#jaskier/renfri

[starving-and-arting]

Some old pieces I never got around to posting. 🙏🏼🖤

[thedemonofcat]

Jaskier was created for Geralt, not as a soulmate, but quite literally.

After the incident in Blaviken with Renfri, Stregobor wanted to experiment with the concept of destiny. Using DNA from Renfri's body, a bit of magic, and the previously barren womb of Lady Pankratz of Lettenhove, Stregobor created Julian Alfred Pankratz—a clone of Renfri—to see if Geralt would always kill Renfri. Julian later became Jaskier, oblivious to his origins, even after meeting Geralt.

On the mountain, when Geralt told Jaskier it would be a blessing if life could take the bard off his hands, some magical part of Jaskier deemed the experiment over.

The next thing Geralt knew, Jaskier's eyes turned completely white, and the bard collapsed like a doll no longer being played with.

With no clue as to what happened, Geralt is determined not only to learn the truth about Jaskier but also to bring him back.

[asarum-aurum]

Things I have learned while reading The Witcher series

Anyone who thought netflix was confusing because of different timelines. The first two books/short story collections are just like that.

I significantly prefer the book version of how sorcerers don’t physically age and how they loose reproductive ability

Every story is a dark version of a fairy tale. Ciri is little red riding hood, Renfri is Snow White, etc.

I love Renfri no matter the media

Jesus Christ the smell of lilac and gooseberries is mentioned any time Yennifer is even mentioned

I am still very pro yen/geralt/jasiker

[headcanonthings]

Jaskier: Stregobor is a lot like my mum's Precious Moments figurines collection.

Geralt: I have no idea what that means.

Renfri: He's a fragile little bitch.

[fangirlsfavoritebardboy]

Officially Finished "Welly Boots"!

Fanfiction Title: Welly Boots

Fandoms: The Witcher (Netflix)/The Witcher III: Wild Hunt

Chapters: 4

Words: 23,918

Rating: T

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death

Pairings: Jaskier/Priscilla, Geralt/Yennfer

Summary: Jaskier, Ciri, Yennefer, and the Witchers are bored in Kaer Morhen when one of them asks Jaskier to tell them a tale. He spins a story of love and tragedy, featuring a young run-away viscount named Julian and the love of his life Priscilla. The others are none the wiser.

Features Jaskier attending Oxenfurt, befriending Essi, hating Valdo, and courting Priscilla.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45894919

[aghxst]

warm up requests from twt

[jaskierror]

in ways that can't be said — chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE — SNORES & SNORTS

Geralt, a very tired and very overworked librarian, finds an eccentrically dressed man asleep in the library right as they're about to close.

Jaskier, a very tired and very overworked educator at the local museum, accidentally falls asleep in a library whilst doing research for an upcoming exhibit and is awoken by a devastatingly attractive librarian.

---

By the time closing rolled around, Geralt really, truly, honestly just wanted to go home.

In general, Geralt preferred to not work closing shifts. The library stayed open until 7pm most evenings, but he liked to be home with Ciri as early as possible; Lambert was always happy to watch her until Geralt got off work, given that Lambert’s job in Dol Blathanna’s Public Works department wasn’t a traditional 9-to-5, but, well. Geralt missed his daughter, is all, and was perhaps a bit clingy when it came to her. Sue him for loving his kid.

Despite his reluctance to work past 5pm, Renfri had caught the flu, and Geralt had agreed to cover her shift while she recovered, meaning he would be at the library until about 7:30. Of course, by the time it was half past 5, he was itching to get home—by then, he would normally be pulling into his driveway in Upper Posada, and Ciri would be running outside to greet him while Lambert watched them with poorly disguised fondness from the front porch. He would pick his daughter up, balance her on his hip, ask her about her day at school and what she and her Uncle Lambert had been up to since she got home. He would get to kiss her on her forehead, and cook dinner (lately, she had become a big fan of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets), and—

Anyway. Enough of that.

The minutes and hours ticked by with relentless, deliberate slowness, and Geralt felt nothing but relief when it was finally,  finally time  to start closing. Zoltan offered to organize the information desk and the front seating areas while Geralt swept the shelves for any stragglers and re-shelved any books sitting around.

Geralt worked quickly, eager to finish up and return home—in the back of his mind, he wondered what Lambert and Ciri had eaten for dinner—and he was returning a book of traditional Temerian recipes to its rightful shelf when he heard…

Well.

