#jaskier deserves a flower crown seriously

[samstree]

A Crown for a Song

A song’s time is all Geralt will ask for.

For @themountainarchives, day 5: dandelion field

AO3

Geralt shouldn’t be surprised when he finds Jaskier in a field of dandelions.

When the townspeople told him to find the bard on the hilltop, the one who’s running a “flower business”, he should have known it’s not an actual business. Instead, Jaskier is just sitting there with a lute in his lap and flowers stuck in his hair, singing to three little girls jumping up and down around him.

Sunlight spills from his now longer hair, weaving around the golden dandelions and putting a soft gleam in his eyes. He’s still too far away for Geralt to be seen properly, but here Jaskier is, safe and sound.

And happy.

The girls let out an amazed aww when the ballad reaches the final part where the mermaid trades her tail for legs. They melt at the romantic ending, and Jaskier takes a dramatic bow. Or rather, whatever bow he can manage sitting cross-legged under the sky.

“A dandelion crown for a song, my ladies, one at a time.” The wind carries Jaskier’s voice over to where Geralt hides in the shade of a tree. The tallest girl places two crumbled flowers in the bard’s hair, and they droop dangerously, so Jaskier rights them for her. “Perfect! Another fairy tale?”

Geralt stands there and watches as the girls sit in a half-circle, their rosy cheeks facing Jaskier expectantly. He doesn’t dare to approach. He’d break it, the beautiful sight that is Jaskier smiling.

Still, he needs to talk, to apologize.

By his feet, a dandelion sways in the breeze, proud but alone. Geralt bends down and breaks its stem, taking it in his gloved hand.

A song’s time, perhaps.

That’s all Geralt will ask for.

He finds more blossoming dandelions right where he stands; it’s spring, after all. He picks them one by one, before weaving each into a cascading braid. A crown for a song. A crown for Jaskier.

To Geralt’s surprise, Roach is the first to get impatient. The song barely ends and she is already slipping past Geralt and trotting towards the tiny group under the sun, drawn by the open field of wildflowers to graze on. “Wait, no—” he reaches for the reins but can’t let go of the half-finished crown.

“Horsy!” One of the younger girls sees the mare, pointing excitedly and interrupting Jaskier’s performance. Heads turn, and Geralt freezes to the spot with a bundle of yellow in hand.

With the sun at his back, it’s hard to tell what emotions are flashing across Jaskier’s face, but Geralt can only picture the shock in those blue eyes. Gods, he’s missed Jaskier’s eyes.

Like the pull of gravity, Geralt finds himself drawn to Jaskier, one step at a time until he’s at the top of the hill. “Hey,” he breathes.

“Hey.”

Jaskier stares, fingers hovering over the strings, a ghost of a smile still by his lips. His expression is indecipherable, with relief and confusion combined, knitting a thin line between his brows. Is he angry too? He has every right to be, Geralt thinks, and that is what he came here for—

“You brought a flower crown.” Jaskier looks down to Geralt’s hands, and the children follow the downturn of his gaze, their curious eyes round as bells.

“I—” Geralt clears his throat. Suddenly the cool spring day is stifling. “It’s for a song.”

It’s not what he’s meant to say. Now that they are so close, the grand speech he’s rehearsed a million times seems to elude him, and yet.

Jaskier hears him anyway.

Jaskier always hears him, even when he says what he doesn’t mean.

“Come sit,” he answers, gesturing to the odd group of theirs. “Business is business. Isn’t that right, girls?”

Two of them nod, and Jaskier sends a playful wink. The other one is still staring at Roach who is munching on the grass without a care in the world.

So Geralt joins them, slotting into the space next to Jaskier. Their gazes meet, and something swells in Geralt’s chest, overwhelming him with warmth. The song begins—it is one of gentleness and quiet love.

Jaskier sings, eyes gleaming with patience. He’s waited for so long, and yet he still waits for Geralt.

He sings, and when the song ends, Geralt will tie the weaved dandelions into a circle, and the crown will end up on Jaskier’s head for a brief moment before the youngest girl asks for it so she can put it on Roach. When the song ends, Geralt will pull Jaskier into an embrace, the lute pressed between them awkwardly.

When the song ends, Geralt will take Jaskier’s hand and utter the apology weighing on his breastbone for far too long, and finally he will be able to breathe through the longing gathered in his lungs.

