song isn’t for him, Geralt has realized something, and it is too late to stuff it back into the little box in his chest. He has to tell him, even if it doesn’t change anything.

He loves him. At least, he thinks he does. He has never felt it before, so how does he know what it’s called? In any case, it certainly feels like something to write songs and ruin lives over.

Though he really hopes that last bit doesn’t happen.

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

Finally, after months of searching and only taking contracts whenever he is in the area, he finds him.

Where else, but in a tavern. Where it all started. Round and round in endless circles. Nothing that ever happens is new, no new stories are ever told.

Jaskier is singing, of course. Singing his heart out, it seems. The crowd is once again crying and laughing in equal measure, full of the emotions that only Jaskier seems to be able to draw out of people with his songs. He puts everything into them, holds nothing back. And the audience responds in kind.

Geralt only enters the door in time to hear the last few lines of a long song, based on Jaskier’s lack of breath. He had been directed to this establishment by a disgruntled innkeeper who said that Jaskier had been staying there the last few weeks, coming back even after the very last drinkers had turned in.

Ever a gentleman, the innkeeper said, but he would never stop composing and playing his lute even late into the night. He never brings people back with him though, apparently. Strange, for Jaskier.

The lines float through the air even outside the door, carried far by Jaskier’s emotions and powerful voice. It’s a different song than the one Geralt had heard, but the theme is the same. Craving and anguish and tenderness.

It wasn’t very long for us,

When you’re young it isn’t hard to trust

When we met I was too young to know

You should never trust a heart that slow

Can I sip the sunlight from your eyes?

It’s so tempting

But perhaps not so wise

But I wanted to, I wanted you

Oh Gods, I really did

He lets the last few strums of his lute sing out on their own, accompanied only by his breathing and the murmurs of the crowd. The moment his fingers lift from the strings the crowd bursts to life, applause and cheers raising to the dusty rafters. Jaskier accepts the praise graciously, with a tired bow and a hint of a smile.

Then he raises his head, and his smile disappears.

Their eyes meet over the crowd, cornflower blue and buttercup yellow over a wave of browns and greys. The brightest colors in the room, drawn to nothing else.

Geralt just stands where he is, frozen, hoping that Jaskier will not be able to resist coming to see why he is here, after so long and so indifferent a parting.

He is not disappointed.

Jaskier puts his lute in a case and leans it on the wall, his fingers visibly trembling even from this distance. He weaves through the crowd, bowing his head at the congratulations and thanks from those he passes. He ends up reaching Geralt after what feels like a million years.

“Hi.”

“Um. Hi.”

Gods Geralt, really? ‘Um, hi?’ That’s all you got? Get it together!

But it’s hard for him to take his own brain’s advice. Some of Jaskier’s hair is pinned back in the front, and it is slightly longer than the last time they saw each other. His clothes are tighter fitting too, obviously a higher quality as a result of his recent popularity and the associated wealth. A deep yellow shirt with its laces slightly undone, and black trousers tucked into calf high boots.

Geralt swallows just a bit.

“I had to come find you. We have to talk.”

“Oh, do we?” There’s a little smirk on Jaskier’s face, but it is sad, too. Geralt has no idea what Jaskier thinks he is here to talk about, but it probably isn’t anything very good.

“Well, I have a room in an inn right around the corner. Shall we…go there?”

Geralt nods, not really sure what else to say. “Yes. That sounds…fine.”

“Good, I guess.” Jaskier goes to grab his lute from the corner and the small pile of coins that has piled up in the hat he left on the floor. Geralt’s fingers move slightly, reaching towards Jaskier and dropping when he has left Geralt’s space. He draws them back to his side and flexes them slightly, trying to force out their desire to feel Jaskier’s warmth against their tips.

They leave the tavern together in silence, neither of them sure what to say. Jaskier doesn’t know what Geralt is here to talk about, and Geralt doesn’t really want to start a conversation in the middle of the street, not when he isn’t sure how it will end. In heartbreak again, or happiness? A parting or a coming together? In any case, the street isn’t the place.

In the inn, Jaskier greets the innkeeper as he is settling another guest’s tab. The older man is bubbly and welcoming, asking Jaskier how his last performance was. Jaskier is grace itself, nodding his head and smiling along. Only Geralt can tell how forced it is.

“And you’re finally bringing someone back, I see!” The innkeeper tries to wink subtly at Geralt, but it entirely unsuccessful, and both Jaskier and Geralt can see the sly grin on his face.

“Well, something like that anyway” Jaskier mumbles.

They climb the narrow and creaky stairs to Jaskier’s rented room, the tight space finally allowing Geralt to sense Jaskier’s scent more clearly. Apprehension, definitely. Confusion and a bit of unhappiness, but no fear. Never fear, not at Geralt.

In the inn room, Jaskier places his lute in the corner and rummages around on his table a little.

“Well, it isn’t much, perhaps, but it is certainly better than places I’ve been in the past. I never really needed much, anyway. More than you, maybe, but I like the comfortable rooms, even if they are a little plain and maybe dinky. Less high maintenance than a lot of people, I’m sure.” He’s rambling, a sure sign that he is uncomfortable and feels out of his depth.

“So, um,” he clears his throat and fidgets a bit more. “Why are you here, Geralt? I thought you had Ciri to take care of, and I’m sure the other witchers really want you to be at the keep with them.”

Geralt shakes his head. “Not really. I was bringing them down. When I found that you left… I don’t know. I couldn’t act like myself anymore. I felt trapped there, in those stones. I was aggravating them.” Jaskier nods slowly, not saying anything, letting him go on. “And…I wanted to find you. Needed,” he corrects, “needed to find you.”

Jaskier huffs a little and raises his eyes to the wood ceiling through which a slight cool breeze is drifting. “Why? You never have before.”

Geralt acknowledges this with a dip of his own head. He has been thinking of what he was going to say to Jaskier for this whole time he has been searching, but now that they are here, he finds himself unsure of everything that he had planned.

He forces it out anyway. This is no time to be frightened, he reminds himself.

“Did you really love me? The way you wrote, in your songs. Or are they even about me?” The words are blurted out, almost too fast to be understood. He doesn’t ask or was that another exaggeration, another fabrication for the delight and fancies of your audiences?

Jaskier scoffs, looking down at his boots which scrape restlessly against the hard ground. “You were never meant to hear those. I thought…” He raises his eyes to the sky. Geralt notices that they are blinking rather fast. “Well, I thought that you wouldn’t be going into taverns much, without me to drag you there. So I wrote them thinking you wouldn’t hear them".

“Well, I did hear them. One, anyway. And now part of another. And I need to know, Jaskier, please. Were you singing…about me?”

For the first time since the tavern, Jaskier looks directly at Geralt. His eyes are glistening now, and Geralt has to tense all of his muscles to stop himself from closing the distance between them and pressing him to his chest. It’s been so long, and now that he is here with Jaskier the urge is almost irresistible. How did he ever withstand it before? He can’t stand seeing Jaskier upset, has never been able to stand it, and he knows that physical comfort is always able to make Jaskier feel better.

Knowing this whole time that Jaskier might be hurting because of him, because of his inability to stop from lashing out when he is frustrated or to say things when they need saying, has been slowly chipping pieces off him. A carpenter carving away at a block of soft wood. Hearing Jaskier’s songs, sad and broken and yearning. Chip chip. Remembering how Jaskier had left without a word, how Geralt had done nothing to keep him in Kaer Mohren. Strips of wood pulled off the log, pieces of Geralt’s heart piercing his ribcage.

Not anymore, though. Even just seeing Jaskier is slowly pulling his heart back together again. And Geralt knows that he will do his best to make this right, if he can. If Jaskier answers the question in the way that Geralt hopes he will.

Jaskier sighs loudly in response to his question, almost a groan. Geralt can pinpoint the exact moment where he gives up, gives in. Jaskier has never been good at not saying exactly what he feels and thinks, at withholding from giving Geralt a piece of his mind.

“What do you want me to say? That, yes, I was writing about you? That I knew you could never love me too, not because you aren’t capable, but because I’m me? That even knowing that couldn’t stop me from hoping, that maybe, maybe I was wrong? That I’m afraid I did love you as much as I wrote? That I’m afraid of how much I love you, what I would do for you? Fine. That’s all true. And more than that, too.

“I thought that the fact you never sent me away all those years meant that perhaps…perhaps you might have come to see me. To care for me. And then we went to Kaer Mohren, and you never spared me a second glance. So, I guess I was wrong. So I left.”

Geralt watches Jaskier take several deep breaths, wiping the streaky tears off his cheeks. He turns in circles a few times, once again trying to avoid Geralt’s eyes.

“You weren’t wrong.”

Jaskier’s head snaps up and he stills entirely for the first time since they have been standing here.

“What?”

Geralt takes a cautious step forward, his hands itching to reach up to take Jaskier’s. He doesn’t, though. He is afraid that any movement too fast, too sudden, will scare him away. And Geralt isn’t sure that he could withstand spending even a second longer apart from Jaskier. The way he feels living without him…it’s like trying to catch a breath underwater, like trying to maintain balance on a highwire. Impossible and terrifying and not something he ever wants to do.

Letting him walk out of Kaer Mohren was the biggest mistake he’d ever made; he knew that now. Seeing Jaskier in front of him again makes him absolutely certain, more than he had ever been about anything.

“You weren’t...wrong. About any of it.”

Jaskier is trembling just a bit now, and he shakes his head vigorously. “No. You can’t do this to me, Geralt. Don’t you know the power you have over me? What your words do to me? If you say anything to me, and then walk away, I’ll shatter into a million pieces. And you won’t be able to pick me up again.”

He isn’t just distressed – he is angry, even. His voice grows rushed and loud, his hands moving rapidly around in the air.

“You do this, every time. Even if you don’t do anything, you pull me back in. And you make me think that it will be better, and that we are friends, even though you’ll never admit it. Or treat me like it! I do everything for you, and what do you do? Help me out at a banquet, sure, but then blame me for all of your own actions! As if I didn’t tell you to stay away from Yennefer from the moment we met her, as if I didn’t tell you to stay away from the dragon hunt, as if I was the one who made you ask for the Law of Surprise like an idiot!”

He’s pacing and breathing hard, his hands alternatively raking through his hair and wringing the bottom of his shirt. His eyes are wide and slightly crazed, and Geralt is quite taken aback. He knows this side of Jaskier, has been on the receiving side many a time, but it’s harder to know what to do about it when he is trying to tell Jaskier how he feels.

“I can’t keep coming back to you, Geralt. Not when you didn’t care enough to even talk to me at Kaer Mohren, not even after I brought Ciri – lovely girl, by the way – hundreds of miles to Kaer Mohren by myself. I didn’t even warrant a conversation or a glance! So forgive me if I won’t follow you around and sing your praises anymore. I won’t do that, when you will walk away again and again when you get sick of it. I mean, why are you even here?”

Now Geralt is the one shaking his head. “I won’t walk away. I won’t. Listen to me, Jaskier. You weren’t wrong, before. I did – I do. Care about you. Have for a long time, except I never knew it, or maybe just never knew how to say it.”