It seemed to be somewhere between a snore and a snort, in all honesty, and Geralt could only sigh deeply and brace himself before rounding the corner.

He had been expecting any of a number of things, really. Typically, it was elderly people who would fall asleep at the tables, but in his years of working at the library, Geralt had practically seen it all.

Still, he was surprised when, in one of the cushioned wooden chairs, slumped down onto the round table and surrounded by a veritable pile of books, was a man with a mop of brown hair actively using an open book as a pillow. There was a peaceful expression on his face, features soft and neutral and relaxed, and he seemed to be drooling onto the book just a bit. His clothing was… colourful, mostly. He wore a pair of bright purple slacks and brown loafers. On top of a short-sleeved button down, he had on a sweater vest with a garish blue leaf pattern covering it. There was a well-made leather satchel slung over the back of his chair, and Geralt spotted an assortment of silver rings on his hand.

Right as Geralt finished looking him over, the man released another ungodly snore from deep within his chest, and Geralt had to resist the urge to snort in amusement as he walked over and shook the man gently by his shoulder. Almost immediately, he grumbled into the book and began to blink awake, and Geralt hastily removed his hand, waiting patiently as he got his wits about him.

After a quick stretch in his seat, the man twisted to face him, still blinking the tiredness from his eyes, and Geralt was shocked by just how blue they were as he stared up at Geralt. The man froze for a moment, looking a bit like a deer caught in the headlights, before he seemed to take in his surroundings and look properly embarrassed.

“Sorry,” the man grinned sheepishly, then paused to yawn and rub at his eye before continuing. “I must’ve fallen asleep. Do you, uh, happen to know what time it is?”

Geralt looked down at his watch, then back up at the man. “Five till seven.”

“Oh, fuck,” he cursed, standing up. (Geralt was slightly ashamed to admit that he hadn’t realized until just then that the man was of a height with him.) He began hastily stacking books and piling some in his arms. “Is there still time to check these out? I can come back tomorrow if not, but I was really hoping that I—”

“Calm down,” Geralt said, raising an eyebrow at the man’s hurried, panicked flurry of movement. “Go to the desk. Zoltan can help you. You can leave anything you’re not borrowing here.”

Relief and hope flashed though the man’s unnecessarily blue eyes. “You’re sure?”

Geralt just nodded stiffly, watching as the man thanked him profusely and gathered his things, carrying a handful of books with him as he rushed off toward the lobby. Once he’d disappeared and his shuffling footsteps faded out, Geralt rummaged through the rest of the titles he’d accumulated. They all seemed to be on art and music across the Continent—a book of Aedirnian folk songs, a history of Kerackian musical movements, an encyclopaedia of Kaedweni sculptors. Geralt hummed under his breath, then began the monotonous job of putting everything in its rightful place.

---

In his defense, Jaskier really hadn’t meant to fall asleep at the table.

Ever since he’d moved to Aedirn, he found himself exhausted more often than not. His life had consisted of a series of rather sporadic, spontaneous moves ever since he decided to leave his family home in Kerack to pursue the arts. He’d moved to Redania years ago to attend none other than Oxenfurt Academy, and had spent his summers gallivanting around the countryside with his schoolfriends. After three years of study, he graduated with degrees in Music Performance and Art History, and a year later, had earned a graduate degree as well. He had then promptly departed for a year of backpacking through Temeria, after which he’d returned to Oxenfurt to teach for a term. Most recently, he had uprooted his entire life to move to Dol Blathanna. He’d decided on a bit of a whim that he needed a change of pace—new places, new sights, new people. As soon as he had a job lined up as an educator and program developer at the Dol Blathanna’s Museum of Art and History—which, everyone had to admit, was truly a perfect fit for him—he had packed his things and been on his way.

That had been nearly two months ago, and Jaskier had been working overtime to establish a life for himself in the city. He’d always been a restless person, needing noise and hustle and bustle to keep himself sane, so he had signed a lease for a rather expensive apartment close to the city’s center. On the bright side, the location made his commute to work rather convenient, and he was near enough to nightlife that he had found a handful of bars and cafés he could play the occasional gig at. He’d also taken to offering music lessons on the weekends to help make ends meet. Between his musical pursuits, unpredictable work hours, and numerous side jobs, he was, well. Pretty tired, all things considered.

