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sipsthytea · 5 years ago

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The Coast

Jaskier x Geralt

Fluff and angst

Ambiguous/open ending

TW: mentions of blood

It was unlike anything he’d ever read or heard about. It was sharp and unforgiving, warm and calm, cold and bright. Jaskier had never felt pain such as this one, but he’d also never felt serenity quite like this.

Staring into the crystal sky, watching as it blurred momentarily, clouds fading in and out of vision. Around him, the air stilled, going silent. Gentle rays of sunlight kissed his face, pricking kindly at his hands and neck. A strong buzzing rang through his ears, sharp and unyielding.

Pain blossomed from his middle, radiating throughout his body. A warm, wet substance began to seep into his blouse, darkening the already dark shirt. He swayed on his feet, the familiar sting of fear latching onto his soul.

He brought a curious hand upwards, fingers probing at his chest. They made contact with a foreign object. The object was small, thin and at the ends, feathers bobbed. An arrow?

For that to be true, that would mean the arrowhead was lodged in his body. Metal shifting around within him, scratching open his body.

“JASKIER!” Someone shouted, voice rising above the white noise. It was Geralt.

The brunette did his best to turn, but his body felt so heavy. Weighed down by the pain and anguish, he fell forwards.

Strong hands caught him, fingers gently flexing on his wrist and back. He was eased onto the ground, surrounded in that Geralt smell as he was lowered onto his knees.

“Geralt?” He muttered, straining as his eyes struggled to focus on the figure of the Witcher.

“Jaskier,” Geralt answered, voice caught with anxiety, “Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you perfectly fine,” he slurred, loling his head back.

Silence fell between them, the Witcher prodding at the arrow. He couldn’t pull it out, but the longer it was left in, the more damage it caused.

“Yennefer is going to help you,” he reasoned, a trembling hand pulling the bard close, “You’re going to be ok?”

“Are you - are you worried?”

The white-haired man snapped his head up, anger filling his body. This stupid bard was bleeding out and he was concerned with Geralt being worried?

“You are as stupid as you are fillingless, bard,” he retorted, sliding his hands to cup the back of Jaskier’s head.

His fingers threaded themselves in his brown locks, a sad look swimming in his honey eyes.

“You’re sad,” the bard noted, eyebrows shooting up in worry, a hand coming up to gently caress his Witcher’s face, “You’re never sad.”

With a hum, Geralt leaned into the touch, allowing his eyes to slip shut, “You’re going to be ok.”

A loud, gurgling cough interrupted their moment, blood dripping from the corners of Jaskier’s mouth, “Ow…”

The pain began to douse his body in fear, sweat beading on his forehead. His breathing became more shallow, small huffs of air as the world began to darken, fading in and out of clarity.

“Open your eyes,” the Witcher demanded, fingers tightening their hold. He yelled out, voice rising to call for Yennefer.

With a shaky hand, Jaskier smoothed out the furrow between Geralt’s brow, “Don’t fret...not the b-best look on you, G-Geralt.”

Those honey pool eyes traced him, swimming with worry and anxiety, dancing with regret. Silently, Jaskier traced his partner’s face, fingers dragging along every hard ridge and scar. Sliding along the hint of stubble and moving across his jaw.

“Beautiful,” he breathed.

Around him, the world began to fade. Colors dripping into a dull black. The once crystal sky became smeared, bleeding with the proud forest that surrounded them. His head grew heavy, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

He forced them to focus, to look at the beauty before him. Those piercing golden eyes, strong and fierce, staring into the depths of his soul. He’d have to write a ballad about them, another one.

With a small sigh, he went limps, body falling into the strong hold that kept him upright. Noise cleared from his mind, making way for the song sung by seagulls. The symphony’s of waves as they crashed and pulled at Jaskier’s consciousness.

Memories and warmth began to filter through him. Distant calls that he yearned to answer, that he reached for.

The coast.

_______

The sun was melting in the sky, reds, purples, and oranges dancing with the clouds. The water was calm, the soft drag of waves meeting the shoreline. A call of seagulls singing rang through the air. A cool brushed against his skin; the taste of salt sat on his tongue.

He breathed in deeply. The musk of the sea settling in his lungs. Grains of sand sifting quietly between his fingers. His body melted into the sand, letting the grain sink into his clothing. A sense of nostalgia sank in his bones. Memories washing over him.

Memories of he and Geralt.

Memories filled with the crackle of a fire and the soothing smoke swirling around him. Memories filled with the neigh of Roach and the silent songs sung by crickets and the moon. Of small, barely-there smiles, a strong golden gaze, a quiet tug at his heart every time Geralt looked at him.

Those memories rolled through him, spreading warmth through his bones, through his soul. A peace settled around him, his fingers coiling around the neck of his lute.

The cords he played were soft and somber, nostalgic and lethargic. Small fragments of his heart, of his soul, slipping from his fingertips into the music. The music was drenched in love, in regret, in passion. Drenched in ‘what if’s and ‘if only’s. Drenched in Geralt, in Ciri, in Yennefer.

“So, I see you came to the coast,” a voice called, gruff.

“Of course,” Jaskier answered with a smile, plucking at his strings, “I always told you I would.”

A hum sounded above him, a warm presence sliding around him. Strong arms circled his middle, pulling him into a steady chest, again this back he could feel a heartbeat. A heartbeat so much slower than the average human’s, a mellow thud of life.

“Jaskier,” he breathed, intertwining their fingers, resting atop the lute.

“Geralt,” he answered, voice unafraid, “Welcome home.”

[Inspired by this image below]

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