#the Jaskier wanting to please people to not be abandoned never quite leaves him completely

[spielzeugkaiser]

[MASTERPOST] - [prev] I just want you to imagine Jaskier, very early post trial, mostly nonverbal, not in control of his strength yet being just such a creepy kid sometimes. (His parents still love him obviously.) I also have a feeling that Jaskier is subconsciously 100% stressed at all times and wants to do his absolute best to please his parents and make zero mistakes so that they won't send him away again. (They didn't and he knows that, but he is just a traumatized child.)

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

on ao3

All his life, Jaskier has only wanted to be enough. In forty years, he’s found a lot of people he can't please no matter how hard he tries, but never any who are willing to try in return. He's too loud, too annoying, too much. There are also a startling number of people who want him only as a placeholder - a bed warmer, an entertainer - before quickly ushering him from their lives once they've had their fill. As a child, it was devastating every time he was told to be quiet or to find someone else to talk to. As an adult, he thought he'd grown numb to disinterest or fleeting interest, but then he'd met Geralt.

With Geralt, he thought he had finally found someone who might keep him. Even if it wasn't perfect, even if Jaskier still found himself longing for more, Geralt allowed him to stay. His jabs didn't hurt the way others did and after some time they even started to sound fond coming from his Witcher. And he was truly happy for the first time in a long time.

But good things are not meant to last. Not at least, for Jaskier. And on the top of a mountain north of Barefield, Geralt had proved without a doubt that Jaskier wasn't numb to heartbreak.

But that seems like a lifetime ago, now.

When their paths had crossed again, it was by complete accident. Jaskier had been in Oxenfurt over the winter to regroup after a difficult autumn and he'd headed back out into the wilderness late. It was a routine of sorts, setting out on the road after winter, and he'd followed the Pontar east, heading nowhere in particular. The last person he had been expecting to come across was his Witcher.

But there they both were; Geralt with his child surprise in tow and Jaskier with nothing but the lute on his back and a notebook overflowing with verse after verse of heartbreak. Ciri, at least, had been happy to see him, but it was plain to see Geralt didn't share her enthusiasm. She is the reason for their (somewhat forced) reconciliation, not some change of heart or some grand apology; just a lost little girl clinging to whatever sense of normalcy she can find. And an unwilling father trying to give it to her.

Lucky for him, Jaskier is a familiar face to the young princess and Geralt had agreed when Ciri had asked for him to come along with them. And it's not all bad; travelling with companions is much less lonely than travelling alone and he and Geralt have made things work between them, enough at least, for Ciri's wellbeing.

But there's a feeling Jaskier gets right before he's ousted from someone's life, a tingling sort of ache right in the pit of his stomach, and he's been feeling that for months now.

Spring has faded into summer and their little group carries on. They keep to the path most nights, camping amongst the trees or tucked away under a shelf of rock or in an abandoned cave. Jaskier doesn't know the whole story, but he knows Nilfgaard is looking for Ciri and as good a protector as Geralt is, he's unlikely to defeat an entire Nilgaardian troop should they run into one. So he keeps them away from town unless they need to replenish their supplies or the weather is too bad to allow for sleeping outside. On those occasions, they prepare in advance. Geralt will go ahead and ensure the room is ready and whatever else they need, while Jaskier will wait behind and do what he can to disguise Ciri. She's the most important thing in Geralt's life now and if he can't make amends with the man himself, he'll do what he can to help Ciri. At the very least, it gives him a sense of purpose and keeps him from feeling quite so out of place with them.

Tonight is a camping night. Geralt is asleep already and Ciri appears to be if she isn't, but the grass is damp and cool beneath them and Jaskier can't get comfortable. In the morning, their bedding will be damp at best and that means packing damp bedding and sleeping on it again tomorrow night. He's mulling over the idea of hanging his bedroll over a tree branch and lying directly on the grass - at least it will save him one night of discomfort - when Geralt stirs across from him.

Jaskier looks up, instinctively alert, but Ciri is still peacefully asleep and there doesn't appear to be any sign of danger. Geralt's face is twisted though, pinched tight in pain or fear and Jaskier recognizes the expression. For years, he'd been there to soothe Geralt’s discomfort, to curl up against him and run a hand up his chest until his breathing evened out again and the pain eased from his face. Geralt’s nightmares have never been uncommon, but since joining up with him again, Jaskier has noticed a marked increase of uneasy nights for the Witcher.

But he's no longer in a place to soothe him and so he watches regretfully as Ciri blinks awake and props herself up to look at him. She crawls from her own bedroll and in a practiced motion, slips between Geralt's arms, pressing herself up against his chest. She whispers something that Jaskier can't hear and he squeezes his eyes shut as Geralt hums sleepily against her hair.

He aches to fill that space against him once more, to be able to soothe the turmoil in Geralt’s heart, to give Geralt anything. He used to be the one who could ease his pain, but he's been replaced. And he can't blame Geralt for it; he was never a very good travel companion, but he did try and he'd like to be able to try again, but that doesn't seem to be the way things are going for him.

"Who is she?" Ciri asks, only just loud enough to Jaskier to hear her. "Who's Renfri?"

"I don't know," he breathes, low to keep his voice steady, "Geralt met her before me and he doesn't talk about it."

Ciri makes a disappointed sound and Jaskier doesn't have to be able to see her face to know she's scowling at the man wrapped around her. He would be too. Geralt does so much to protect the ones he loves and yet refuses to accept anything in return. Jaskier understands the frustration and once upon a time, he'd developed a method of tricking Geralt into doing things for himself, making it seem like it was for the good of someone else. He makes a mental note to tell Ciri about it.

Once Ciri and Geralt are settled once more, Jaskier slips from his bedroll, picking it up and hanging it in the hopes that it will dry some before morning. He's awake now, his head swimming with things unsaid and what ifs and he knows he won't sleep any time soon, so there's no point in trying.