However, there was no time to rest! He had been tasked with a laundry list of assignments at work in order to prepare for the summer; the museum always put on educational programming and enrichment opportunities for children when schools were out of session, and Jaskier’s job was to propose and develop said programming. Thus, on one of his rare days off, he had gone to the library to do a bit of light research; he had a handful of ideas for some interactive exhibits, but he needed to flesh them out a bit more.

The research ended up being less light than he had planned, because of course it had, and soon enough, Jaskier had a pile of books around him. By the time he had finished flipping through the third book, he was becoming rather tired, and—

Okay, well. Look. Here’s the thing. Jaskier was tired, and he had been up until very early in the morning because he’d played a gig for some swanky hotel bar in the central business district, and the library was just cold enough that it was making him drowsy, and the sounds of people flipping through pages and trodding up and down the aisles was soothing him, and the books were, in all honesty, starting to bore him, and—

He fell asleep. He fell asleep, okay, and in his opinion, that was a very reasonable consequence given the clusterfuck of a headache his week had been.

Next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake by a man gorgeous enough that Jaskier, for a brief moment, froze in place and forgot entirely where he was. (He froze, which he never does. Julian Alfred Pankratz does not freeze, gods dammit, but sweet Melitele, who could blame him? The man was stunning.) He was tall and broad-shouldered, his long white hair tied messily into an updo with a few strands framing his face; he had honey-golden eyes, a strong brow and nose and jawline, and a few faint scars decorating his face. He wore a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a very flattering pair of black jeans. He also, much to Jaskier’s embarrassment, had a name-tag; in large letters, it read GERALT RIVIA, and underneath, in smaller text, LIBRARIAN . The library’s logo was depicted to the left.

A very gorgeous man, and a librarian to boot? Unfair.

Though he tried to appear smooth and suave and generally like a competent, put-together adult, Jaskier knew he fumbled through his interaction with the man, and he felt a bit like a fool the entire time. As he practically scurried off with his handful of books, his face and neck warmed with embarrassment. At the desk, he found the “Zoltan” individual Geralt had spoken of, a short, stocky man with a mohawk and full beard, and Jaskier hurried through the transaction before practically fleeing from the library. It wasn’t until he had returned to his apartment nearly twenty minutes later that he finally felt like he could breathe again.

He went through his evening routine of taking a scalding hot shower, changing into pajamas, and lounging on his couch with leftover takeout and a glass of Est Est. (Est Est was definitely beyond what he could afford at the moment; that particular bottle had been a farewell gift from Essi.) As he ate and drank, he flipped through the books he had checked out and wrote out ideas, notes, and questions in his work notebook. And if he occasionally remembered his downright embarrassing encounter at the library and then buried his face in a pillow as he tried to emotionally recover, that was nobody’s business but his own.

As the hours passed and the clock crept closer to midnight, he’d come up with more questions than anything else, which was. A bit of an issue.

Even with his extensive studies in art history, Jaskier didn’t know as much about Aedirnian artistic customs—his studies had placed a focus on traditions in remote, mountainous regions of Redania and Kaedwen. He could talk for hours about the production of Redanian watercolour paints, and had quite literally co-written one of the most comprehensive books on Kaedweni folk music, but he’d wanted the museum’s summer programming to have an emphasis on local arts, which meant that he’d need some help.

He then realized that this probably meant asking one of his new coworkers for direction, which he would, to be quite frank, rather perish than do, because he felt that most of them already thought he was silly and foppish and deeply unserious, with the way he was always running to and fro with his head barely attached to his shoulders, never seen without a cup of coffee and bags under his eyes. However, it was either facing his coworkers, all of whom had chronic cases of stick-up-the-ass-itis, or… going back to the library, and potentially facing the tall-gorgeous-intimidating librarian again. (Geralt, his brain supplied helpfully.)

Neither option sounded particularly appealing, and both avenues would undoubtedly lead to Jaskier making a fool of himself, so he decided that he would simply go to the library as soon as it opened at nine in the morning; he severely doubted that the man would be working from nine to seven on a daily basis, so he was probably in the clear.

…Probably.

---

AN: hey y'all! hope you enjoy chapter 1!! keep up with me on my ao3, found +here, and my twitter @nottveth. chapters 2 and 3 are already written and posted on ao3, but will be updated here over the next few days.

[emo-nova]

So I was seeing small details in the witchers and some of my favourites is the reoccuring broche that Renfri had. In episode three, Geralt tries to give it away, trying to move on and away from Renfri's words to him and the meaning to her to him.