His hands twitch again, aching to close the few feet between them and touch every bit of Jaskier he can reach. He knows that his touch would make Jaskier crumble, that he would be able to convince him of his feelings without a word. But he owes him this, and more. Owes him every word in his heart, the ones he has only just started to find.

“The reason, in Kaer Mohren, that I didn’t look at you, or go to you to protect you, was because I knew how Voleth Meir works. She finds your weakness, the gaping wound in your heart, and she twists it, makes it hurt so badly, you would do anything to make it stop. That’s you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier has calmed down a little, still pacing a few steps but at least is listening to what Geralt has to say. His eyes are searching, peering into Geralt’s being like no one else ever has. It’s scary, how much he sees him. None of Geralt’s wounds or regrets are safe in the face of Jaskier’s gaze.

“You’re the wound in my heart, the one thing that has the most power to tear me wide open so that I could never be fixed. And you are most definitely my weakness. My biggest weakness. For you, to protect you, I would do anything.”

Jaskier is silent, not wanting to interrupt Geralt when he is finally spilling the thoughts and feelings that he has kept inside himself, that he has not known how to say. Jaskier would never stop Geralt from feeling, from connecting with another being.

“So, I had to pretend that wasn’t true. I had to ignore you, pretend that I didn’t care, and that you were nothing to me. I knew letting Voleth Meir know my...feelings for you, would be to sign your death warrant. She would use you, to get to me. Or she would draw the hurt from my heart, or yours, to kill us all. There was so much hurt, in my heart. And maybe in yours.

“I knew that if you got injured, in that fight, that I would never recover. I wouldn’t know where to go anymore, where to turn. In the past, I have always turned to you. What would I do, if you were gone? But I had to stay away from you, to trust that the others would protect you.”

Jaskier steps forward slowly while he talks, looking at him straight on with uncertain eyes.

“And then, all these months, I thought you were better off, that you would move past me. I thought me ignoring you would have been enough to force you away for good. And I was kind of happy about that – you would be safer than you could ever be with me.

“But Gods, your songs…” Geralt shakes his head again, eyes cast to the ground. “If I had known that you felt anything like...that, for me, I never would have let you go. I would have found the words, then, to tell you how I felt.”

“And how is that? How do you feel about me?” Jaskier is only a foot away now, his scent enveloping Geralt. Yet, he cannot for the life of him tell what it is. Hurt? Hope? Love? Despair, anguish, happiness, uncertainty? All emotions that Geralt is sure that he has caused Jaskier at one point or another.

Geralt finally sums up the courage, has enough hope that Jaskier will not flee from him, that he reaches out and touches his hand. Jaskier flinches just a little, but turns his hand up into Geralt’s, fingers pressing against the endlessly slow pulse of Geralt’s heart.

“I never thought you could love me. How could you, even a little? When you have seen every bad thing I’ve ever done, when you know how angry and snappy I can get? I’m dangerous, and I live a hard life, and I don’t know how to say things, not really.”

He fiddles with Jaskier’s sleeve. The fabric is soft and grounding. He can feel Jaskier’s pulse, beating hard enough to almost break out of his skin.

“I’ve killed….so many things. Been covered so thickly in blood you wouldn’t be able to tell my skin color. I inspire hatred wherever I go. And even if you liked me enough to be a friend…you could have so much, Jaskier, so much more than I could ever give you. Luxury and praise and everything you could ever need to make you the happiest bard on the Continent. As you should be.”

He takes another deep breath, raising his eyes from where his hand curves around Jaskier’s and focusing them on Jaskier’s eyes instead. They are a deep, ethereal color that you would be hard-pressed to find in the natural world. It is as if the only place this color exists is within Jaskier’s eyes.

A tiny smile forms on Jaskier’s lips. Geralt wants to kiss it until it grows, but he won’t. It isn’t his place, not now, not yet. He is here only to put everything he is at Jaskier’s feet and see what he will do with it.

So he does.

“You’re it, for me. You’re everything. You’re the soft bed and the warm water of the bath at the end of the night. You’re the cool breeze in the hot months, the whetstone to sharpen my sword, my connection to the world. You’re hope and goodness. I never saw the world as good before you. It was only ever pain and hatred; there was a desire to survive, but no reason to. And then you. I could never tell you everything you are, not if I lived until the sun burnt itself out and fell out of the sky. I’m sorry I never told you before. I don’t think I realized it, until you left me.”

He lets go of the breath he was holding, his lips raising into a smile in response to Jaskier’s grin. Jaskier brings their joined hands to his mouth, ghosting a kiss against the back of Geralt’s hand. His lips are soft, as of course they are, and they spread warmth through Geralt’s entire body from the skin they touch.

“And you are all of that to me, too. I did – I do – love you the way I wrote, the way I sang. And more, so much more than I could ever put into words, into song. The words themselves don’t exist, as you once said, quite rudely.

“Of course, the songs were about you. Everything I have ever written has been about you, in some way. Even when I hadn’t met you yet, my songs were about you. Were for you.”

He clears this throat. His eyes are still wet, but Geralt is pretty sure he isn’t sad anymore. He rubs small, slow circles into Jaskier’s palm, relishing the feel of his soft skin.

“But, dear,” Jaskier smiles, reassured by Geralt’s widening eyes and smile at the term.

“You mustn’t think those things about yourself. You, love, are everything good and pure and noble. And I’m sorry that the world makes you think anything else. You protect people who don’t deserve it, save hundreds of people for a pittance, without ever uttering a complaint. Who could blame you for getting angry or short tempered once in a while? I, in your position, would be the worst terror the world has ever seen, if I was treated as you are.

“So please, do not think those things. I will do everything I can to force those horrible thoughts out of your mind. I will make you see yourself the way I do. And try to get you to love yourself even a fraction of the amount that I do.”

Jaskier whispers now, breathing the words so that they can barely be heard in the still room. “I was hurt, after Kaer Mohren. I thought I was never anything to you. If I had been, you would have protected me. Not that I needed protection, mind you, but it’s just kind of…your thing. You protect people, especially the ones you love. I saw what you did for Ciri. And you didn’t do that for me.”

Jaskier stops Geralt’s protest by pressing their clasped hands to his lips to prevent them from moving.

“I know why, dear, now. It’s alright. I love you for what you did there.

“But even though I was hurt, I never let you go, not really. I’m not capable of it, I’m finding. I sing my songs to try and get you out of my system, but it never works. I still want you the same way I always do, maybe even a little more every day. And if what you said is true, then…”

Jaskier flits his eyes between Geralt’s bright eyes and his lips, back and forth and back again. His voice cracks a little when he speaks.

“But…I have to know. Why would you never say anything earlier? If you felt this? Take a chance…why push me away?”

Geralt hums. “Why didn’t you? I barely knew what I felt. How do you label the feeling of love when no one has ever inspired it before? When no one has told you what it feels like? And I was scared, of what it meant. If I said something, even just about my own confused emotions, and then lost you to my own stupidity or to something I couldn’t save you from, how could I handle it? So I did nothing. It was safer.”

Jaskier presses his forehead against Geralt’s, his breaths ghosting over his cheeks and lips, soft enough to barely be felt.

“But not better. Not happier.”

“No.” A deep inhale from Geralt’s throat, a huff from Jaskier.

“Definitely not happier”

Jaskier shifts forward, the lightest brush of lips against Geralt’s. It’s the crack of a firecracker and the chuckles at the end of a good spell of laughter, and so much more. It’s hope and trust and adoration.

It’s everything.

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

epilogue.

“Actually, you were wrong about a bit of it.”

“Oh, really? Tell me, dear witcher, dear heart, my darling, what exaaactly, was I wrong about?”

They have left the inn behind for the night, both of them feeling slightly claustrophobic in the tight room with no windows. Geralt is always more comfortable in nature, where he can keep an eye on Roach and breathe in the air freely. There are always too many human scents in buildings, anyway, and they throw him off.

He and Jaskier lay side by side under the stars atop path-worn bedrolls, placed so close as to be on top of the other. They touch along the sides of their bodies; boots bump together, thighs align and warm each other, fingers intertwine and glance along knuckles. The chirps of the crickets and Roach’s steady chewing of the grass are the only sounds in all the world.

“It wasn’t impossible for me to ever love you. It would be impossible for me not to love you. How could I not, when you are the only one who ever really saw me? And wanted me, sought me out when you could be anywhere else, were the only one who wasn’t thrown in my path by destiny? How could I ever escape loving you, when you took care of Roach and stayed with me even when my potions weren’t wearing off? I never knew what it was, that feeling, but I think it’s been there for a long time. Maybe it was there since I was born, and I was always looking for you to put a name to it. Even if destiny had no hand in it.”

Jaskier turns his head to look at Geralt, who has his eyes closed and the smallest smile on his lips. Content. Glowing under the moonlight like only he could.

“And I can’t believe you wouldn’t think I could love you, think that I could get over you in such a short time. A few months, really dear? Have you seen yourself? It would take the lifetimes of a million gods for me to get over you. Maybe not even then. Do you think I would care for just anyone’s horse, or wash anyone else’s hair? It’s only you, Geralt. Always, forever you.”

Smiles grow, fingers clasp, heads turn and press lips together. And it’s everything.

#this was so much fun #but seriously i'm not gunna be putting out fics like this very often #sigh #i put off so much to do this #no regrets though #(well maybe only a little)#jaskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #there's tad here too #geraskier #they're so in love #because of course #and keaton henson lyrics #geralt of rivia #my beloved #the witcher #the witcher netflix #cami writes (me weird write me willing write me well)

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jaskefer · 3 years

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ok so not to be back on the apology meta train like 3 months after the season dropped, but i have been thinkin about it a lot lately, and honestly just falling back on the idea that it feels hollow because it feels like Geralt is only apologizing for half of what happened.

like! S1E6 was left with a pretty open ending in general, but with the way Jaskier walked away from Geralt saying he’d “see him around,” there’s at least some implication in this that it was Jaskier who left first. But then S2 drives home the point that oh no, actually, it was Geralt who left Jaskier.

“After everything we did, we saw, you turned your back on me.”

“I haven’t seen Geralt in months. Not since he abandoned me in Caingorn...”

“You left me on a mountain.”

and when Geralt does actually apologize, it comes on the back of Jaskier’s statement about friends coming back. This focus on the act of leaving winds up making it feel like that’s the only thing Geralt’s apologizing for, and not also the fact that he blamed Jaskier for everything that complicated his life and wished that he could be rid of him. Additionally, we never actually get to see the act of Geralt abandoning Jaskier. We only learn about that after the fact; meanwhile, we got to actually see Geralt turning around and lashing out at him. Between the two, which one holds the most relevancy and emotional impact to the audience?