He crosses the camp as silently as he can to where the horses are tethered and he settles himself between the thick roots of a tree, leaning back against the trunk. Roach leans down to him, nudging his shoulder and Jaskier looks up to find both of them looking at him, Jaskier's own horse with her head over Roach's back to see what he's doing. She gives a snort of confusion and Jaskier just looks up at her with a forced smile that does apparently nothing to appease her curiosity.

For some time, he just sits there, wondering where exactly he went wrong in his life until eventually, cold and emotionally exhausted, sleep overtakes him.

At first, Jaskier had hoped that this distance between them was just a side-effect of Geralt adjusting to parenthood and he tried to help in any way he could. But he can't teach Ciri to fight and Geralt knows more about herbs and how to use them than he does, and otherwise, Ciri is mostly self-sufficient. Other than her magic, which Jaskier soon learns, she's being trained in as well.

Yennefer blows back into his life in a big way on a sunny afternoon in mid-summer. She seems softer than the last time they'd seen each other and she smiles when she spots Ciri practicing with a wooden sword next to the river. Jaskier has learned well enough in the past not to disturb her, so he keeps quiet and continues with his task of gathering firewood. He hadn't understood at the time, why Geralt had wanted to make camp so early in the day, but it seems clear now that this was an arranged meeting place and he doesn't suspect they'll be leaving again before morning.

So while Geralt is busy with Yen and Ciri, Jaskier may as well make himself useful. Maybe he can't be emotionally available to Geralt the way he used to, but he can still help. So he sets off deeper into the trees, intent on finding enough wood to keep them going for the evening. But when he returns to the smell of smoke and a crackling fire, his heart sinks. As he sets his gathered firewood down, his only solace is that no one seems to have noticed him and he's able to slip away again quietly.

Yen travels with them after that. She doesn't seem concerned about Jaskier's presence and, on occasion, she'll even speak to him without sounding inconvenienced. It's more than she's ever offered in the past and considering his tenuous position with them, Jaskier's almost pleased about it.

But with Yen comes more training for Ciri, this time in magic, which means she has less time to listen to Jaskier play or tell him about her adventures with Geralt. Which is fine; she's still young and she needs to be able to understand her power as much as she needs to be able to fight with a sword. So Jaskier takes another step back.

After the mountain incident, Jaskier had hoped someday that things might go back to normal for him and Geralt. Now, despite Yennefer's improved attitude toward him, their relationship seems tenser than ever. And after a couple of weeks travelling with Yen, Jaskier starts to wonder if he really fits with them anymore.

But he can barely complain, what with Ciri having lost everyone she ever knew and loved. And Yen's history. And Geralt's inability to enter certain towns without being shouted at and called a monster. In relation, Jaskier's problems are not that bad. It doesn't stop it from hurting, but it stops him from talking about it because he doesn't really have a good enough reason to be upset. And his relationship with Geralt is already strained at best, he doesn't want to make things more complicated between them and end up losing Geralt again, maybe for good this time.

Only keeping things to himself is harder than it seems because Jaskier constantly feels unwanted and unneeded. Because Geralt has Yen and Ciri, Ciri has her training with both of them, and Yen never really much cared for him to begin with. So where is he supposed to fit in with that? What can he do for them that someone else isn't already doing? Everything he used to do for Geralt has been taken over by someone new and as the days drag on, Jaskier begins to wonder if he's not just hindering them by tagging along.

But where would he go without him?

They're all sitting around the fire one night after Ciri's gone to bed and Jaskier's writing in his notebook, trying to force the lyrics to a ballad that just doesn't want to come. He has the tune, but he can't quite get the words right, so he hums under his breath, trying to work through it as Geralt pokes at the fire.

"Jaskier," Geralt grunts and Jaskier looks up at him, surprised and a little nervous. "Be quiet, Ciri's asleep."

"Oh," he says, "right."

He shuts his notebook and measures his breathing, trying to keep from getting too upset. It makes perfect sense that Geralt would ask him to be quiet, Ciri doesn't sleep well a lot of the time and he shouldn't disturb her when she does. It still hurts, but he packs his things back up and turns in for the night.

Geralt seems unfazed but Jaskier lays out his bedroll right at the edge of their camp and settles in. He doesn't know what else to do with himself; whatever he and Geralt once has is clearly gone now, everything is about Geralt and Ciri now or just about Geralt, off on his own to provide for a child he never wanted. There’s no room in his life for Jaskier now that he has Ciri.

As he lies down, he tries to think back to before Geralt, but he doesn't remember what he did with himself back then. He was young and foolish and a very different person than he is now. And even after, when he and Geralt were separated but still friendly, Jaskier would write about him or sing about him and tell stories about their adventures together. But it was all about Geralt. For two decades of his life, everything centred around Geralt and now he's faced with the prospect of losing him completely.

Geralt is a simple man; he needs food and coin and sex - most nights he won't even blink at sleeping out in the rain. Jaskier can offer him none of those things when they're staying away from towns, so why is he still here? He wants what they used to have when he could at least keep Geralt company during the long nights. Now, he can't even offer him that. Things can't go back to the way they used to be because Geralt has Ciri now and Yen is back in his life and Jaskier just... is.

And every time he tries to think about what he did wrong, he can only picture Geralt's face on the top of that mountain, how angry he sounded when he told Jaskier he wanted him gone.

Jaskier looks at Ciri, curled under Geralt's spare blanket, and he knows Geralt blames him for this responsibility that he never wanted. And maybe it is his fault because Geralt never would have been at the banquet otherwise. And maybe Yen leaving was his fault, too because Geralt never would have met her if Jaskier had just left the damn djinn bottle alone. Maybe all of this is his own fault. Jaskier lays his head down, fighting back tears as he wonders how he could have single-handedly ruined the one good thing that life ever gave him.

Summer fades into autumn and things only get worse.