He accepts it later on in the years in episode 6, and this is me linking years from Jaskier and also by other points in the show that I can't quite articulate, is that the circular part of the broche (I think of it as a shield) on steel sword (seen best on the mountain scene with Jaskier). But I noticed in that scene that there wasn't the line going through (the metaphorical sword) however Jaskier has a golden ring (where he hasn't worn any jewellery in any previous episodes) and that some of the steel sword has a tiny decorant on the other side.

I like to think that this is Geralt accepting Renfri's words and meaning but also accepting that Jaskier means more to him shown by the golden ring and after the djinn incident.

But this is my take and my mini headcanon.

[hannibard]

Just finished Witcher: Blood Origin and it was phenomenal!!!!!! I loved it so much!!!!!!!! It had some issues but i had a great time watching it.

Jaskier's new song slaps too

I know the producers of the netflix witcher have made mistakes in the past but i really don't think they deserve the level of hate and vitriol they've been getting and i wish all the witcher fanboys that idolize thar creep C*vill would just shut up already ��

Anyways, have some of the chrismas-themed witcher icons i made last year

[echo-bleu]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Renfri, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion Characters: Jaskier | Dandelion, Renfri (The Witcher) Additional Tags: Time Travel, Time manipulator Jaskier, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Jaskier saves Renfri, Past Character Death, But They're Not Dead Anymore, Trans Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier is a child of the Black Sun, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Sad Jaskier | Dandelion Series: Part 3 of for all the things that drum Summary:

“Shrike,” he calls out, stilling his hand.

She startles, her dagger out of its sheath before Jaskier can draw another breath. Its tip grazes his throat, and it’s only because he expects it that he stops himself from freezing her altogether. His skin remains intact. He doesn’t move.

“Julian,” she breathes, finally.

She lowers the dagger slowly, let’s go of him, and he finds himself missing the touch. With an involuntary sob, he turns and embraces her tightly.

*

Jaskier has gone back in time thirty years to save Renfri and, through that, give those he loves a fighting chance.

[wren-of-the-woods]

hi, forgive me but may I ask your Witcher ships? If you've already answered a similar question, then I'm sorry.

either way, have a nice day :)

Hello, anon! No worries!

The Witcher ships I've written for before are Geralt/Jaskier, Jaskier/Yennefer, Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer, and Radovid/Jaskier. I also read Lambert/Aiden and other things involving Jaskier from time to time! Out of curiosity, why do you ask?

I hope you have a nice day, too! <3

[mordoriscalling]

The Shrike and the Lark (pt.9)

Jaskier and Renfri are disaster twins ruling Creyden. When the Warlord of the North knocks at their door, Queen Renfri and King Julian are at an advantage - they know him. As in, they know him. (Inspired by the Warlord AU and “the heart is a winged beast”).

(Pt. 1) (Pt. 2) (Pt. 3) (Pt. 4) (Pt. 5) (Pt. 6) (Pt. 7) (Pt. 8)

Creyden, 1237

There are many people in the Queen’s bed chamber, but all that can be heard is deathly silence. Queen Renfri is seated in her bed, for she is still very weak, while King Julian paces nervously. Lady Chancellor and the rest of the Council stand by, their faces grim.

“Ivyr has had a hand in this, hasn’t he?” the King says.

Ivyr of Poviss, the husband of the eldest daughter of Queen Aridea, is currently one of the most persistent enemies of the Black Sun Twins. His actions have led to much loss and heartache in the past. He has taken it as his mission to make Queen Renfri and King Julian pay for the misfortunes they’ve caused to the remaining children of Aridea. The question King Julian posed is purely rhetorical; both the Council and the monarchs have been aware that Ivyr has gained considerable sway on the court of Kovir and Poviss. Thus, no one speaks, for there’s no need to answer.  

The quiet is interrupted when the White Wolf and his three people – Eskel, Lambert and Lady Yennefer – are brought in.

“Why is it that you summoned us here so urgently?” the sorceress asks.

With a heavy sigh, Queen Renfri replies, “There is something we must inform you about. A messenger came with news. Pont Vanis has been seized by the forces of Kovir and Poviss. As we’ve said before, we have expected them to rebel against our rule for a while, and it seems to be happening. Their army has taken the city and they threaten to march to attack this castle.”

The Warlord makes a wordless conversation with his right and left hand through meaningful, disapproving looks. Then, Lady Yennefer speaks.