It’s not that S2 never touches on Geralt’s words at all; Jaskier brings it up during the initial reunion (“The last time we met, you basically told me to fuck off”) and also in a roundabout way on the journey to find Ciri (“People do stupid things when they think they’re trapped in a corner, Geralt. And they say stupid things). It’s just that it wraps up the entirety of the event—both the harsh words and the leaving—into one blanket statement, and as a result, winds up giving the impression that Geralt is expressing remorse for only one of those two things, because all of the emphasis is placed on Jaskier being abandoned.

and mmm I’d end it there but tbh I was typing this all up the other day and had a few thoughts about Geralt as a man of action over words, and started wondering if the reason Jaskier was willing to go with him when Geralt asked for his help is because Geralt coming back to him was in and of itself an act of apology. That it was Geralt admitting that he was wrong to have blamed Jaskier for what his own words and actions had gotten him into. A means of saying, without words, “I was wrong to treat you like you were at fault for this. It’s my mess, but I trust you, and would like you to be by my side again as I try to fix it.”

but idk. there’s still a lot of emptiness that could be filled where all of this stands, and room for the weight of Geralt’s words to still land heavy on their shoulders.

#angel.txt #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #meta & theories #once again taking 3 am twitter thoughts and going ‘ooh wait this would make a good mini essay’#might write a drabble or smth with the idea of reunion as an act of apology cause i Like it. if i can mold canon like dough lmao #idk. i just think that it's very clear that the only thing the season gave weight was the reunion itself #the act of coming back and seeing each other again. so then of course the actual words fall to the wayside #which sucks bc like! it was jaskier's involvement that brought and yen and ciri into geralt's life #but it was *geralt's words* that tied them to him the way they are now.#so you would think that if jaskier also holds an important place in geralt's heart... his most vitriolic words would be regarded with weight #like twn wants to say geralt and jaskier are close friends!#but also geralt can apparently blame jaskier for his own mistakes and wish that life would rid him of jaskier‚ and jaskier's just like #''people say stupid things and lash out when they're backed into a corner but hey. friends come back.''#like mmm i can buy this sort of understanding characterization of jaskier but twn can't have it both ways #and also should stop treating him and his feelings like a doormat sfdsfds #anyways! rant over lmao #sorry hsjshs any time i think about ‘if life could give me one blessing it would be to take you off my hands’ i go feral #in both good and bad ways #i am very much obsessed with s1 geralt and the consequences of words as well as actions #even more so after s2 and the ''all i ever think about are consequences'' scene with ciri 🥺

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just-an17archer · 3 years

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Witcher Season 2 (beware spoilers)

S2 is a good season.

As a books fan I know better than no one that there were some things in s2 in which they took a lot of creative liberties, - something that's not necessarily wrong-, and yet they also changed some things that rightfully enraged the book and games fans (Netflix Eskel I'm looking at you).

Still why all the hate? Its seems like all these people hating on s2 never watched an adaptation- of course there are things they'll change! Of course there are characters that don't look at all like we imagined they would! But when an adaptation of a beloved book series takes place, there are things that we musn't get overly attached to, because they can't be 100% faithfull with the time they are given and the stories that don't adapt well to the big screen.

For example, Yennefer and Cahir's arc after thr Battle of Sodden never happened in the books, and yet I found myself curious and excited to find out where it would lead-, it showed us the development of Jaskier and Yennefer's friendship and them bonding over Geralt, including an amazingly addictive 'break-up' song; it also showed us another side of Cahir

BOOK SPOILERS

that will help audiences understand the character when he ultimately joins Geralt's Company to help Ciri.

Yennefer's arc with Ciri was completely different, I think they had to adapt it in a different way to be able to fit it in the season without it being overwhelming. Still, we got to see the development of Ciri and Yennefer's relationship that will continue to improve in the future.

Ciri's story was also a tad different, but I think all the main points came across very well- the family she found with the Witchers, her relationship with Triss (that in my opinion was extremely well made and amazingly faithfull to the books), her training at Kaer Morhen under the Witchers' guidance, her daughter-like relationship to Yennefer and especially Geralt, and a better understanding of her powers.

I wasn't a massive fan of all the Deathless Mother focus, kind of meh, but on the other hand she helped show some of Ciri's potential, introduce the Wild Hunt and some lore of the universe.

I loved Jaskier's development with him standing up for himself but ultimately forgiving Geralt, showing how strong their friendship is. Geralt is also amazing, seeing him come from not needind anybody and preferring to be alone, to accepting and admitting his father-role to Ciri, his friendship with Jaskier and truly appreciating him, his brotherhood with the rest of the Witchers, as well as him standing up to Yennefer.

Okay, I can't excuse what they did to Eskel's character, I remember him from the books as he was my favorite Witcher besides Geralt- he had such a sweet personality and he was Geralt's closest brother and friend, and yet in the series he basically turned into a tree and procceded to die... Here I can't see any reason as to why they would do this, they could simply create another Witcher and not use one that has such a big fandom base.

Overall I really loved this season, I think it made some big advances in the action, especially with the amazing plot-twist at the end (that happens only in the last book but I think it was revealed in the show at exactly the right time because it will help increase the hype to know what will happen next); and I also enjoyed the characters that were introduced, like Fenn and Codringher, Djikstra (who looked exactly like I imagined he would), Phillipa Eilhart, Vesemir, Lamber, Cöen...

In conclusion, don't hate on a series that is amazing and that so many people love, why don't you stop spreading all this hate and blowing things out of proportion when we are lucky to have a series such as these.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk

#witcher netflix #netflix #the witcher #geralt of rivia #yennefer #jaskier #ciri #season 2 spoilers #some book spoilers

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dsudis · 3 years

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Fic! And a thought

I wrote fic!! And now it even has my name attached to it!

Your Lonesome Surprise (2466 words)

Fandom:

Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emhyr var Emreis & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia

Additional Tags: Fatherhood, Father-Daughter Relationship, Witcher Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Post-The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Surprise nudity, Talking, Very Nearly Acknowledging An Emotion, I Shook an Emperor and Intergenerational Trauma Fell Out

Summary:

Ciri chose the Path, but she still wonders about Emhyr sometimes, and because Geralt can never say no to her, today he's going to look in on the Emperor of Nilfgaard. What could possibly go wrong?

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

And in the course of writing this story (and in the last few days, watching people react to it during the anonymous guessing stage of the flashfic challenge) a thought crystallized for me that I don’t think ever quite had before, which is:

The fact that Geralt has a claim on Ciri is the ultimate proof that Duny had no ill intentions up to that point.

Encouraging someone to invoke the Law of Surprise against you--and Duny was insistent in offering, and knew EXACTLY what his open-ended offering was inviting, given his claim on Pavetta--is not the act of a scheming mastermind, someone who is trying to control the outcome toward some secret purpose. It’s the act of a young man caught up in his own Romantic Destiny and utterly certain that he cannot go wrong by encouraging Destiny to take another turn in his life.

And look what that got him.

(I mean, in truth what it got him, and the world, was the saving of Ciri’s life; what was going to go hideously wrong wasn’t something Duny could have averted without being supernaturally resistant to Vilgefortz’s persuasion. But when Duny offered Geralt a boon in exchange for his life, Destiny took the chance to ensure that Ciri would make it out alive, with a protector who could prepare her for her Destiny.)

#fic #the witcher #geralt of rivia #emhyr var emreis #cirilla fiona elen riannon #hello it's me i'm having feelings about duny again #who is surprised

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warmrainonawinterday · 3 years

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So. Season 2 of Netflix's The Witcher, huh. I was disappointed.

What I liked:

- Jaskier's singing 💜

- proper screen time and lines of dialogue for the bruxa as well as Nivellen's confession that he raped the priestess being served as a gut punch at the end rather than being either omitted or admitted off the bat

- the dynamic between Geralt and Ciri is genuinely heartwarming

- I like the thought behind getting a more expansive look at Nilfgaard and what kind of person Fringilla is and what exactly the elves are up to. The execution was... meh, but I appreciate the effort.

- Fringilla paralizing and killing those guys in the dining hall

All the things I disliked:

- What I wanted was a plotline involving Yennefer that would deepen her character. What I got was bullshit. What was the fucking point of her losing her magic and running around like a headless chicken for the entire season leading up to her flimsy "betrayal" of Ciri to basically not matter and just be used as an excuse for another cheap action setpiece for the season finale. Was the Yen & Cahir Roadtrip really worth the screen time only for the audience to not even really learn any new information about Yen or Cahir in the process in the end. I also thought it was useless to spend so much time on Tissaia and Geralt believing Yen to be dead when we know the entire time that of course she isn't

- With Yennefer apparently on the run now, is the show going to adapt the coup without Yen and Geralt attending the ball?

- Vilgefortz and Tissaia... why? What does this add?

- it is baffling to me that the show had Jaskier and Cahir meet now, kind of? Is Jaskier just going to do a double take and side-eye him extra hard when he shows up in Baptism of Fire and joins the gang on the Road Trip To Find Ciri? Are they not going to recognize each other? "Hey Geralt, don't worry about the man who haunts Ciri's worst nightmares, I saw him travelling with Yen not too long ago, he's not that bad"?

- the (non-book-canon) 'conflict' of "Do Yen and Geralt only fake love each other because of djinn magic?" remains unresolved/is swept under the rug, not to mention the extremely lazy Geralt and Jaskier friendship reunion (resulting from yet another non-book-canon conflict)

- the sheer amount of (at times really cheap-looking) huge monsters that Geralt fights made them feel like video game quest boss battles and this got stale and tiring and boring real fucking fast. And not once was there a great battle sequence with Ciri and Geralt properly fighting together

- Not enough Philippa Eilhart content considering just how many times her owl form was shown

- With all this focus on the elves, where the FUCK are the Scoia'tael and why have they never even been referred to by name yet?

- What a waste of potential to have Ciri only stay at Melitele's temple for a few hours instead of getting the book plot of her actually getting an education there and slowly forming a bond with Yennefer on her own without Geralt being present. As cute as the instant-family bond of the show was starting from Ciri walking in on Yen and Geralt, it didn't quite feel earned.

- Falka's introduction to the show's lore was badly done. Also, no one wanted or needed extended Stregebor screen time, I am sure of it

- The half-hearted adaptations of the book monologues that Triss directs at Geralt (and the other witchers) fell sadly flat

- Why WAS Ciri constantly training by mindlessly beating the shit out of a. thin air, and b. an unmoving straw dummy. That's not fight training, that's dance choreography. I wanted to like the "parkour training course" more, I imagined it to be more complex and longer than it was

- Justice for Eskel. I also don't know how Netflix could possibly expect me to care about the deaths of some of the witchers when they barely got referred to by name and had no real space to develop personalities or a bond with Ciri.

I am not that much of a book snob that I am just crying about any and all book changes. In fact, I have a personal laundry list of Book Canon that I would love to have never happened or be changed beyond the point of recognition. It's just that with a character dynamic like that of Yennefer and Ciri it is baffling to me how anyone could look at the season two finale and think it was an improvement in comparison to the source material. Seemingly done just because the show needed flashy action scenes for the finale which, yeah, admittedly, isn't really found in Blood of Elves.