When the song ends, their lives begin anew.

~~~

Filling your own prompt can be so satisfying actally ;)

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod @kuripon @holymotherwolf

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[handwrittenhello]

to the brave and the petrified 9/?

Prompt: flower crowns/bouquets Paring: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: M Warnings: implied/referenced torture, implied/referenced starvation Summary: Jaskier hadn’t awoken yet for three days—three long days where Geralt painstakingly fed him, dripped water into his mouth, wiped him down with damp cloths, all while Jaskier lay deeply unconscious. Sometimes he roused—only briefly, and he was never lucid enough to know where he was. Not lucid enough to know that Geralt had pulled him from the Nilfgaardian dungeon, that it was Geralt who tended to his wounds. - Jaskier's recovery, with all its highs and lows.

read and subscribe here on ao3, or ask to be tagged in the next chapters! written for the @whataboutthebard event, (hopefully) posting one chapter per day.

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Geralt hated to admit it, but he did eventually have to let Jaskier out of bed beyond trips to the privy and back. Jaskier still looked frightfully skinny, but his wounds had all mostly healed and he was itching to feel the sunlight on his skin.

Swallowing his worries down, Geralt continued to pack his bag with their waterskins and some lunch—Jaskier had graduated from the simple broth and bread diet to heartier foods like the apples that grew on the trees in the valley and fish that Geralt caught in the lake whenever Jaskier needed him to stop hovering.

Just as he was finishing, Jaskier came striding into the kitchen. “What have you got there?” he asked, snagging an apple and taking a bite.

“It’s a surprise,” Geralt answered, closing the bag so that Jaskier couldn’t peek inside. “Come on. Something I want to show you.”

“Well now you’ve got me dying of curiosity,” Jaskier commented, but he followed Geralt without complaint out of the keep. He kept up a steady chatter, though, all while keeping pace with Geralt—it almost felt like old times, and his stomach twisted.

He led them up the mountain path along the river, inconspicuously slowing down when Jaskier started to struggle. Jaskier kept doggedly on, though, waving off Geralt’s offer of help. “Got to regain my strength somehow,” he said, smiling yet panting. “How else am I to traipse after you all about the Continent?”

They were almost there, anyhow—Geralt ducked underneath some outstretched branches and into a clearing, dappled sunlight dancing over the soft grass, ringed with fragrant flowering bushes and echoing with birdsong.

“Oh,” Jaskier breathed. “Geralt, it’s beautiful!” He rushed into the clearing and threw himself down into the tall grass, laughing. Geralt felt as if his heart were going to burst with emotion at the sight. After so much pain and fear, Jaskier deserved this nice moment.

Geralt sat down next to him and began to unpack their picnic lunch, handing the food to a very grateful Jaskier. They ate in silence except for the sound of Jaskier’s ravenous chewing, but it wasn’t an unpleasant one.

“Thank you,” Jaskier said, once he was finished. “Seriously, I can’t thank you enough. This is perfect.”

Geralt smiled, a small thing. “Found this place as a kid. Never told anyone about it, except now.”

“Then I’m honored.” Jaskier scrambled to his feet. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?” Geralt rumbled, but obliged. His senses were flooded with the scent of honeysuckle and hydrangea, the sound of the distant rushing river and the birds fluttering in the branches above. And he heard and smelled Jaskier most of all—his clothes rustled as he walked to the edge of the clearing, the scent of stale sickness steadily lifting and giving way to healthy sweat and the sweetness of dew clinging to his trousers.

“It’s my turn to give you a surprise,” Jaskier answered. Geralt heard more rustling, Jaskier fiddling with the bushes. As time passed and the sun warmed his eyelids, Geralt let himself relax, some of the ever-present tension that had been dogging him ever since Nilfgaard—ever since the dragon hunt, really—leeching out of his limbs.

He was almost drowsy by the time Jaskier’s footsteps returned, bouncy with excitement. “Can I open my eyes yet?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Jaskier said, and leaned in close. Geralt breathed in his scent as he felt something settle atop his head, so light he could barely feel it. “Now you can.”

Geralt blinked his eyes open, his pupils adjusting the sudden sunlight, to see Jaskier standing in front of him, pollen-dusted hands on his hips. He was holding a few spare flowers in his hands, honeysuckle and buttercups and hydrangeas, which, Geralt gathered as he glanced up, he had woven into a crown and subsequently bequeathed to Geralt.

“Well?” Jaskier demanded. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Geralt answered honestly. I love you, he was too scared to say. But he hoped Jaskier knew.

“Good! The colors really do bring out your eyes,” Jaskier said, flopping down on his back next to Geralt, arms crossed beneath his head. He looked the picture of relaxation. Geralt joined him, lying down next to him, careful not to crush the flowers beneath his head. It was a mirror of how they lay together in bed, side by side, though most nights Jaskier ended up clinging to Geralt as if he wanted to crawl inside him.

“Look, that one looks like a lute.” Jaskier pointed up at one of the many puffy clouds dotting the sky.

Geralt tilted his head. “Yeah, if you broke it,” he teased. “More like a ghoul.”

“Only you would find monsters even in clouds,” Jaskier sighed. “Though I think we can both agree that that one—” he pointed to the fattest one “—is the spitting image of Hierarch Hemmelfart.”

Geralt chuckled. “The resemblance is uncanny.” Glancing over at Jaskier, he noticed that despite his wide smile, his eyelids were beginning to droop. “That one to the left looks like a griffin I once fought in White Orchard,” he began. “It was attacking merchants on the road, hunters, even a few soldiers that tried to go after it.”

By the time his story was through, Jaskier was sound asleep, lulled by the warm sunlight and Geralt’s voice.

He let Jaskier rest for an hour or so before shaking him gently awake. His sleep had been calm, free of nightmares, and he was slow to wake. “Hm?” he said tiredly, scrubbing at his eyes.

“Come on. Time to head back,” Geralt said gently, glancing at the slowly setting sun. “Don’t wanna get eaten by wolves.”

“You really know how to motivate a man.” Jaskier pushed himself up to sitting, then looked plaintively at Geralt. “Help a poor tired bard out, would you?” he asked, holding out his hands.

Rather than hoisting him to his feet, Geralt bent down and scooped him up, slinging him over his back like children sometimes rode. Jaskier squeaked and clutched at his shoulders. “Warn a man, would you?”

“Sorry,” Geralt said, grinning, and set off down the path back to the keep. By the time they reached the gates, Jaskier had fallen asleep again against his shoulder, drooling on his shirt. Geralt was careful not to wake him as he made his way back up to the bedroom and tucked him gently into bed.

After the exertion of the day trip, Jaskier was well and truly worn out, and didn’t so much as stir.

“Sleep well,” Geralt murmured.

-

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