Yen joins them again when the air starts to cool and Jaskier finds the only thing left for him to do is to distract Ciri when Yen and Geralt disappear off on their own. He doesn't want to think about what they get up to and he's certain Ciri doesn't want to know. The pair of them share a tent, which Jaskier is thankful for only because it means he shares with Ciri and he would prefer that to sharing with either Geralt or Yen. Ciri trusts him and when they're alone she still likes to sit and listen to him sing, plus the one perk of travelling with a sorceress is extravagant magic tents.

When it starts to get really cold, Jaskier's thoughts turn back to Oxenfurt. If he's going to go back for the winter, he needs to leave soon before it gets too cold to travel. He knows Geralt is taking Yen and Ciri to Kaer Morhen with him and he doesn't think he could stand spending the entire winter with them, even if he was invited.

He gives it a couple days' consideration before deciding he can't bear this any longer. He'll go to Oxenfurt for the winter and come spring he'll just have to figure out how to move on with his life because all of this is too much. Ciri has both Yen and Geralt now, and if he thought being in love with Geralt was hard before, it's nothing compared to how it feels now.

He's in the middle of organizing his things for the long ride out to the coast when Ciri finds him. She comes up and plops herself next to him, peeking over to see what he's doing.

"We're not leaving yet," she says, "why are you packing?"

"I have to go."

"You aren't coming to Kaer Morhen with us?"

"No."

He doesn't elaborate because he can already feel his chest contract and he has to be able to hold it together for a little longer. Ciri huffs and as she walks away, Jakier's hands still on his pack. He doesn't want to leave her and he feels bad about it, but it will be better for all of them in the long run.

Jaskier finishes packing and getting Buttercup saddled and he's just about ready to leave when Geralt approaches him. Jaskier hasn't spoken to him about leaving, but since he and Yen rarely talk to him, he didn't think he had to. But Geralt rests a hand on his forearm and when Jaskier turns to look at him, he seems conflicted.

"Ciri wants you to come with us," is all he says and Jaskier deflates a little. He was so close to making a clean break, but Ciri has lost so much and if she wants him there, who is he to deny her a little familiarity? He doesn't say anything to Geralt, but he unslings his lute from his back and leans it up against the tree and it seems to be enough.

But they travel to Kaer Morhen and once Jaskier is over the stunning scenery, it's just more of the same only warmer. The guest room in the keep is spacious and the fireplace is more than enough to keep him warm, but he stands at the top of the stairs and as he looks around, his shoulders slump. He and Geralt have always shared a room, even when an abundance of coin would have made it easy to rent two rooms. Jaskier didn't really expect to be sharing with Geralt after everything but knowing it wasn't even a thought hurts.

He reminds himself that he's doing this because Ciri wanted it and urges his feet to move, crossing to the bed in the centre of the room. At least when he needs a place to escape to, he can come here and not want for warmth or inspiration. His balcony has a beautiful view of the valley and so long as he's willing to fill it himself, there's a large tub to one side of the room. He's stayed in much worse places all in all, and he's grown accustomed to spending a lot of time alone. Maybe it won't be so bad.

But once everyone has arrived, he realizes he was wrong. The Witchers are friendly enough, even the two from other schools who Jaskier has never heard of before. Ciri tells him one of them is Lambert's boyfriend and it was a big scandal last year when he showed up. Jaskier's heart just sinks, realizing even Ciri is included in all of this and he knows nothing of them. He's not even sure which one Lambert is because Geralt has never been a very descriptive person. It’s just another reminder of what he’s lost and he forces a smile to keep from showing his feelings.

Watching them all finally gathered together in the main hall, Jaskier realizes he's made a mistake in coming. He felt like an outsider with their little group travelling the wilderness, but it's nothing to the way he feels now. Like an intruder, an interloper who's snuck his way in when no one wanted him. Even the reminder that Ciri asked for him doesn't help now because Geralt has his old family and his new family and what could a bunch of Witchers and a sorceress possibly want with a bard?

He has enough rations left in his pack that he skips supper the first night. He can't bear to listen to Geralt talking to everyone when Jaskier can barely get a few words out of him these days. Some things just aren't destined to be. Sometimes it's better to let something die than it is to suffer meaninglessly.

Jaskier slips away up to his room and goes to sit on the balcony. The weather is still fairly decent, warm enough that the cold doesn't get to him until after dark. It's only when he returns inside that he realizes he only has one lit candle and it's too dark to look around now. So he strips out of his clothes and climbs into the cold bed, blowing out his single candle before curling in on himself and shutting his eyes.

In the morning, Geralt and Eskel set out to clear some mine or other of kikimores. Jaskier doesn't come down from his room until later that evening and the only joy he gets from it is catching the tail end of Eskel's story about the mine. But that doesn't last long, so he makes his way down the halls because if he's going to be staying here a while, he might as well get to know the place.

But barely half an hour into his exploration and just as his nerves are starting to settle, Jaskier comes upon a room with an open door. He doesn't look in, but he hears Geralt's voice, grumbling about something or other and then Yen mumbling, just get in the damn bath so I can wash this shit out of your hair and something inside him that was just barely holding on shatters.

That one hurts more than anything. It had taken him years for Geralt to be comfortable enough to let him stick around while he was in the bath. Longer, even, to let Jaskier take care of him the way Yen apparently does now. Something sticks in his throat and as soon as he rounds the corner, he slumps against the wall, choking back a sob.

All he ever wanted was to love him, in whatever way Geralt would let him, but this is almost worse than being told to leave. This time, Geralt won't even do him the service of telling him he wants him gone, this time he'll just replace him slowly but surely, finding someone new to do all the things Jaskier once did for him. This time, Jaskier doesn't need to be told to leave; he can tell when he's not wanted.