#the witcher spoilers #wiedźmin #the witcher #lauren I trusted you to get the books right and then your (co-)written eps are my least favorites :(

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thearvariblues · 3 years

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The Witcher Eurovision!AU

Just an idea that got into my head while I was in the shower, since, as every European and non-European on this hellsite knows, it’s Eurovision night, baby!

So it goes like this:

Jaskier is a semi-famous (AKA Youtube-famous, probably) English singer with songs that range from “a bit weird but I love it” to “completely deranged and I LOVE IT” - a bit like The Amazzing Devil, obviously

he draws his inspiration from his life - like the time he gets inspired by a D&D campaign he plays with Geralt and writes Toss a Coin to Your Witcher (but Arvari, haven’t you already written that– Oh, shut up, brain, this is COMPLETELY different than the last time!)

he plays the song to Geralt before he records it, and Geralt, while secretly loving it and trying very hard not to blush, is like “Jesus, Jaskier, this is probably the shittiest thing you’ve ever written”

“Ex-fucking-CUSE ME, Geralt, it’s a lovely song, I could probably win the Eurovision with it!”

“Jask, if you somehow manage to be chosen for the Eurovision with this shit, I’m gonna be your background pole dancer, because that’s the only way I could make someone toss a coin to me.” (They’re both a bit drunk at this point, obviously.)

anyway, challenge fucking accepted

Jaskier knows there’s only one person who could help him to make this happen - so he tells Yen, Geralt’s ex-wife

who laughs for like ten minutes when she imagines her hunk of an ex-husband fucking pole dancing, and then immediately promises to do something about it

she pulls some strings, maybe sucks a few cocks - Jaskier is honestly too afraid to ask - but she gets him in

FUCK

so apparently, Geralt now has to learn to pole-dance

F-U-C-K

when Lambert (who, in this incarnation, is ginger and angry and Scottish, because fucking reasons that have nothing to do with a fact that I’m personally into ginger Scottish men, no ma’am) hears about it, he absolutely loses it

he demands to be allowed to go to the finale with them (and fucking hell, Geralt didn’t want anyone to know, and now everyone does, even people who don’t even know what Eurovision is, and Ciri has told all her friends and Geralt now prays that the ground would just open and swallow him whenever he has to pick her up from school and runs into one of her friends’ mothers...)

anyway, Lambert is allowed to come. So is Eskel. So is Yen and her wife Triss and of course Ciri. And Lambert’s boyfriend Aiden, because Lambert won’t take no for an answer.

Valdo Marx is sent a very special invitation which he very impolitely declines

also Lambert, who’s spent some time traveling with Aiden, bullies every non-British friend he has into voting for the stupid bard and the hot pole dancer (it doesn’t take much convincing once he shows them a video from Geralt’s rehearsal)

anyway the first time Jaskier sees Geralt actually do his pole-dancing number, he very nearly has a heart-attack

(no, he hasn’t been madly in love with Geralt ever since he met him twelve years ago, why are you asking?!)

he is pretty sure he’s not gonna survive the three minutes on stage with Geralt, but baby, what a way to go

he does survive

even though he spends the three minutes giving Geralt heart eyes that the whole of Europe can see

and call it adrenaline, but when the song comes to an end and Geralt gets down from his pole, Jaskier does the unthinkable and just... fucking kisses him

and Geralt just... kisses him back?

at this point, Lambert loses it again, and the whole audience with him

of course, they now have to wait a few hours before they can talk about it properly, but... Geralt it holding Jaskier’s hand while waiting for the results in the green room and WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?

if Jaskier had known, he’d have gone into the Eurovision like ten years ago

or just kissed the idiot

anyway, this is how the UK finally wins the Eurovision, thanks for coming to my TED talk

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #witcher fanfiction #my fics #pure crack #eurovision #i'm really sorry for this i'm a bit drunk

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dapandapod · 3 years

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So Jaskilion, thank you for the music, Jaskier wearing a gown, the bards just being somfte 🥺

Bards just being somfte, how about bards being somft HUSBANDS? For my sweet @jaskierswolf, after the wonderful ABBA marathon we had, and thank you @kuripon for doing a beta read in the middle of the night. My middle of the night, to be fair, but still!!

Warnings: mention of past harrassment and Geralt's accordion. That in itself needs a warning I think. Oh and, Dandelion is having a really bad day.

On Ao3 here! <3

Dandelion is so fucking tired. Some days are really just out to get you, and this day in particular seems to want him to have some sort of breakdown.

Anything that could go wrong did go wrong. Murphy’s law and all that. He stepped in a muddy puddle that was deeper than it seemed, he got stuck in the elevator for an hour, the trains were late, his boss were yelling at him (again, Valdo should go sit on something prickly), his computer froze while screen sharing during an important meeting, his food tasted vaguely like fish because the person before him didn’t obey the unspoken golden rule about not reheating fish dinners in their microwave in the office and -

Yes. Long fucking day.

The worst part about it?

He is this close to missing one of the most important nights this year, nay, his life.

Jaskier is singing tonight.

It’s been a while, a very long while in fact, since Jaskier stood on a stage last. When they met, Jaskier used to do musicals, karaoke nights, weddings. His voice is rich, beautiful, a voice that drives off the darkness of the night.

Jaskier sang at their wedding.

But after one particular incident while playing the lead role in a musical, a coworker who had harassed Jaskier to the extent that they had to go to court to keep him safe, Jaskier never stepped up on a stage again.

He tried.

Dandelion watched his hands shake, his face getting paler and sweat dripping down his neck. He heard his voice crack, his breath hitch, and the sobs in the back rooms where he thought no one could hear.

And then he just never performed for others again.

So tonight is very fucking important.

It’s just a small neighbourhood talent show, kitchen chairs collected and pushed together in front of a makeshift theater. Dandelion and Jaskier had helped prepare a few nights before, dining on the kitchen floor in wait for the big day, laughing and teasing each other.

And here Dandelion is, about to fucking miss it.

He looks at his watch one more time. It has already started, but Jaskier is the second to last act tonight, right before the big finale with Tissaia and her little magic helpers.

If he runs, he might make it. Hopefully.

Bursting through the doors, making old Vesemir jump in surprise, Dandelion makes it just in time for little Ciri to get up on stage and do her puppet show.

Gods, just in time.

Vesemir glares at him, but Dandelion just pats his shoulder as he passes, squeezing himself deeper into the room, closer to the stage. He has a stitch in his side from running, and this shirt will need a good washing tonight, but that is a small sacrifice.

Sitting down next to Ciri’s mother in the second row, he finally catches his breath. He is here. He made it.

Now he only hopes Jaskier makes it on the stage.

They talked about that too. There is no shame in backing out, none at all. Jaskier’s well being is more important than anything else. Dandelion will support Jaskier in anything he chose to pursue.

He just hopes the small spark Jaskier has been nursing these last few days will stay.

They all applaud politely when Ciri steps off the stage, Pavetta finally letting her phone fall into her lap, pausing what is sure to be the biggest spam on social media (this week) about her daughter’s many talents.

Ciri is an incredible girl; whenever they had the honor of babysitting her, she and Dandelion would spend hours by the piano. Or the guitar. Or the ukulele. Or the lute. Or the violin….

Triss walks up on the stage, thanking Ciri through a small and rather crackly microphone. Next up is Jaskier.

Dandelion's heart is in his throat. Jaskier didn’t want to tell him what song he chose, only that it would be something very special.

When his husband comes out on stage, Dandelion feels like he wants to fall to one knee all over again, butterflies dancing and swirling in his stomach.

The gown he wears is a deep blue, sparkling in the small spotlight, making him the focus of everyone's attention. Dandelion recognizes it immediately from Halloween a few years back, when there was a Eurovision theme.

Jaskier’s eyes roam the small audience desperately, and when his eyes fall on Dandelion, the tightness in his shoulders eases just a fraction.

He is still a little pale, and Dandelion can make out the small tremble in his hands when he reaches for the microphone in Triss’ hand, but oh, how very proud Dandelion is of him.

Jaskier’s eyes never let go of him, and when he walks the two small steps to the middle of the stage, Dandelion feels each foot fall through his own body.

“Thank you all for being here tonight.” Jaskier begins. “I would like to dedicate this song to the love of my life, and no, I’m not talking about this dress.”

Jaskier’s smile is blinding, and Dandelion hears the crowd chuckle.

“Dandelion, my beloved husband, thank you for always being there for me, thank you for drinking my terrible coffee, thank you for always, always believing in me. For always keeping the music alive within me, with or without words.”

Jaskier points to Triss on the edge of the stage, and she starts what is unmistakably ABBA.

“Thank you for the music, my love.”

The performance is a bit shaky. It is bound to be, Jaskier is fighting for every breath, every note, but it is every bit as beautiful and rich and clear as it ever was. As it has been in the shower, in the kitchen, in Dandelion's arms as they slow-dance around their living room at one in the morning.

The dress sparkles as Jaskier takes a few tentative steps, eyes again roaming the crowd, only to return to Dandelion to anchor him once more.

Dandelion could cry.

He registers Pavetta holding her phone up again. He will have to ask for the pictures (hopefully it's video) after. Right now, Dandelion's hand is pressed over his mouth, trying his utmost to hold back.

“I've been so lucky, I have a love with golden hair I wanna sing it out to everybody What a joy, what a life, what a chance.”

Jaskier sings, winking at Dandelion. Jaskier always loved Dandelion's blonde hair, playing with his curls, dragging his fingers through the silky strands.

The last notes ring out, and the audience clap politely again.

They don’t know how big this is.

Now Dandelion has to stay in his chair until Tissaia has finished her magic tricks, until the last little girls have scampered off stage, and Triss declaring Geralt and his accordion the winner for tonight.

Vesemir hoots loudly in the back, stomping his feet, and then Dandelion is out of his chair. The entire day has been shit, but to hold Jaskier in his arms, high on nervous energy and victorious joy, everything is forgotten.

The dress is a little scratchy under his hands, as is Jaskier's stubble against his cheek, but he holds him tight, as close to his heart he can muster.

“I am so proud of you,” he whispers, and he can hear Jaskier let out a happy little sniffle. “Let’s get home and get drunk off our asses.”

“We just need to find our chairs again, I’m not sitting on the floor in this dress,” Jaskier replies.

“How about no dress, the couch, and that strange cherry vodka you brought home the other day,” Dandelion bargains, kissing Jaskier's temple and grabbing his hand to walk back towards their house.

Jaskier thinks it over for a moment.

“Done. But only if we can blast ABBA so loud, the neighbours at the end of the street will hum Waterloo in their sleep!”

If Dandelion hadn’t already married this man, by gods, he would again.