“It appears you’ve wasted a lot of our time. You cannot meet the conditions of the treaty now. Pont Vanis was the port we wished to use the most.”

The rulers and the council of Creyden do not attempt to refute that. No one of their advisors has any reply either.

Finally, it’s King Julian who takes action. He approaches the White Wolf and asks, “May I request a moment in private?”

“You may,” the Warlord permits coldly.

The King leads the Warlord outside of the Queen’s chambers, then downstairs, to the war room where they talked of broken hearts not so long ago. After the doors close behind them, silence reigns in the room for a while. King Julian steadies himself, holding onto the back of a chair by the table with a white-knuckled grip. The White Wolf stands by with a formidable scowl, waiting.

Then, a murmur cuts through the heavy hush.

“I need your help, my Lord.”

The Warlord jerks as if he had been struck. “Creyden needs military support,” he rephrases, dumbfounded.

“No. I need your help,” King Julian confesses. “Renfri is too weak to even walk, and I... I cannot go to battle alone. I’m utterly unlearned in the art of war! I’ll do anything you wish, my Lord, just help me through this, please.”

If anyone heard this, they would be astounded to find the King begging so openly. It seems to raise the White Wolf's suspicion: his eerie eyes narrowed, he stares the monarch up and down. Yet, Julian does not cower, only looks on at his former lover pleadingly.

“Anything?” the witcher echoes. “Truly? Then will you undo all the ties that bind us? Will you make Renfri renounce her claim of the Law of Surprise?”

King Julian remains silent, his lips pursed.

“Of course you won’t,” the Warlord scoffs. “You are in desperate need of heirs, are you not?”

The monarch does nothing to deny this. “Me and my sister do not see any of our next of kin to be a fit successor.”

“Both of you refuse to marry, too,” the White Wolf adds. “No lineage in sight.”

Every ruler knows what no clear line of succession involves. That is, great unrest at the very least: the kingdom is left in a state of conflict as pretenders to the crown compete for power. No heirs mean that your own power is not ensured, lasting as long as you live, and rulers can happen to have their lives cut short. Only those with descendants secure kingdoms.  

“The boys are Renfri’s Surprise Children,” King Julian replies. “They are her children, then.”

“They’re not,” the witcher snaps. “I won’t give them to you.”

The King sighs tiredly. “Is the Warlord of the North truly powerful enough to deny what Destiny seems to want?”

“I wish I were,” the witcher replies morosely. “Forces beyond my control have ruled my life too much already.”

“Gods, I know!” Julian cries, throwing his arms up in the air with sudden frustration. “I know how little agency you’ve been left as a witcher! I know how you despise lack of choice!” He walks up to the White Wolf and carries on in a hoarse whisper, “Do you think it pleases me that you’re made to give up your very pack on our benefit? Do you think it’s a joy to see your resentment?” His blue eyes are made brighter with the glistening of tears. “Geralt, I... I’ve written so many poems and songs, of how you used to look at me when there was only warmth in your gaze.”

There isn’t a hint of affection in Geralt’s sun-like eyes now, only cold fury and hurt.

“How the hell do you expect me to feel, Jaskier?!” he all but snarls. “You boosted your fame with my stories, took your pleasure with my body and then left, giving me no explanation! Was I just a tool for you? Was it your plan all along to discard me once you had no more use of me?” he spats. Jaskier flinches like the question has inflicted physical pain upon him. “How do you expect me to trust you now?” the witcher demands.

Jaskier has been rendered speechless. Helplessly, he opens and closes his mouth, but no sound comes out. Geralt scoffs incredulously and begins to walk out of the room. Mere moments before he leaves, Jaskier finally regains the ability to speak.

“I can swear on Renfri’s life.”

The witcher turns back to him abruptly, eyes wide with disbelief. “What?”

Jaskier, pale as a ghost, repeats, “I can swear on Renfri’s life.”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you,” Geralt says, his tone soft like it almost never is.

“I know,” Jaskier replies.

And then, before Geralt can stop him, Jaskier begins to speak the truth, his body shaking under the gravity of his words. “I swear that I’ve only ever held you in the highest regard. I gave you no explanation before leaving because I was too afraid of what you’d think of me, of how you’d react to having been lied to and, as I’ve told you before, I also feared for my safety.”

Then, Jaskier makes a short pause, gathering his strength to go on.