He waits three days, ensuring he has enough supplies, before seeking out Yen. She won't care enough to tell anyone right away, but she cares for Ciri, so if Ciri asks after him, she'll know. Plus, if he tells Geralt he’s leaving, he'd have to see the utter lack of emotion on his face, and he couldn't bear that.

Jaskier makes his way down through the courtyard without interruption, stopping at the stables to bid farewell to his horse. He hasn't had her long, but she's been good to him and he hopes she'll be just as good for Ciri.

For hours, Jaskier walks, recalling the path from memory, then just as it gets dark, it starts to snow. And once it starts, it doesn't stop and he's forced to take shelter in the first place he can find. It's cold and hard to trudge through the deepening snow and he didn't consider how hard it would be to find food up in the mountains. But none of that matters because the only place he can find to sleep is a cave, the entrance just barely visible to him in the dark, and when its resident comes home, he's liable to be eaten before he has to set out again.

He tries to build a fire, but the only wood he can find are the small trees just outside the mouth of the cave and they're soaked from the snow. Bitterly, he thinks that it's never this difficult for Geralt and at once, something clicks into place.

This isn't his life. The reason he doesn't fit is because he doesn’t belong. He tried to make it work and maybe for a little while he did, but he belongs in the city, not out in the wilderness. The reason he doesn't fit is because he's trying to be something that he's not. He's a bard, not an adventurer.

With a sigh, he sinks to his knees and wonders if he'll make it through the night. Maybe he should have waited at the keep until spring. He's never been out on his own like this - not so far north in unfamiliar territory -, but even now the thought of staying up there with Geralt and Yen makes his stomach turn. So he pulls his knees up against his chest and wraps his blanket around him. He tries to sleep, but the wind howls and snow blows in through the mouth of the cave and he just ends up damp and cold and miserable.

Jaskier hadn't realized he was asleep until a sound near the mouth of the cave wakes him. Assuming it's whatever lives here, he's thankful that at least the cold will no longer be a problem for him. He doesn't want to die, but being eaten by a monster is better than slowly freezing to death. But when he opens his eyes, there's a person at the mouth of the cave, not a monster. The first thing he thinks is who the hell is out in this storm? but it doesn't take long before he has an answer.

"Jaskier?" Fuck. "Jaskier, are you in there?" He wonders if he's quiet if the monster might come back and eat him after all.

"Yeah," he mumbles and it's all he can manage, but he knows Geralt will hear. And he does. And he pushes through the snowdrift, breathing heavily as he drops to his knees before Jaskier and hauls him into his arms.

"What were fucking thinking?" he growls and Jaskier winces at the anger in his voice, but then he's being pulled forward against Geralt's chest. "Idiot. You're frozen."

"Snow," Jaskier mumbles, not quite sure what to do with his arms. He doesn't know what's happening, but it ages before Geralt moves again, though he never stops telling Jaskier he's an idiot. That much, at least, feels familiar.

When he does finally pull away, Jaskier can barely see him in the dark but he knows Geralt can see him. Which means he can see his puffy eyes and he probably knows how scared and confused he is right now. And he hates it. He wants to push him away, but Geralt is warm and Jaskier is freezing and he finds himself swaying back toward his body. And after a quick once-over, Geralt lets him.

Once he's apparently satisfied that Jaskier isn't in immediate danger, he settles against the wall of the cave and pulls him into his lap.

"Why didn't you light a fire?" he asks and most of the anger has left his voice, replaced with soft concern.

"Couldn't get it lit," Jaskier shrugs, "wet wood."

For a while, Geralt is quiet again, tugging Jaskier's blanket up around him and just holding him. It doesn't occur to him until much later that Geralt is trying to get his body temperature up.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Hmm?" Jaskier had nearly drifted off, wrapped in the warmth of Geralt's body, but the question startles him awake again.

"Why did you leave without telling anyone?"

"I told Yen," he offers, but he knows it's weak.

"You told-" Geralt scoffs, exasperated and Jaskier can't figure out what the big deal is. No one wanted him there, anyway.

"Why are you here?" he counters, "why didn't you just stay in the keep?"

Geralt stills and Jaskier turns to look at him, knowing he won't be able to see much in the dark, but it feels better having this conversation face-to-face.

"Why the fuck do you think, Jaskier?" And Jaskier just looks at him because he doesn't know. He can't fathom what brought Geralt out here in the storm. Because even if he did come to retrieve him out of some kind of sense of responsibility, surely he wouldn't risk leaving Ciri without a caretaker. When he doesn't answer, Geralt gets very quiet.

"Where were you going?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Oxenfurt."

"You'd die before you got there," Geralt exclaims, the anger returning to his voice with a vengeance.

"I brought provisions. Where's Ciri?"

"With Eskel and Lambert. Why would you just leave without telling anyone?" Geralt asks and Jaskier realizes in this context, that anyone means me.

Jaskier pulls away from him, irritation winning out over the desire to be warm. "Because I didn't really think anyone would care," he says "I don't belong anymore, not since-" he sighs and readjusts so he's sitting across from Geralt. "What happened on the mountain can't be fixed, Geralt. And I told Yen, I figured she'd pass the message along."

Geralt lets out an exasperated laugh and Jaskier wants to slap him for it. He never should have come up here in the first place.

"Jaskier, if anything from that day is irreparable, it's my relationship with Yen. We only travel together because of Ciri, because it's beneficial for both of us."

"So why do you keep me around then? What good am I?" He doesn't mean for it to come out, but it does and he holds his ground, hoping he looks more determined than he feels.

"You're my friend, Jaskier. And Ciri loves you. You're the only one who feeds Roach those little sugar cubes she likes so much. You know, she gets snippy with me now if I don't have them for her. I even think Yen is beginning to enjoy your company." Geralt's voice softens and he reaches out, tentatively brushing Jaskier's hair away from his face.

"What about you?" Jaskier asks, trying to keep the unsteadiness from his voice.