#somft bards #jaskilion #dandelion/jaskier #somft husbands #the witcher #modern au #talent show #shitty day becoming a better day #supportive husband dandelion #jaskier wears a gown #imagine ABBA #then you are on the right track #dapanda writes #dapanda replies #it's 1am y'all #it somehow always is when i post huh #anyway enjoy

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fandom-star · 3 years

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Title: An Oxenfurt Reunion

Prompt: Ciri made him do it

Pairing: Ciri & Geralt, Jaskier & Geralt

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Written for @themountainarchives

Read on AO3 or under the cut

“Where is the bard?” Ciri asked as Geralt worked on the campfire. Frowning, the Witcher glanced up and hummed questioningly. “The bard you talk about so often? Jaskier?” Ciri clarified, fidgeting with the ends of her hair. “Where is he?” A sad sound escaped Geralt’s mouth as he sat back on his haunches, carefully watching the fire come to life. He hummed again. “Don’t know,” he quietly admitted. “We parted ways nearly two years ago. I haven’t seen him since.” A long unfelt sense of fear that Jaskier might be dead began to spread through his chest. “Why did you leave each other?” Ciri asked, pulling a sad sigh from her companion. “I was… cruel to him. Someone hurt me, and I took it out on him,” Geralt told her, feeling distant. “I wish I hadn’t.” The pair sat in silence, both gazing into the flames. Suddenly, Ciri stood and moved to sit at Geralt’s side. His eyes carefully rested on her. “Why haven’t you told him that?” Yellow eyes blinked at her. “I told you. I haven’t seen him since he rightfully left me.” “But you haven’t looked for him,” Ciri pointed out. “If you did, you might find him.” Dryly, Geralt chuckled. “I doubt he’d appreciate it,” he told her, shaking his head despondently. “And I wouldn’t know where to start.” “Didn’t you say he teaches in Oxenfurt during the Winter?” Ciri immediately said, as though she’d predicted that particular argument. It was a well-timed suggestion, with it being two weeks to the end of the Autumn. Shaking his head, Geralt sighed before gently nudging Ciri’s arm. “Get some sleep.”

One week later, Geralt found himself leading Roach and Ciri over the bridge to Oxenfurt. His throat felt tight with nerves. A gentle touch to his wrist startled him slightly, before he found that it was Ciri. “Are you okay?” she asked. Geralt nodded, before saying, “Yes.” After walking for a couple of blocks, Geralt stopped himself and his companions in their tracks, hearing a familiar voice and music. He felt Ciri’s expectant eyes on him, and he took a breath before continuing on in the direction of the sounds. There was a stage set up in the middle of a square, and upon it was an unmistakable figure prancing around with a lute and wearing clothing somewhat more subdued than it was when Geralt had last seen it, but no less outlandish. “Is that him?” Ciri quietly prompted. Entranced, Geralt nodded. “Yeah. That’s Jaskier.” He was thankful that Ciri didn’t push any further, and they stayed standing on the sidelines of the crowd, watching Jaskier perform. From what Geralt could tell, it seemed to be some sort of entertainment showcase for the end of the harvest season. As Jaskier took his bows and teased his rapt audience a little before jumping from the stage. Geralt found himself lost in his head trying to recall the last time he’d heard the bard sing, before he found himself staring blankly at smart, fashionable boots and forest green breeches that definitely didn’t belong to Ciri. When he looked up at the owner, he wasn’t surprised to find Jaskier staring at him with an unreadable expression. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you, Geralt?” he asked, coolly. “You’re kind of hard to miss.” “Jaskier.” Geralt whispered. “Indeed I am,” Jaskier agreed, before his eyes fell onto Ciri. “This is-” “Ciri. The child surprise.” Geralt said. He turned to the girl, having admittedly forgotten about her for a brief moment, and handed her Roach’s reins. “We passed an inn on one of the street corners, the gold is in the front pouch. See if you can get us a room there and if there are any stables for Roach.” Ciri looked as though she wanted to protest, before nodding and leading Roach in the direction Geralt had indicated. “You’ve mellowed,” Jaskier commented, before asking, “What are you doing here, Geralt?” Geralt swallowed. “I miss you.” was the only thing he could think to say in response. He could feel Jaskier’s unimpressed expression. “That’s nice.” the bard replied, blandly. Groaning, Geralt rubbed at his eyes in frustration. “I miss you. And I wish that I hadn’t said what I said to you on that mountain. Which doesn’t negate that I did, but I’m sorry for putting all that blame on you, and for… just… being cruel even before that. I-” “I know, Geralt,” Jaskier interrupted, and Geralt looked up to see the bard’s eyes shining. “I miss you too.” Jaskier took an uncertain step closer, and Geralt made the next move for him, pressing forwards and wrapping his arms around the bard. Sighing, Jaskier hugged him back and pressed his face into the Witcher’s neck, despite it surely being uncomfortable to do so over his armour. Tentatively, Geralt pressed his own face into Jaskier’s soft hair and breathed in his scent. “Ciri made me come,” Geralt admitted, quietly. “I talk about you too much. I probably would have never come so that I had the excuse of never running into you by chance if she hadn’t told me I could just come here.” Jaskier chuckled. “She sounds smart. And she can handle you, which I applaud. I’d like to meet her properly.” “You and Ciri would be a partnership to be reckoned with,” Geralt laughed. “I need to check that she got us a room anyway, why don’t you come with me?” Jaskier grinned, and pulled away to gesture for Geralt to take the lead.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #the mountain archives

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

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Wolf, Werewolf, Swearwolf

Over the years winters at Kaer Morhen had become quite the social event. What had been sullen, quiet seasons of four miserable and tired witchers had blossomed into something so much more. It had started with Jaskier. Then Geralt had brought Ciri along and Yennefer had a knack for dropping by. There was a lot of ribbing and jesting how the most standoffish lone wolf was single-handedly responsible for bringing a veritable party to the old keep. The year he brought Cahir along too, some of the teasing fell away, mostly because Eskel and Lambert were too busy competing for his affections. That spring, Cahir set out to join Eskel on the path but they both kissed Lambert goodbye with the promise of meeting up with him throughout the year.

One thing was standard for the winter though, the ever present swear jar. It had gotten rather large over the years yet it always seemed to fill up.

“Morning cocksuckers,” Lambert would announce as he arrived for breakfast, heading for the jar before the food to drop off the fine. He claimed it was absolutely worth it. Poor Vesemir wondered where he had gone so wrong with Lambert, his mouth only seemed to get fouler as the years went on. It had become a bit of a running joke between Eskel and Vesemir that Lambert funded most of Kaer Morhen’s necessities for the year with his swearing.

As far as Aiden was concerned, Lambert had some very strange habits. He refused to buy a horse, spent his coin so frugally that it was almost to his detriment. And spare money was squirrelled away dutifully and never seen again. It was a bit frustrating whenever they met up because Aiden liked to treat himself and had grown to want to give Lambert nice things too. More often than not, he ended up paying for a room at an inn, nicer meals than the bare minimum just because it didn’t feel right to miss out. It also, selfishly, meant that Aiden could watch Lambert sigh in happiness when he got a rare treat.

“What you doing for winter?” Aiden had asked and Lambert rolled his eyes. They were meant to be hunting a griffin but there was no sign of it.

“Oh sheesh, I don’t know. Maybe returning to that musty old keep.”

There was a screech in the distance and Lambert looked up as the griffin was dive bombing them.

“Oh fudge.”

It was much later that Lambert realised just what Aiden had been trying to ask.

“You know, if you want to, you could come home with me.” He had a suspicion that Eskel and Cahir would love Aiden too.

“I’d be delighted,” Aiden replied with a grin. “You’re a numpty if you thought I would ever refuse.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a nincompoop.” Lambert stuck his tongue out at Aiden.

That was how the two ended up climbing the mountain, Lambert sometimes snarling a “stupid branch” or “dumb piece of trash”. It was all rather familiar and Aiden was quietly charmed by Lambert all over again. That all changed as soon as they walked through the keep.

“What’s up bitches? Guess who’s back!”

“Lambert,” Vesemir greeted. “And friend.”

Strolling through, Lambert was instinctively reaching for his coin pouch. “”Aiden, the old fart is Vesemir. Snowman and Sunshine are Geralt and Jaskier. Eskel and Cahir will be along later. And this fucker-” he dropped a coin in the swear jar, “-is the fucking-” another coin, “-swear fucking-” yet another coin, “-jar.”

A little stunned, Aiden stared at Lambert, not understanding the change. His eyes strayed to the jar as Vesemir pinched the bridge of his nose.

“We have a swear jar, not that it seems to deter certain people from dirty language.” At least Vesemir looked a little chagrined at Lambert’s unusual behaviour and Aiden’s gaze drifted back to his wolf.

“Damn fucking right,” Lambert grinned and dropped another coin into the almost empty jar. However, there was something in his face, a veiled worry mixed with pleading hope. It was something Aiden would need to try and tease out of him later, without an audience.

As promised, Eskel and Cahir arrived a few days later, looking road weary. And Lambert had been absolutely right, Eskel adored Aiden. There was a bit of tension between Cahir and the newest addition to the dynamic but, one evening they disappeared, only resurfacing for dinner, looking rather too smug. Lambert should have known to be scared.

It all started off so normal, everyone sat around the table, chatter a low murmur. Which was how Lambert only just about caught the nod between Cahir and Aiden before it all kicked off.

“This meal is fucking delicious,” Aiden announced. Down the table Ciri looked up.

“Swear jar!” She took far too much delight in reminding her family of its existence, especially as she tended to reap the benefits of a full swear jar the most. It meant that they could stock up on more expensive spices and treats for the winter.

“Yeah, Aiden,” Cahir drawled, “pay the fuck up.”

To prove his point, Cahir tossed a coin to the middle of the tabled.

“Fucking fine,” Lambert snapped and two coins landed next to Cahir’s. Everyone stared at them, not knowing whether it was the start of an argument or not.

In typical Geralt fashion, he tried to intervene. “This is not how we speak at the dinner table.”

Rather than achieve peace, Cahir turned to his friend with a grin. “Hey Geralt? Suck my dick.”

Another coin landed in the middle of the table unrepentant and almost proud. The game was on when Jaskier cottoned on and he slung an arm around Geralt and squeezed. “He can only suck my dick. If you want your nubby excuse of a thing suckled, you have three other bloody mouths to choose from.”

He patted his pockets and pulled out an errant coin, flipping it nonchalantly to join the others.

“Hell no,” Aiden leaned forward. “That little bitch can suck my cock but I don’t kneel for a Niilfgaardian.” Another coin landed on the table.

“Not a sodding Nilfgaardian.” Cahir stood and slapped a handful of coin on the table. “If you think I am, then you should have been a stain on your mother’s chin.”

“Oh fuck off and tell your dad to shit jizz!” Aiden pushed away from the table and stood, adding a larger handful of coin to the rapidly growing pile.

Around them, Eskel, Lambert, Vesemir and Geralt looked a little too stunned while Jaskier was cackling.

“Bollocks!” He yelled just to be able to flip a coin up in the air and smack it into the other coins.

“Piss!” Aiden hollered back and laughed.

Cahir snorted out a “shitsticks” much to Eskel’s amusement.