“I swear I had every intention of explaining it all to you after me and Renfri executed our initial plan of defeating Stregobor... which, well, went to shit the moment you appeared in Blaviken.”

Geralt huffs but doesn’t comment, so Jaskier continues.

“I swear that, very aware of how much I am asking, I request your help. If I were to handle this conflict alone, I would only lead my kingdom to a grave defeat. In my ignorance, I’ve always left the matters of war for Renfri to deal with, thinking her invincible, and now...”

The witcher smiles wryly, in sympathy. Jaskier gazes at him for a moment silently, with stark openness.

“And lastly, I swear that I have no wish of hurting you ever again and that I am willing with my whole heart to earn your trust and forgiveness, i-if you’d allow it.”

Taking a deep breath, Jaskier finishes, “All of this, I swear on the life of Renfri – my Queen, my sister and my soul.”

Heavy silence hangs between him and Geralt. Jaskier still trembles, too shaken by his vows. Geralt reacts to his distress with surprising gentleness, putting a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and murmuring, “I do not take this oath lightly.”

The King nearly sways on his feet as all the tension suddenly leaves his body. With a nod of gratefulness, he only manages to breathe a quiet thank you to the witcher. The White Wolf holds him by the shoulder, steadying him until Julian regains control of his emotions.

“Let’s go,” the witcher says. “The rest are waiting.”

As they return to the Queen’s bed chamber, many pairs of anxious eyes turn to them, silently begging for information.

“Your King has asked me to come to your aid,” the Warlord announces.

“And will the Warlord fulfil the King’s wishes?” Lady Chancellor inquires.

“He will not,” the White Wolf answers. Everyone freezes and King Julian gasps, too shocked to speak. Then, the witcher adds, “But Geralt of Rivia will.”

The air in the room is changed, a breeze of hope sweeping through it as the witcher carries on, “The Warlord has no intention to partaking in this conflict, but Geralt of Rivia wishes to support a friend who once saw him as a man and not a monster and a friend who snapped him out of his self-imposed neutrality.” He looks at King Julian and Queen Renfri. “The lessons they’ve taught me changed the lives of all witchers.”  The White Wolf turns to his right hand. “Go back home,” he instructs, “ask if anyone wants to come to help. Volunteers only.”

“They’ll come,” Eskel assures with a smile.

Only then does King Julian seem to comprehend what is happening. With a sound of pure joy, he throws himself into the White Wolf’s arms, embracing him tightly.

“Thank you,” he whispers into the crook of the witcher’s neck. “Fuck, Geralt. Thank you!”

Gingerly, the Warlord raises one hand and cradles the back of the King’s head with it, while his other palm comes to rest on King Julian’s lower back. Then, he buries his nose in the King’s hair and draws a deep breath, his eyes shut tight. King Julian relaxes in the Warlord’s tender hold and hides his face deeper into the crook of the witcher’s neck.

As they bask in the embrace, the moment stretches into a little eternity. For them, nothing else matters; they do not feel the weight of many eyes on them. Too focused on the beating of each other’s hearts, they do not see all the gazes upon them, some of them perplexed, while others knowing.

It is Eskel who interrupts their intimacy. “There’s no time to lose,” he says briskly, looking anywhere but his lord and King Julian. “I will go to Triss, she’ll portal me. I’ll take Lambert with me. Get your xenovox, Yennefer.”

With that, the scarred witcher leaves, Lady Yennefer follows right behind, and the King and the Warlord step away from each other. They seem concerned, looking to where Eskel just left, but then Queen Renfri speaks.

“He’s right. We must decide on our strategy.”

This spurs the royal council into action. They debate with their King and Queen about what should be done, with some suggestions from the White Wolf and Lady Yennefer, who soon returns to the room. It gets determined that, no matter how many witchers volunteer to help, messengers should be sent out around the kingdom with a call to arms. After that matter is settled, Eskel’s voice resounds in the xenovox that Lady Yennefer brought with her.

“Yennefer, are you there?”

“Yes.”

“We’re ready. Go to the Great Hall.”

“How many of you are coming?” the sorceress asks, bemused at the request.

“You’ll see,” the witcher responds, with a smile that can be heard.

The Queen tells the members of the Council to head to the Great Hall. Once they leave, only her brother, the Warlord and Lady Yennefer remain in the room. Renfri moves to sit at the edge of her bed and tries to stand but her knees buckle under her and she has to sit back down.