"Do you really think if I didn't want you around I would have let you follow me out of Posada? Roach could easily have outrun you if I wanted to." His hand slips to cup his cheek and Jaskier barely resists shutting his eyes. It feels too close to intimacy, but he knows Geralt better than to think this is anything real. But he's forgotten what it feels like to be touched so softly and when Geralt bundles him back into his arms, Jaskier sinks into it despite his reservations.

"Jaskier," he breathes right next to his ear. "That day on the mountain, I was angry because Yen was right about me and I didn't want to face it. I had to take responsibility and then you-" he exhales deeply, tucking his head into the crook of Jaskier's neck. "I was struggling with my… feelings. I felt like I'd somehow forced you to stay with me the way I did with Yen. I couldn't bear to hear the same things from you so I-"

"Pushed me away?" Jaskier asks.

"Hmm,” Geralt says and his voice is tense with understanding. “You left tonight because of me."

"I didn't think you wanted me around anymore," he mumbles and it's not until Geralt shifts that Jaskier realizes he's got both hands fisted in his cloak. "I thought I'd save myself having to hear it from you. I didn't want anyone's pity."

Geralt hauls him up into his lap so the only way for him to sit comfortably is to wrap his legs around Geralt's waist. For a moment, that ferocity is back, but then Geralt tugs the blanket tighter around him, holds him closer.

"Why wouldn't I want you around?"

"You have Yen and Ciri and the other Witchers, what could you possibly want me for? Everything I used to do for you-" he chokes on a sob and curses himself for it before burying his face in Geralt's shoulder. "Everything I did for you, someone else does now."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just... everything. All the things I used to do for you. When you don't sleep because of your nightmares, Ciri goes to you. When I tried to get wood for the fire it was already done when I got back-" he sighs and shifts away from Geralt a little. "The other night in the bath, Yen-"

"Yen?"

"I heard you," Jaskier says, "you don't have to hide it now. I know. It doesn't matter that much I just... I don't know what I can do for you when everyone else is doing what I used to do."

"Jaskier you don't need to do anything. You're my friend. And Yen- that's not what you thought it was. "

Jaskier isn't quite sure what to do with any of that, but when Geralt tugs him close again, he lets himself be held and buries his face in his shoulder. Geralt allows it, letting one hand slip up between his shoulder blades and bringing him closer. They stay like that for some time and Jaskier's heart aches for more than he should want. This is so much more than he ever expected but now with Geralt wrapped around him, he wants more.

When Geralt finally pulls himself away, he regards Jaskier for a moment before running a hand down his arm.

"Are you warm enough," he asks and Jaskier nods because even if he wasn't, he can't take much more of this before he breaks and says or does something he'll regret. "We should get you back to the keep and into a warm bath."

The idea of a bath is tempting, but more so is the idea of staying here in Geralt's arms for as long as he's allowed. Stil, Jaskier lets himself be pulled to his feet and led toward the mouth of the cave.

Their return to the keep is quiet and Jaskier isn't sure anyone else even realized he was gone until Geralt pauses and doubles back on himself, heading toward his own room rather than the guest room.

"Eskel's got a bath ready," he says by way of explanation.

"How did he-" Jaskier starts but he realizes the answer before he can finish. They were probably keeping watch, waiting for Geralt to return.

"I told him to," Geralt says, approaching the door and stepping back so Jaskier can enter the room first. It's darker than the room he's staying in, but there's a balcony off the far wall that lets in a little light, and candles placed on every surface. The bath is at the right side of the room and Geralt guides him toward it.

"It shouldn't be too hot," he says, "so it doesn't shock your body, but there's more water boiling by the fire if you need to warm it up."

"Thank you," Jaskier whispers. Guilt curdles in his gut and he pulls the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders. He's still cold and eager to get into the tub, but more than anything he's dreading having to get undressed in front of Geralt. Luckily, he's spared that embarrassment.

Geralt claps a hand on his shoulder, lingering just a moment too long. "I'll find you something to eat," he says, "try to warm up."

Jaskier nods dumbly, waiting until Geralt has left the room to let the blanket slip from his shoulders. To say he doesn't understand would be an understatement. He's never seen Geralt like this, not even with Ciri, and a part of him wonders if he didn't freeze to death in that cave and this is some sort of weird afterlife. But the water is hot against his skin, a little too hot to begin with and his skin tingles as he slips into the bath and shuts his eyes. And Geralt's hands felt real, right down to the callouses. But it all seems a bit off.

Jaskier has been hypothermic before, more than once, and it wasn't like this. He's left Geralt in much worse ways than this and it's never ended with him in a bath drawn especially for him. But Jaskier isn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he warms himself up without even having to use the extra water and upon getting out of the tub, realizes all his clothes are cold and soaked.

Frowning, he looks around the room and spots Geralt's pack dumped on a chair in the corner. Surely, Geralt wouldn't mind if he just borrowed some of his clothes. Just for a little while. Jaskier is the one who washes them anyway - or he used to be. His heart sinks again, but he pushes away the feeling, crossing to pull clean clothes out of the pack.

They fit him surprisingly well and they smell like Geralt which is both comforting and nerve-wracking all at once. The blanket is wet now too, so he hangs that with his clothes where they won't drip on anything important and heads down to the kitchen.

Geralt isn't there, but he can hear him shuffling around on the opposite side of the fire, so Jaskier settles himself at one of the tables to wait patiently. He doesn't hear Eskel approach, so he must already have been there, talking to Geralt, but their conversation suddenly gets louder before something crashes to the floor.

Jaskier keeps quiet, trying not to listen in because he knows it's not his place, but they're arguing in earnest now and Geralt sounds passive and ashamed in a way that's very unlike him. Then there's a grunt from Geralt and Eskel says, "you didn't fucking tell him," like he’s only just realizing this. Jaskier focuses very hard on a knot in the tabletop.