Insults flew around the table amidst wild giggles and the money pile grew and grew until Aiden had one coin left in his hand which he flipped it repeatedly. Obviously, he was mulling something over. Mind made up, he looked around the table. “You’re all a bunch of cunts but I love you all already.”

His last coin was thrown and he sat down, grinning proudly. Cahir settled too, starting to tuck into his meal as if they hadn’t just had a major swearing match. Next to him, Lambert buried his face in his hands, realising what had just happened, embarrassed that two of his boyfriends figured him out so quickly when the rest of his family hadn’t put two and two together. Then again, none of the others spent enough time away from Kaer Morhen with him to know he usually didn’t have such a potty mouth. But, well, someone had to fund a better life for them all and it wasn’t like Lambert could do something nice so obviously. So he swore and paid his fines, letting everyone think he just didn’t care.

At the head of the table, Vesemir cleared his throat and everyone looked up, just to watch him very deliberately add his first coin to the swear jar pile in what had to be several decades.

“You’re all fucking idiots. Literally.”

#geraskier #eskel/lambert/cahir/aiden #eskel/lambert #lambert/aiden #eskel/lambert/cahir #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #aiden #vesemir #ciri #tldr: lambert fills a swear jar

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themovieblogonline · 1 year

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The Witcher Season 3 Part 1 Review: A Surprisingly More Uplifting First Half

The Witcher is a Netflix original series that has consistently delivered in each of its seasons. With the release of The Witcher season 3 part 1, the show once again gives us the continuation of its original story, but with a new tone and approach that may be setting up something much bigger. Read on for my somewhat spoiler-filled review of The Witcher season 3 part 1. Please note that while this The Witcher season 3 part 1 review is mostly spoiler-free, we will discuss the ending of The Witcher season 2. The Witcher Season 2 Recap When we last left The Witcher and his compatriots, things took a dark turn. Realizing that Princess Ciri (Freya Allen) has elder blood within her, we discover that she is prophesied to bring about the destruction of the World, to make it a better place for Elven kind. This is why the Deathless Mother wants her. And the end of season 2 saw Ciri accidentally opening a portal to the world where the Mother reunited with her Horsemen a.k.a. The Wild Hunt, and bring about the apocalypse. Ciri, Geralt (Henry Cavill) and Yennefer (Any Chalotra) make their found family official as they vow to take on whatever threat approaches. Keeping in mind that this is after Yennefer betrayed Geralt by taking Ciri to the Mother, in exchange for her magic. But at the last minute, she saved Ciri instead. While the cliffhanger revealed that the Emperor of Nilfgaard, the main baddie of the first two seasons, is actually Ciri’s father! The Witcher Season 3 Part 1 Review Is Spoiler-Free There is seemingly a subtle shift in tone from season 2 to The Witcher season 3 part 1. While the series initially began as more mature, adult-themed, dark and serious, this season feels more uplifting. At the risk of jinxing it, given there is still a part 2 of season 3 left to release, this season feels sweet, more romantic and, dare I say it, wholesome. The relationship between the three main characters is incredibly sweet and their dynamic has gotten much better. It’s refreshing to see an action and plot-driven show like this choose not to create conflict and drama within the characters with easily resolvable plot points. Geralt, Ciri and Yennefer all being on the same page with one another, bonding and growing feels out of place in a show with brutal killings and monsters. But it’s a very refreshing change. Similarly, other characters also get positive arcs, as season 3 seemingly is setting up a bigger threat and some more interesting things to come. The Witcher Season 3 Proves Conflict Can Come From Outside Sources In many ways, season 3 evolves the character of Geralt in cool new ways. While he accepts Ciri, as well as Yennfer, he also finds closure in some of the other internal conflicts they’ve set up from season 1. Accordingly, it feels like a full-circle moment for many other characters as well. Yennefer is looking for redemption from her former mentor, and Ciri has to reconcile the duality of her powers, her abilities and her status as a princess. Season 3 does a great job of juggling these various character arcs, while also setting the stage for the back half of the season which is sure to be even more intense and surprising. But that’s where the season kind of drags, so far. The Political Machinations Could Lose Some Fans The one complaint I would have about The Witcher season 3 part 1 is just how political the story of the world is. When audiences aren’t with the 3 leads, the story is setting up a massive political showdown between the kingdoms and the various parties with their own agendas. The season relies on the deep technical knowledge of all past events between the Elves, Nilfgaard, the history of Cintra, and many other political goings on. The Brotherhood of Sorcerers plays a huge part in this season, but again, we need to know the details of each character and their history to understand their motivations and scheming now. It’s not a huge complaint, and while all the secretive and suspenseful plot is very interesting, it may definitely lose some audiences along the way. There are also many unanswered questions that hopefully will resolve themselves in part 2. It’s difficult to fully review The Witcher season 3 part 1, knowing that most of it is set up for what else is to come. But overall, the chemistry and dynamic of the lead characters and their individual stories are much more interesting than the larger plot. At least, for now. The Witcher season 3 part 1 is now streaming on Netflix. What did you think of part 1 of this new season of The Witcher so far? Let me know in the comments below or on Twitter at @theshahshahid. Read the full article

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lesdemonium · 4 years

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romtober day 21: “the bet”

Rating: T Ship: Geraskier Word Count: 960 Summary: Geralt and Jaskier bet on who can keep up the pretenses of their fake relationship for longer. Somehow, the bet never really ends.

read on ao3

It started with a hair-brained scheme, something that absolutely should not have worked. And yet, it did.

“Jaskier, no one is going to believe us as a couple,” Geralt said.

It wasn’t even a good idea in the first place. Jaskier did not need to come to the banquet with a partner, but the Countess would be there, and there were rumors she was bringing her new paramour. Jaskier couldn’t bear to be there unattached, so Jaskier had asked Geralt to help him.

“Are you saying you’re not planning on being convincing, my dear witcher? Because if we are found out, it certainly won’t be my doing,” Jaskier replied, a mischievous grin on his face that he knew Geralt was bound to rise to.

“You couldn’t lie convincingly to save your life,” Geralt said back with a snort.

Jaskier feigned affront. “Excuse me. I lie all the time! You’re the one that grows hot under the collar if I even suggest deception.”

“You mean to tell me you could spend an entire night surrounded by pretty lords and ladies and not flirt with anyone?” Geralt sounded skeptical, and Jaskier would have been truly offended, if Geralt wasn’t in some small way absolutely correct.

“Well, darling, luckily I won’t have to. Because my lover will be there with me. Ready to be flirted with relentlessly.”

So they had settled on a wager. It was a silly wager, but so many of their ideas were, and as such this one wasn’t surprising. Whoever broke the charade first lost. Jaskier had forgotten the stakes as soon as they set them, but they never mattered much. At this point, it was about the competition. Jaskier so hated to lose, and Geralt did as well, which was often why their wagers went poorly.

The night was glorious. Everyone, surprisingly, believed them. Jaskier and Geralt did not break character once. Jaskier found it was almost… simple, really. There was an ease and a familiarity there.

“I see you brought your witcher,” the Countess said. Jaskier hadn’t really intended to find himself near her, but it hit a point where avoidance would be rude, and as a public figure, Jaskier could scarcely afford to be rude.

“I did,” Jaskier agreed.

“And he is here as your…”

“Partner, I suppose you could call him. Of a romantic sort.”

The Countess’s smile was genuine now. “Oh, Jaskier, I’m so happy for you. I’m so delighted that things finally worked out between you two!”

Jaskier didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so he simply smiled and made a neutral enough remark back. Luckily, the Countess seemed only bound by the rules of propriety, and she very quickly found herself with another conversational partner.

After the banquet, though, things didn’t stop, exactly. At first, Jaskier was convinced it was out of a mutual desire to win the bet. They were still affectionate with each other in public, calling each other pet names like “dear” and “darling” and the like, even the odd kiss or two. But as time wore on, on Jaskier’s end, the affection grew less perfunctory and more… genuine. He didn’t dare bring it up to Geralt, who also seemed to have taken on a more natural air to his tenderness.

Maybe he should have noticed the first time they kissed without an audience. Under the stars, as Geralt was telling Jaskier stories that would never be fit for a song, but had Jaskier howling with laughter until his stomach hurt. They shared a smile and before Jaskier realized, they were both leaning in. It wasn’t their first kiss, not at all, but it was the first kiss that belonged to them. Long, soft, and sweet. There was no intent other than the expression of love there--and Jaskier could identify it as love, even then--and when they pulled apart, they shared another smile. Then time ticked on, as if nothing had happened. As if everything hadn’t changed.

They never discussed it. The escalations just came as natural as breathing. When Geralt dismounted Roach--he still rarely let Jaskier ride, the oaf--his hand sought out Jaskier’s. When Jaskier finished performing, Geralt had ale ready for him, and Jaskier slumped into his side, their arms wrapped lazily around each other as they talked and teased. They didn’t ask for separate rooms anymore, and neither Jaskier nor Geralt found themselves in another’s bed.

When they finally fell into bed together, it was months later than Jaskier would have expected in usual circumstances. It was amazing, everything he had ever imagined it would be, and yet somehow more. Jaskier had loved and been loved, so many times before, over and over again. The way Geralt loved him, however, was so different from every other lover he’d had. It didn’t need to be put to words; Jaskier could simply feel it in the warmth Geralt left behind when his fingers trailed along Jaskier’s arm, or the soft look Geralt gave Jaskier as Jaskier woke up.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, then, when they quietly carved out a life for themselves. They had winters at Kaer Morhen, where Geralt introduced him as This is… My Jaskier and shrugged helplessly, as if he wasn’t sure what other words to use, but everyone knew his meaning. They had Corvo Bianco, where they found they spent more and more of their time as Ciri grew older and needed less training. They had not one, but two handfasting ceremonies; one for Jaskier’s family, who demanded finery and spectacle, and one for him and Geralt, where it was just the two of them in a field of wildflowers.

Jaskier wasn’t sure who won the bet, but he was pretty sure it was both of them.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier fanfic #geraskier fic #my writing #romtober

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abluescarfonwaston · 4 years

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Did someone ask for a quick and angsty immortal jaskier prompt? "It was supposed to be the music," he whispered, voice breaking. Heart breaking. "The songs. I wanted my songs to be remembered forever. I never wanted this."

Why would you do this to me anon. i’m already crying over the fact dandelion outlives everyone he loves. Major Character Death Warning. Obviously. Literally everyone dies. Uuuh also this kinda turns into Lambert/Jaskier at the end but like. They’re both Centuries old so nothing Happens.

When the wasting sickness swept through Lettenhove it killed his Mother and his Father and his Sisters and left him untouched.

He was ten and the world was over. Except he kept waking up in the morning.

At thirteen a girl at Oxenfurt, Essi Daven, played her Lute in the commons and sang and had the most beautiful cornflower blue eyes. And for the first time in years he sang a duet with her and suddenly he was a bard and he had a little sister again.

Maybe the world hadn’t ended. Maybe it finally restart.

At seventeen he met a man with white hair and seemly as many scars on his body as his heart and fell in love. Because Bards fell in love easily and he was impossibly easy to love.