“I could – ” the White Wolf begins.

“If you want to carry me,” she warns, “Then I fucking swear to Melitele, I’ll cut your hands off the next time we spar.”

An occasion for them to spar won’t come for a few months at least, but no one points it out. The White Wolf wisely remains silent.

“I could portal us there,” Lady Yennefer offers.

“You should reserve your Chaos,” the Warlord replies.

“And His Majesty should practice travelling through a portal,” the sorceress retorts.

“Wait, what – ” King Julian says, alarmed.

“Fine,” the witcher grunts, cutting him off. “I’ll meet you there.”

With that, the White Wolf leaves the chamber. Lady Yennefer watches him go with an expression of deep amusement.

“He hates portals,” she explains once she notices the confused looks the twin monarchs give her.

“What does it all mean,” the King demands.

In response, Lady Yennefer conjures up a portal and says, “I’m afraid you’ll have to experience this for yourself.”

The King and the Queen exchange a look of suspicion. Then, a wordless conversation seems to pass between them, and they come to a decision. Renfri raises from her bed helped by her brother and leans all her weight against him as she stands. Lady Yennefer walks into the swirling circle, and the King and the Queen follow slowly, for the Queen’s legs shake as she walks.

Down in the castle’s Great Hall, the twin rulers stumble out of the portal, looking much affected, pale and unwell.

“Fucking gods,” Queen Renfri chokes out.

“What in thrice-damned fucking hell,” King Julian exclaims, “was that?!”

Lady Yennefer only chuckles; she seems completely unmoved.

The King and the Queen sit down at their thrones, trying to recuperate while the members of their Council start joining them.

“I don’t think my insides are in the right places,” Renfri gasps out, her breathing laboured.

“My head is spinning so much,” Julian moans, “I think I’m about to faint!”

“You will live,” Lady Yennefer tells them. “Just take deep breaths.”

The twins are not given much more time to recover; the rest of the Council and the Warlord appear in the Hall quickly. Then, Lady Yennefer informs Eskel through the xenovox that they may come and a portal opens before the thrones.

Two witchers walk through it, then another one, and another. Yet another pair follows. Then, witchers keep coming. And coming. And coming.

Lambert and Eskel are the last to appear. The portal closes behind them. Four dozen new witchers, plus one, have walked through it. Together with the Warlord, that makes them fifty. A rather formidable number: such a group of witchers can defeat a group of human warriors at least ten times their size.

Queen Renfri and King Julian stare at them, wide-eyed and astounded. The King actually gapes. When he remembers himself, he promptly stands up from the throne and walks down to Eskel.

“You are a wonder,” he murmurs to the witcher.

Eskel’s answering smile is tight.

“We’ve come as a way of thanks,” he says loud enough for everyone to hear. “Your songs about Geralt helped paint us all in a better light. Queen Renfri was the one who made Geralt consider hunting all monsters, including human ones, which led to the rise of our home kingdom. The actions of both of you improved our lives.”  

Heartache flickers in King Julian’s expression at his lover’s dismissal. “Well, then,” he replies, putting on a cheerful face, “You shall have our unending gratitude for your help.”

“Indeed,” Queen Renfri chimes in from her throne, “You’ll be received with high honours. I shall have a feast prepared to welcome you. Before that, please sit at the tables here. Let us discuss the problem at hand.”

Two main courses of action soon emerge from the debate. The first one is to wait and gather enough army to march at Pont Vanis, while the other is to portal the witchers and a small group of soldiers near the city, then launch an attack at the King’s palace during the night.

“It’s nothing we haven’t done before,” the Warlord argues. “We’ve been successful so far.”

“It’s very risky,” Queen Renfri counters.

“The element of surprise makes it effective,” the White Wolf retorts.

In the end, Queen Renfri is convinced to execute that plan, though isn’t thrilled about it, for she thinks it too hazardous. Her brother isn’t enthusiastic either, but his displeasure stems from how much danger the witchers will be putting themselves in.

Then, numerous details are talked about and established, including King Julian’s physical involvement in the whole operation.

“What if... something unforeseen should happen?” the King says then. “What if some of you, or I...”

“Do not speak of it,” Queen Renfri hisses. “If you put it into words, you put it into minds and thus into motion. Do not speak of it.”

“But I must,” he insists sternly. “I’m not the one to go to war, yet I must go.”

Renfri relents. “And I’m not the one who stays behind, yet I must stay.”