It's an accusation, not a question and it's followed by heavy footsteps coming toward him. He tenses up, not prepared to deal with an angry Geralt, but it's Eskel who comes through the door. He pauses when he sees Jaskier, gives him a sympathetic sort of look and mumbles something that sounds like goodnight before continuing onward up the stairs.

Jaskier sits and waits and eventually, Geralt appears through the doorway with two bowls of stew and rolls. He sits next to him, pushing one of the bowls toward him and Jaskier tries not to show just how hungry he is. They sit in companionable silence, which is more than he can say for the last few weeks and Jaskier settles. When they're finished, Geralt is the one to speak first, angling his body so he's facing Jaskier but not looking directly at him.

"It's getting late," is all he says but Jaskier understands. He moves to take their bowls away but Geralt rests a hand on his wrist and takes the bowls from him. "I'll meet you upstairs."

Jaskier nods slowly, not quite understanding. He makes for his own room, climbing up as far as the staircase goes and pushing the door open. He's quite frankly exhausted and doesn't even think to get changed before climbing up onto the bed. The snow on the balcony lights the room well enough, but he fumbles with a candle for a few minutes anyway before giving up on that idea. He's alone in the dim room for a few minutes before Geralt knocks on the door and Jaskier mumbles for him to come in.

Geralt comes to sit on the side of the bed and Jaskier's heart feels like it's pounding out of his chest. He doesn't know what to say or even how to process what they've already said, but in his need to fill the silence, he blurts out, "why do you and Yen share a tent?" And it's the last thing he means to say and he does want to know, but this is not at all the time.

Only Geralt smiles. It's a small thing, barely a quirk of his lips, but it's there and for the first time in forever, Jaskier feels comfortable in his presence.

"Because Ciri asked to share with you. You're a good memory for her, one of the few she has of home."

"Oh."

"Before you came back, she shared with Yen." Geralt looks down at him and the almost-smile turns to confusion. "You're wearing my clothes."

"Mine were wet, I can change if-"

"No," Geralt interrupts and Jaskier can feel his eyes on him, taking him in, "it's fine."

"Oh. Right. I'll wash them in the morning then."

"You don't have to, they look good on you. You should sleep now, though. Goodnight, Jaskier."

Jaskier's heart thuds. He doesn't want to let Geralt go before he gets a chance to finish their conversation from earlier. "Geralt?" he asks and the Witcher turns back to him in the dark. "If it's not too much to ask, could you stay? Just for a little bit?"

Geralt doesn't say anything, but he comes back, pulling off his boots before climbing up onto the bed next to him. He lays still and Jaskier doesn't reach out and touch, as much as he wants to.

Geralt is the first to move, shifting onto his side and reaching into the space between them.

"Can I-?" he asks and Jaskier nods without hesitation, unsure of what's being requested. Seemingly pleased with his consent, Geralt's hand slips over his side and around his back, nudging him a little closer as he gets comfortable. Jaskier doesn't know what to do with himself.

It's too much and not enough all at once and he wants to pull away, but he doesn't want to break this moment of trust. So he pushes through, presses into the touch and tips his head down to keep Geralt from seeing the mess of emotions that are sure to be plain on his face. Not that he wouldn't be able to feel them anyway, but still.

"I'm sorry things have been different since you came back," he breathes. "Sorry if I made you feel..."

"Unwanted?" Jaskier offers and Geralt winces at the word, his arm pulling just a little tighter around Jaskier's back.

"Mmm."

"Are we... okay?" Jaskier asks tentatively, finally risking a glance up at Geralt's face.

"As long as you don't do that again," Geraly mumbles, "you... scared me tonight. I've been thinking so much about how to protect Ciri that I didn't consider losing you."

"You won't," Jaskier promises. "I won't." He moves closer, testing Geralt's limits, but his guard seems to be down tonight; Jaskier presses right up against him before Geralt so much as moves. And then, it's only to hold him closer.

He must have been genuinely worried, Jaskier thinks, to allow this right now. Which is the only reason he says the next thing that comes out of his mouth.

"I didn't mean to worry you," he says softly, slipping one hand up to cautiously rest against Geralt's chest. "I didn't think-" he shakes his head, pushing away the thoughts, "well, I didn't think you would come out after me. I'm sorry."

"Maybe..." Geralt starts then turns his head away like the words are difficult for him. Jaskier braces himself for something he doesn't want to hear, trying hard not to pull away defensively, but Geralt surprises him. "Maybe we both need to be better at saying what we mean."

Instead of drawing away, Jaskier slips his hand up to rest against the side of Geralt's neck. This is absolutely uncharted territory for them and he's not quite sure what to do here. What do you do when the least communicative person you know says you should talk about things more. But he's not wrong and Jaskier's touch seems to relax him a little, so armed with that information, Jaskier presses forward.

"You're right," he says. "So if we're going to... say what we mean, I should tell you that all of this with Ciri and Yen and everyone up here - it scares me, Geralt." Geralt opens his mouth to speak, but Jaskier just shakes his head. "Please just let me finish. Yen is a sorceress. Even if your relationship with her is over, she will always be a part of your life. Ciri has powers I can't even begin to comprehend. Your brothers and the others- they're Witchers, Geralt. All of them will be with you for years to come and all of them have been with you - barring, Ciri - for years. How can I live up to that? How can I possibly find a place in your life when soon I'll be gone and they'll just-" he chokes on the last word and can't bring himself to continue.

Words are his livelihood and yet when he needs them the most, they seem to fail him entirely. Luckily for him, Geralt is accustomed to non-verbal communication and understands. But in the faint light of the room, he looks like he wants to retreat, to pull away and forget everything he said before. He doesn't and Jaskier realizes this is just as difficult for Geralt as it is for him.