The witcher plead for his life. Plead for them to let the bard go.

“No. Both of us or neither.” He was done outliving those he loved. At seventeen he was already done with that. “You kill him and let me go and i’ll destroy your mountain. Kill every last one of you in revenge.”

He’d leave behind a song. The one he’d written as a child and had swept the town more devastating than even the scarlet fever had been. It would live on past him. He would be remembered. The people he loved would be too. Toss a coin to your Witcher. The people he loved immortalized in song.

It wasn’t supposed to make him immortal.

“Give it a rest Jaskier.” Danity snapped. “It’s not you that has to be afraid of anything. No one ever touches a troubadour. For unfathomable reasons you’re inviolable.”

He’d still feared then. Chappelle could have had him killed. He was pretty sure he could die. Mostly he feared the pain. Or dying alone.

“When an old woman gets tired of life she walks into the woods without a weapon. The results are guaranteed.” He’d told Geralt when he’d moaned about how the world was changing and -more importantly- that he had no work.

Remember how I don’t even carry a knife when I follow you out on an adventure? No weapons at all. Ever. Just me and my lute.

He’d brushed death. A thousand times he’d almost met her. He followed Geralt- who was prophesied to always have death follow after him. You’d think at some point they’d meet.

Essi and Geralt fell in love on the coast. He wrote a ballad for them. About how their love was so powerful not even death could come between them.

He never played it. Not to anyone. He didn’t think it was actually about Essi and Geralt.

When rash appeared on Essi’s face in Vizima during the quarantine his hands shook.

“Not her.” He’d screamed at the gods. They didn’t exist of course. If they had then they’d abandoned them all long ago. “Not her.”

“Jaskier?” She shivered violently. “I don’t want to be burned.”

“You won’t be. You’re going to be fine.” He promised. Clutching her hand. “Promise Poppet. You’re going to be fine.”

The cremation fires blazed outside.

“I want to be buried in the woods. With my lute and-” She hurled mostly into the bucket. “My necklace. Please Jaskier.”

“Course Poppet. When you’re old and grey I will bury you out in the forest.”

“Thank you.” She clutched the little pearl. “For giving me him. I love him.”

“I never saw him happier than when he was with you Poppet.”

“What about when he was with you?”

“Oh come now.” He shifted her in his arms and moved the bucket a little further away. “You know me. I’m insufferable.”

“I love you Jaskier.” She cried as she shivered with less and less energy.

“I love you too Poppet.”

He carried her from the city. Into the forest. Her heart stopped beating before they arrived. He dug her grave and buried her with her lute and her pearl necklace.

With the pearl he’d given to her as a birthday gift. From him and Geralt.

When Regis passed it felt absurd. Humans weren’t supposed to outlive goddamn vampires in their fifth fucking century.

And then there was Geralt. Died in Yennefer’s arms along with her.

“It was supposed to be me.” He told no one as Ciri led their bodies out to the lake. “I was supposed to die with him.” Love so great not even death can part us.

But the story was never really about him was it?

Nenneke had a garden full of plants that grew under a crystal skylight. They didn’t grow anywhere else in the world anymore.

He’d asked Geralt about it. She’d said something about the sun and how it was changing. Apparently Geralt had asked why they all didn’t live under crystal skylights then, if it was so deadly.

“It’s already too late for us.” She’d said.

She talked liked the world was ending but the world ended all the time. And he still woke up in the morning.

Zoltan’s beard turned grey. He supposed he should have been thankful that Zoltan got to turn grey. It was better than most of the people he’d loved.

“How’s your fucking hair still Gold. You’re supposed to be getting old too!”

“I dye it.” He lied with a roll of the eyes. He’d stopped dying it years ago.

That winter he buried Zoltan too.

Golden eyes stared at him in confusion. “You look just like.” He started. His thin hair was grey. His wolf medallion gleamed in the sunlight that streaked into the bar.

“You’re one of the last Witchers i think.” He told him as the waves crashed outside. “Might even be the last.”

“Fucking hope so.” He sat down across from him and stole his beer. “Shitty job and a shitty life.” He squinted at him- which Jaskier knew was entirely unnecessary. He just forgotten to adjust his eyes. “What’s your name bard?”

“Dandelion.” He answered. It had been for the last century. “Yours?”

“Lambert.” He downed the drink. “You really think i’m the last? That worth a song? One of my brothers had a lot of songs.”

“Yes I suppose he did.” He waved for another drink. “And look what it got him.”

“Died surrounded by people who loved him.”

“Are you sure you know what a pogrom is?”

That got him a sharp toothy grin.

“I could write you a song but-” He was tired of burying people he loved.

“But?”

“I’m cursed you see.” It was definitely a curse these days. “I’ll live until the last of my songs is forgotten. I really don’t need anymore material.”

Lambert leaned forward curiously. “Doesn’t sound like a curse.”

“You don’t think it sounds like a curse?” He sneered. Lambert’s face faltered. “To outlive everyone you love?”

Lambert paused. Thinking. “Write me a song then. Play it just for me. So if my song’s the last we’ll go together.”

“And what’s my payment for this song?”

“Company.” Lambert’s grey eyes glittered. “You look like you need it.”

“Not as much as you. I bet you talk to your horse.”

“Well i know you do pretty boy. Heard you in the stable.”

He leaned back on the bench. “So what’s a Witcher do in a world without monsters?”

He shrugged. “Fish mostly.”

“I can do that. Once almost snagged a catfish the size of you. Got a djinn instead. Very bad deal honestly.”

“You expect me to believe that? I know about Bards and Ballads and how you’re all rotten liars.”

“Don’t forget about fisherman and their tales.”

The boat leaked worse than an old drunkard but it was small enough and the lake calm enough that it didn’t make him sick.

“I could just kill you. Curse probably can’t fix decapitation.” Lambert offered with his stick in the water. He claimed were bombs they could use instead if they got desperate. Or bored.

He smiled and shook his head. “Give it a try.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow but pulled a silver blade from it’s sheath.

His pole reeled and the boat tilted to the side, plunging him and the sword into the water.

He laughed as the attempted to drag the monstrous fish to the boat. Lambert cursed and climbed in. Yanking at the rod until the line snapped and they fell back into the boat in a painful pile. Laughing.

He didn’t remember the last time he’d laughed.

“Sing me a song bard.” Lambert would request from under his floppy sun brimmed hat. “No else up here but me.”

“There’s an entire stone keep on the hill.”

“No ones lived there in centuries. No one can hear you up here but me.”

He frowned at the ruins on the hill. Lambert kicked him.

He grinned and for the first time in decades - sang.

Maybe. Maybe the world hadn’t ended. Maybe it had finally restart.

“What was this place called?” He asked as they wandered through the crumbled ruin, covered in moss and ivy.

“Kaer Morhen.” He said like the words hurt him.

They hurt him too. He laughed.

He laughed some more.

He couldn’t stop laughing until Lambert smacked him hard enough to see stars.

“I never got to come here. Geralt.” He caught the flinch but moved past it. “Never trusted me enough to even let me know which country it was in.”

“So you were his bard.”

He nodded as Lambert kicked a stone apart. “He was right not to tell me of course. But.” It still hurt that his best friend hadn’t trusted him with his home. He’d taken Yennefer here. But not him. Never him.

He didn’t deserve Geralt’s trust. A thief, a liar, a spy, a bard. It still hurt.

“Well a wolf finally took you here. Is it everything you fucking dreamed?”

He took it in. “Nah. It’s rubbish.”

Lambert smirked. “Yeah. At least that hasn’t changed.”

“You’re hairs getting grey bard.”

“What?” He nearly leaped into the water in his haste to look.

Grey strands streaked his beard.

“Thank you.” He cried. “Thank you.”

“Still owe me that song Dandy.”

He wrote Lambert a lot of songs. Performed for an audience of one.

“Are you really okay with the fact no one will ever hear them? I mean what’s the point in being immortalized in song if-”

“Yeah. Didn’t give a shit about the songs.”

“Hey!” He protested. Kicking him where he lounged in front of the fire. “They’re good songs!”

He grunted in fake pain. Wiggled out of range. “Did Geralt ever tell you why he liked having you around?”

“My charming personality I assume.”

Lambert snorted.

He sat down on the floor and poke him. “Don’t fall asleep. Tell me why you think he did.”

“No one tells Witchers bedtime stories.”

“Oh.” Lambert was halfway to sleep already. “Would you like one?”

“Yeah.”

“What you think happens after?” They were huddled together. Old and grey as a storm raged outside. “We die.”

“I gave up on gods when i was a child.”

“So did i.”

“Then.” He paused. Listened to the howl. “Whatever’s next at least neither of us is going alone.”

Lambert squeezed his bony hand. “What’s the chance we see them again?”

“Hm.” He pretended to consider. “Well we’re definitely going to hell so-”

“Like anyone we gave a shit about wouldn’t be.”

“Point.”

He closed his golden eyes. “Hey Dandy.”

“Yeah?”

“Sing me out.”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

And quite singing filled the drafty cabin until the song stopped.

The world ended.

And at long last no one woke up in the morning.

#geraskier #Jaskier x Lambert #Immortal Jaskier #jaskier #Essi Daven #canon deaths #play me out Dandelion #Let's go together #also Anon I specifically Requested NO IMMORTAL JASKIER CAUSE IT NOW BREAKS MY HEART #damnit #hope this breaks your heart you bastard #thanks for the prompt #someone send me fluff #writing

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Text

Born to Make History Pt.2/3

A Geraskier Ice Skating Fic (with Yuri on Ice Influences) - On AO3

____________

Geralt couldn’t seem to calm his heart and it was fucking annoying. He’d managed to watch Jaskier in secret for years, ever since Yen had become his coach. He wasn’t sure why today had been any different. He couldn’t be angry at Ciri for letting slip that they’d been to a few of Jaskier’s performances when their schedule allowed. With any luck Jaskier would assume it was for Yennefer.

But it was Jaskier.

It had always been Jaskier.

He’d first seen Jaskier skate three years ago when Yen took over as his coach. He’d popped into the rink to collect Ciri. The rink had become a neutral spot to handover without Ciri getting upset as she loved to watch the skaters, even as a baby. So he’d snuck into the end of Yennefer’s session to find the most beautiful man gliding around the ice. He was in training gear but it was still tight enough that Geralt’s could see the firm muscles of the figure skater. Geralt’s mouth had gone dry and he’d been completely entranced. There was no music in the rink but Geralt could hear it anyway as the man had glided and danced and leapt around the rink.

Until he’d seen Geralt watching him. At that point he’d tripped over his toe-picks and fallen flat on his face. Geralt had been so embarrassed that he’d grabbed the two year old in her pram and fled from the rink before the skater could regain his composure.

It happened almost every time after that. If Jaskier spotted Geralt whilst he was skating then he would trip or mess up. So Geralt tried to keep his distance. He didn’t want to be responsible for Jaskier injuring himself. He couldn’t have that on his conscience not when Jaskier clearly had a glittering career in front of him.