“If not many people respond to the call to arms, you wouldn’t be able to hold the castle for long. You’re in no condition to fight. Gods, what would become of you?”

His sister says nothing, for no answer is needed. With a pained smile, she only takes his hand and squeezes it.

“I could stay here,” Lady Yennefer proposes then. “To guard Her Majesty against any possible danger.”

King Julian gets rendered speechless by the generous offer.

“There’s no one Renfri would be safer with,” the Warlord says, taking his silence as a sign of disbelief. “Yennefer is the most powerful mage of the Continent.” He smiles at the sorceress with unconcealed pride. “She’s capable of turning whole armies to ash.”

“Then I’m leaving my sister in most capable hands indeed,” King Julian replies. “Thank you.”

His thanks are not filled with much apparent gratitude; rather, he says them in a measured way, not letting any of his emotions slip.

“And what of you?” Renfri asks her brother, squeezing his hand tighter. “You’ll be in much more danger than me.”

“I could make sure His Majesty is unharmed,” the Warlord says. “If that would put your mind at ease, I’ll keep him safe.”

“I believe there’s no one Jaskier would be safer with,” Lady Yennefer remarks with a soft smile directed at the White Wolf. “Geralt is the mightiest witcher of the Continent. No monster, human or not, can beat him.”

“Then I’m leaving my brother in most capable hands indeed,” Renfri says.

She does not thank her; the plain affection between the witcher and the sorceress pains her visibly.

Many more matters are discussed and settled. The feast is prepared and had. The twin monarchs never let go of each other’s hand for long, too gripped by fear.

Read the rest on AO3

[thedemonofcat]

Jaskier has only a few memories of his sister. He recalls her giving him the nickname "Jaskier"; initially, she called him a weed. He remembers discussions about a curse, something related to an eclipse and their birth.

He also remembers being told he was lucky to have been born a boy; that was the last time he saw his sister. A few months later, his stepmother sent him to Lettenhove, and soon after, he ran away to Oxenfurt to become a bard.

When Jaskier began his career as a traveling bard, he had two reasons: he hated the idea of being trapped in court for the rest of his life, and he was searching for his sister. When Geralt and Jaskier meet, the witcher can't help but notice something familiar about the bard. When Jaskier confides that he's been looking for his twin sister for a long time, Geralt wonders if he has met her at some point.

What Geralt doesn't know is that Jaskier's real name is Prince Julian of Creyden, Renfri's twin. Neither does Jaskier know that his sister is dead, nor that Geralt was the one who killed her. But when Stregobor begins to take an interest in Jaskier, believing that the boy born during the black sun might not have escaped the curse, secrets are bound to be revealed.

[whenthewallfell]

“Tell me the story of Blaviken,” Jaskier says one night as they sit beside the campfire. His fingers skip playfully over the strings of his lute, nonsense melodies created and discarded as easily as he breathes.

Geralt tenses, almost casts him into the flames. He thinks of Jaskier's song of him, of words twisted into some gross mockery of truth. Sacrifices for a catchy tune.

“No.”

---

Oh hey I finally finished my Witcher fic, give it a read if you fancy

[jacks-long-coat]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Renfri/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Dara Characters: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Renfri (The Witcher), Triss Merigold, Dara (The Witcher), Original Characters Additional Tags: Families of Choice, Coming of Age, Questioning, Coming Out, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bartenders, Horse Girl Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Complicated Relationships, between Ciri and her family of origin, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Racism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Polyamory, Established Relationship, POV Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, POV Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, POV Third Person, Podfic, Podfic Length: 3.5-4 Hours, Audio Format: Streaming, Audio Format: MP3 Series: Part 3 of [podfic] SummerFrost's Witcher Bartending AU Summary:

[3hr 56m 51s] Yen eyes her sidelong. "You're pretty shy for a kid who, what—climbed out the window and tracked down a man she barely knew?" "Walked out the front door," Ciri mutters. "Grandpa was playing video games." AKA: When Geralt's goddaughter turns up outside the bar on karaoke night, Yennefer is the one who convinces him to let her stay. [Written by SummerFrost.]

[coreofgold]

rain, sender and receiver both get stuck under the same awning when seeking shelter from sudden rain. ( to Jaskier from Renfri)

Old Meme || @renfri-vellga

"So. . .you think this place'll let us stay until the storm doesn't kill us," Jaskier offered up. He could always flirt his way in if needed.