"Jaskier," he shuts his eyes and Jaskier holds his breath. For one awful moment, everything is silent, then Geralt speaks again, quiet and soft. "Everyone else in my life has been brought to me by forces outside of my control. I never chose to become a Witcher, to be brought here as a child as raised with dozens of other boys who would never make it to adulthood. I never intended to bind myself to Yen - Djinn are tricky and bend wishes to their own amusement. And Ciri- how was I to know Pavetta was already with child when I claimed the law of surprise?"

Jaskier wants to remind him of the multiple other occasions in which the law of surprise has gifted someone a child, but he doubts this is the place to bring up Geralt's mistakes.

"But you," Geralt continues, speaking slower like each word is pulled unwillingly from his lips. "You came to me on a whim. I could have left you in Posada, ridden away and left you in the tavern." He sighs, tips his head up so his forehead presses against Jaskier's. "But I chose not to. I chose to let you come with me. And I regretted it, in the beginning."

"I certainly hope you said nicer things to Yen when you found each other again."

Geralt huffs a laugh, just the fainted sound in the dark, but his breath is warm against Jaskier's cheek. "Let me finish."

"Do you promise you'll say nicer things about me?"

"Hmm, maybe."

"Fine then, finish your story."

"I regretted it, in the beginning, but it was still my own choice, mine to regret. Over time I grew... attached. That first time you left me was the first time I really felt lonely since undergoing the trials."

"You leave your brothers every spring," Jaskier says, an attempt to mask the hammering of his heart.

"I do, but so is the life of a Witcher. It's the way it's supposed to be. There's no room for loneliness. There were no rules attached to you and so when you left it seemed too quiet."

"Are you... are you saying you like having me around?" Jaskier asks, the hopeful tone in his voice a backdrop to the thudding in his chest.

"Yes," Geralt replies, "I dread the winters when I come up here alone."

"Then why do you? And why did you say Ciri wanted me to come?"

Geralt makes a noise that sounds something like embarrassment and Jaskier's sure if he could see properly, he would be blushing.

"I'm sorry," he says again, "I couldn't ask because if you said no I- but I knew you'd never say no to her. She told me you were leaving and I knew if I let you go I wouldn't see you again."

"You idiot, you could have just asked me. I follow you into swamps and monster dens and worse- why would I say no to spending the winter here?" He shifts to run his fingers along Geralt's jaw and sighs. "You're my-"

"Friend?" Geralt offers and the sound of that word on his lips makes something warm swell in Jaskier's chest, but he remembers his promise to speak plainly.

"More than that" he admits. He ducks his chin, unable to look at Geralt while he speaks, this time. "I tried so hard to just be a good friend to you, but it's always been more than that. I don't expect anything from you, of course, but you said we should-" He's cut off by gentle fingers tracing the line of his jaw and he shuts his eyes, waiting for the inevitable downfall. But it doesn't come.

"Jaskier," he breathes, "if you're worried about your place in my life, this is it." Geralt tips his head up and their lips brush against each other just for a second, but Jaskier is certain his heart stops beating altogether.

"Geralt?" he whispers but it comes out as an uncertain whimper. Geralt hums in response, shifting to cradle Jaskier's head in one hand, and he presses in again.

This time Jaskier knows it's intentional. The lips against his own are warm and soft, whispering silent promises and asking for the same in return. Jaskier responds tentatively, but as soon as he does, Geralt is gathering him up against him and his uncertainty vanishes.

He's seen Geralt kiss before, but this is nothing like that. Geralt kisses him with a passion that speaks of years of repression and guilt, begging for forgiveness for something Jaskier hadn't realized he was even doing. And Jaskier forgives, tangling his fingers in Geralt's hair and submitting readily when Geralt rolls him onto his back.

Geralt gets a knee between his thighs and Jaskier's breath catches as Geralt's hand slips under the hem of his borrowed shirt. He'd be more than happy to lay here and let Geralt kiss him senseless, but when Geralt's teeth graze against his lip, Jaskier groans, effectively shattering the moment.

Geralt draws back, looking down on him and Jaskier slips his hands around the back of his neck. "Do you mean that?" Jaskier asks, “about me belonging with you?” Geralt nods.

"Of course, if you want to leave, I'll take you back to Oxenfurt, but I'd prefer if you stayed here."

"Right here?" Jaskier asks, sprawling under him against the mattress.

"Right here," Geralt confirms with a soft smile. "With me."

[samstree]

The One with the Coastal Customs

Geraskier, 1.8k, Fluff, Crack, Secret Relationship, Kaer Morons at their best, humor, Jaskier takes one for the team

Inspired by Friends. Read on AO3

Breakfast at Kaer Morhen is full of chatter as always. With Ciri and Yennefer joining them a few days ago, loud arguing and laughter always fill those once empty halls.

Jaskier picks at the rye bread on his plate, not paying attention to Lambert’s clearly exaggerated monster story, though Ciri seems completely entranced, prompting him to go on with anticipation.

His mind is still full of last night’s visage of Geralt pressing him against the wooden door and kissing him senseless. The witcher had to come to his bedroom after everyone else turned in so no one noticed. After the whole mountain incident last year and Geralt’s following apology, they thought it wise to keep their blooming relationship in secret for a while.

Let’s not tell everyone in a rush. Geralt was the one who proposed the secrecy. Whatever we have here is ours, Jask. I don’t want them to interfere or mess it up. You are too important to me, He said. Besides, what could go wrong?

Jaskier, at the time, agreed to it whole-heartedly. The witcher was so sincere that day, his golden eyes flowing with adoration and vulnerability that Jaskier could not deny him anything.

Despite some inconveniences, Jaskier has to admit it does make things excitingly hot. He almost feels like a naughty student sneaking out of class to make out with a lover again.

Jaskier’s hand comes up to touch the skin on his neck, the same spot where Geralt nibbed and sucked gently last night and left him a sobbing mess. Next to him, Geralt catches his motion with a look before a faint smile quirks up the corner of his mouth.