Except for today Jaskier hadn’t spotted him until the end of the routine and Geralt hadn’t run away. They’d had a conversation, they’d even skated together with Ciri acting as a sort of buffer between them. Geralt still kept his distance, preferring to watch as Jaskier taught his daughter the basics of figure skating.

Geralt almost wish he’d brought his old figure skates with him instead of his hockey ones. He reckoned he could still do a double toe loop maybe even a triple. He doubted that he would have as much grace as Jaskier whilst doing it though. He was built for hockey and he was out of practice. He could lift Jaskier though, the figure skater was almost as tall as him and well built but Geralt was strong enough that, if given the chance, he could definitely lift him.

Not that he’d thought about it.

Much.

And now they were getting coffee. It wasn’t a date. Geralt kept telling himself that but Jaskier’s hand was gripping his arm as he laughed at some joke he’d told that Geralt’s hadn’t heard. Ciri was holding Geralt’s other hand and chattering happily with the figure skater. Geralt was stuck between the two of them feeling like he’d walked out of one of his dreams, a dream he hadn’t even allowed himself to imagine.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s hand squeezed his arm and he looked up to find Jaskier’s beautiful cornflower blue eyes looking at him.

“Hmm?”

“Are you alright?” Jaskier frowned and licked his lips.

God, Geralt wanted to kiss him.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

Jaskier flicked his fringe from his eyes and chewed on his lips again. It was fucking distracting. Did he even realised how much Geralt wanted him? Geralt would have to get him some lip balm to try and stop the never ending lip licking. Otherwise they would never get through a conversation without Geralt’s brain cutting out.

“How do you have your coffee?” Jaskier sang as they entered the rink’s coffee shop. Geralt noted his often sang random sentences. He recalled that Yen had said Jaskier had composed his own free skate music.

His free stake music was ridiculous but catchy. Geralt had caught himself humming it more than once during practice. The song just wriggled its way into your head a refused to leave. By the end of the first week of the figure skating season, the whole hockey team were singing it. Jaskier could have easily become a musician if he hadn’t fallen in love with skating.

“Black.” He grunted.

Jaskier made a face and wrinkled up his nose. “Oh god, really?”

Geralt chuckled. “No but that’s what people assume.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “That is not the question I asked. Come on, let me get you coffee, as a thank you for catching me earlier.”

“Caramel latte.” Geralt mumbled. “I need the sugar for training.”

Jaskier laughed and god even that was beautiful. “You and me both!” He strutted up to the counter to order whilst Geralt found a table with Ciri.

She sat opposite him and watched him intently, her chin resting on her hands.

“What?”

“You like him.” Ciri stated. It wasn’t even a question.

“Hmm.” He hummed nonchalantly. His daughter was perceptive but he wasn’t ready to admit it just yet, not aloud, not where Jaskier could potentially hear him. He glanced over at Jaskier who was busy flirting with the barista and Geralt’s heart sank.

Definitely not a date then.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Why had he let his hopes get up? What would Jaskier see in him? His grey hair made him look decades older than he really was, his eyes were a weird yellow colour, nothing like Jaskier’s gorgeous cornflower blue eyes. He had less grace than a new born giraffe and little to no musicality. He was in so many ways, Jaskier’s opposite, but then again, they did say opposites attract and fuck was he attracted to Jaskier.

The object of his desire laughed at something the barista said and then he turned to face Geralt with a dazzling smile. Geralt returned the smile weakly, still feeling a little nauseous from having his crush to close to him and yet so unobtainable.

“Why don’t you tell him?” Ciri asked, her nose scrunched up as she tried to figure out why Geralt was being a coward with his feelings.

“It’s more complicated than that.” He muttered and ruffled her hair.

She shook his hand off and pouted. “Why?”

“Just is.”

“Yeah but why?”

Geralt sighed. “He won’t like me back.”

“How do you know?”

Geralt groaned. Bloody children and their endless curiosity. “I just know.”

“Know what?” Jaskier asked as he passed Geralt a large coffee cup. He put the coffee carrier down on the table and carefully handed Ciri the smaller of the two. “Careful, sweetheart, it’ll be hot.”

Ciri rolled her eyes and gripped the cup between her little hands. “Duh.” She muttered.

“So know what, Geralt?” Jaskier asked again as he bit his lip. They was chapped from too much time spent at the rink and Geralt couldn’t stop himself from staring.

“Hmm?” He replied, blinking as he vaguely registered Jaskier’s question.

“Dad said he knows that you won’t like him.” Ciri stated matter-of-factly and Geralt’s brain suddenly snapped into gear.

Shit!

Jaskier choked on his drink and Geralt almost knocked his all over the table. “I’m sorry what?!” Jaskier shrieked.

Geralt groaned and hid his face in his hands. “Ciri!”

“What?” She snapped. “He asked!”

“Go find your mother.” Geralt muttered sharply. His hands were shaking and Jaskier was just staring at him with his radiant blue eyes. “Now. Ciri.”

“But—”

“Now.” Geralt insisted and pulled out his phone to send Yennefer a quick heads up before sighing and turning towards Jaskier. “Sorry. She’s just a kid.”

“Geralt, I—”

“No, it’s fine. I understand. I’m just sorry you found out.” He cut Jaskier off before he could hear the words that would break his heart.

“No but Geralt I—”

“It’s fine, Jaskier.” Geralt reassured the skater. “I can stop coming to your performances.”

Jaskier stood up with a wave of his arms. “Geralt, would you just listen to me, you emotionally constipated himbo?!” Jaskier yelled and Geralt’s mouth snapped shut.

Fuck.

Jaskier put both hands on his hips and glared at him. “You’ve seen my routine?” Geralt nodded but didn’t say anything. “Have you worked out the story yet?”

Geralt frowned. “Eros, sexual love?” He grumbled.

Jaskier chimed a laugh. “The story of seduction, Geralt. I am the seductress trying to woo my playboy lover.”

“Playboy lover?” Geralt repeated.

Jaskier tossed his fringe from his eyes. “Famous hockey player who could have anyone he wants, formerly married to the most successful and most beautiful female skater of our generation?”

Geralt felt his cheeks heat up. “I’m no playboy.”

“No. Perhaps not, but my story was better.” Jaskier shrugged and licked his lips. His cheeks were as red as Geralt’s felt.

He furrowed his brow. “You were trying to seduce…me?”

Jaskier scratched the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly. “Well I didn’t think it would ever work. God, Geralt you are way out of my league!”

Geralt laughed. Out of Jaskier’s league. It was Jaskier who was out of Geralt’s league. The way he skated was absolutely breath taking, if he good just manage to land all of his jumps and maybe increase the difficult of his routines he would be dominating men’s skating. There wasn’t a single skater in the Grand Prix final that could out perform Jaskier. Yennefer would and had disagreed but none of the others were able to enchant Geralt the way that Jaskier could, and fuck, his Eros routine plagued Geralt’s dreams.

How many times had he dreamed about peeling off the sequinned black outfit? The skirt that flick up to reveal that little tease of blood red. Fuck. It was hot. It drove Geralt mad and the way Jaskier licked his lips at the start of routine and winked at the audience.

Out of his league.

It must be a joke. How could Geralt even begin to compete with his beauty?

“Geralt!” Jaskier whined, snapping him out of his Eros fuelled daydream. He refocussed on the real Jaskier’s face. The skater was pouting at him and it took every ounce of Geralt’s self control not to kiss him.

“You think you’re out of my league?”

Jaskier nodded and Geralt just laughed again.

“God, I’ve wanted you for years, Jask.” He admitted with a shake of his head.

Jaskier’s jaw dropped. “No.”

“Yes.”

“You mean we could have been…?”

Geralt nodded. “Yes.”

Jaskier groaned and flopped back into his seat. “Fuck me.”

Geralt took a long sip of his caramel latte as he watched Jaskier despairing over the potentially lost time. He hummed. “Normally I would ask you to dinner first.”

Jaskier’s eyes snapped up to meet his gaze. “Geralt!” He was blushing brightly but a playful smile danced on his lips. “How about I ask you to dinner?”

Geralt smiled and nodded, today was suddenly seeming a lot brighter. “Dinner it is.”

Jaskier reached across the table and Geralt took his hand. It was warm from where Jaskier had been holding onto his coffee, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Geralt was still reeling over the fact he was allowed to hold Jaskier’s hand, after so many years of watching him on the ice. He’d always seemed so far away. A joyful presence in both Yen and Ciri’s life but never his, and for some unknown reason Jaskier had wanted him.

“Why?” He asked.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. “Why?” He repeated the question.

“Why did you think I was out of your league?” It wasn’t exactly what he’d meant but repeating Jaskier’s earlier words were easier than trying to think of his own.

Jaskier laughed and squeezed Geralt’s hand. “Because look at you!” He gestured with his free hand. “You’re bloody gorgeous.”

“So are you.” Geralt mumbled.

That seemed to give Jaskier pause as his mouth opened and shut a couple of times. “Yeah. Well. You’re more gorgeous, and you’re this famous ice hockey player, Captain of the Kaer Morhen Wolves, ex-husband to the Yennefer Vengerberg, the Ice Queen. Father to the sweetest most adorable little five year old. You have everything. Why would you want me?”

Geralt felt his expression soften as Jaskier’s gaze fell to the table. “Because you make me hear the music even when there’s none playing.” Jaskier frowned and chewed on his lip. Geralt sighed and ran his thumb along Jaskier’s bottom lip, pulling it free from his teeth. “You keep doing that. It’ll start bleeding.”

“Yeah well.” Jaskier muttered breathlessly.

“Being famous means shit all.” He sighed as he pulled away from Jaskier’s face. “No one gives a fuck about the person underneath. I’m just the ice hockey hero.”

Jaskier scoffed. “Well, then, Mr Ice Hockey Hero. Who is Geralt Rivia?”

Geralt chuckled. “You sound like press.”

“You don’t mind if I record this do you?” Jaskier teased and moved the small pepper pot to sit in the middle of them. “It’s easier than taking notes. I’d rather this just be you and me, without a notebook.”

“Jaskier!” He growled.

“Now, we’ve all heard about your skills on the ice, tell me…” Jaskier paused dramatically and licked his lips. “do those skills transfer to the bedroom?”

Geralt barked a laugh. “I wish I could say I’ve never been asked that in an interview before.” He groaned.

“No!” Jaskier giggled.

“Hmm.” He agreed. It had been just after his divorce with Yen and the press were trying to market him as the next playboy bachelor.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you dodged the question, Geralt.” Jaskier teased.

Geralt tilted his head and smirked. “If you win the Grand Prix final, maybe you’ll find out.”

Jaskier gaped. “Geralt!” He groaned. “That’s just not fair. I’ll never win.”

Geralt just shrugged.

“You’re joking right. God please tell me you’re joking.”

Geralt didn’t answer.

“Geralt!!” ______________

#the witcher #geraskier #ice skating au #figure skater!Jaskier #ice hockey player!Geralt #modern au #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #born to make history #wolfie's witcher writing

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