“Grape juice?” the witcher passes him the pitcher with the most unaffected tone in the world but his other hand travels up Jaskier’s thigh teasingly.

He has to choke in a gasp.

“…and bam! The third wyvern drops dead.” Lambert ends the story proudly, “And that’s why I’m the best witcher at this table. You have a lot to learn from me, princess.”

Ciri giggles as Geralt and Eskel chime in to call out all the lies in that tale. The room erupts in jabs and loud arguments.

Yennefer is the only one who remains silent throughout the whole meal. Her violet gaze only falls on Jaskier once, piercing with intent, before looking away like nothing happened. Even though their exchanges are a lot more amicable these days, the sorceress tends not to acknowledge Jaskier’s existence very often.

From the corner of his eyes, Jaskier sees Vesemir leave for the library. The older witcher still has work for him to finish today.

“Right, duty calls.” With a screech of chair, Jaskier stands so he can leave too. “I’ll see you later.”

He rests his hand on Geralt’s shoulder and leans in for a kiss. Geralt’s lips taste like the sweetness of grape juice and Jaskier revels in it for a moment before pulling away.

Everyone at the table is staring at him.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Jaskier freezes on the spot, a million thoughts going through his mind. Is it time to announce it to the world? They are ready for everyone to know and get involved, aren’t they?

But with one look at Geralt, he abandons the thought. The witcher has gone pale, and stiff as a statue. Panic starts to creep into those beautiful honey eyes, so subtly anyone else would have missed it.

Geralt is not ready.

Jaskier swallows. Well, there’s nothing to it.

He turns to Eskel, who’s holding a spoon mid-air and studying him with confused surprise.

“Eskel. See you later too.” He cups the older witcher’s jaw and presses their lips together. Eskel, the sweet man, even holds on to his wrist by reflex. He ends it with a pop before going around the table, careful not to trip over a chair.

Lambert can only be described as dumbfounded when Jaskier leans in, and incredulous afterwards.

“Have a nice day, Lamb.”

Yennefer looks at him with the same scrutiny. Wait, why is she looking smug? Fuck, the mage is looking scarier than the day they met. This one he might regret the most later.

“My favorite witch. It’s so good to have you here.” Jaskier opens his arms dramatically before going in, the familiar lilac and gooseberries filling his senses. Oh, her lips are so much softer.

When he stands to straighten his doublet, the whole table is still looking at him in silence. Geralt is tense as a statue while Lambert’s mouth hangs slightly open.

“Right.” He pats Ciri on the back and runs away from the scene, keeping his footsteps as steady as possible.

 *

Ciri is the first one to break the silence.

“What the hell just happened?”

“Language.” Yennefer berates her, seemingly unfazed.

Geralt swallows a lump. If Jaskier is willing to go such length to keep the promise, he can try to look inconspicuous for a moment.

A blush is creeping up on Lambert’s face, but he tries to hide it with biting words. “Geralt, what the fuck is wrong with you bard?”

“Watch your language too.” Eskel’s voice is steady with amusement. “Why do you mind it so much anyway? He’s being friendly. It was nice.”

If Eskel wipes his lips casually with a pleased look, nobody mentions it.

“In what world is that friendly?” Lambert scowls.

“It’s –” Geralt clears his throat, “He went to the coast last year. In the south. Must have picked up some local customs. That’s…um…how they greet each other. In the south.”

Lambert stares at him. “Doesn’t feel southern to me.”

Geralt gulps down all the juice in his cup. When he puts it down, Yennefer is studying him like a predator might a prey.

“Interesting custom.” Her violet eyes sparkle with curiosity.

Geralt has never been more grateful for his witcher trials for allowing him to remain calm under extreme pressure. His heart still beats slowly without revealing anything.

They are fine as long as it doesn’t happen again.

 *

It happens again.

Jaskier sucks at Geralt’s lips with heated passion, drawing a soft moan out of the witcher. Neither of them pays any attention to the flurries of snow falling into the empty courtyard around them.

“I’ve missed you today.” He moves down to Geralt’s jawline, and then his neck. “Where’d you go?”

“Had to repair the wall at the back, or the whole keep crumbles.”

“Hmm. Should have let it.”

Jaskier captures those lips again just when he hears people entering the courtyard, and pushes Geralt away with force.

It’s too late.

Eskel and Lambert stare quizzically at Jaskier, their training swords in hand. Behind him, Ciri is also in full gears, ready for lessons. The way she tilts her head in bewilderment is such a spitting image of her dad.

“Well.” Jaskier pats Geralt on the bicep. “Thanks for helping me clean the stable. That’s…nice of you.”

Roach snorts in the stable behind them.

He walks towards Eskel and kisses him again, and then Lambert. Boy he’s just noticing how tall the younger witcher is. Jaskier has to tiptoe a little bit. “I’ll be off then.”

When he passes Ciri, the girl just moves out of the way like he’s the plague. “See you, uncle Jask!”

Jaskier nods at her, carrying himself as naturally as possible, and enters the building.

 *

The gwent is going great. It seems that Geralt is going to win again.

Jaskier yawns. He’ll never see the appeal of the game, so he just reaches over Lambert to grab the lute. Maybe a little practice will be good–

“Okay, bard. You need to cut it off.” Lambert stops Jaskier’s motion with a hand on his chest.

Jaskier blinks.

“I don’t care whatever–” Lambert gestures around Jaskier’s whole being. “– coastal customs you picked up from the south. It’s not…how we do things around here. We are not in the south and it’s fucking weird. So quit it.”

“Okay?” He blinks again.

“I know you like witchers more than the average man out there,” Eskel adds, “and you want to show us. I appreciate it, Jaskier, but it might not make us the most comfortable.”

“What now?” Jaskier looks around the room. Yennefer and Ciri are sitting by the fire with some magic book spread out between their knees, watching the situation unfold.

“Quit the kissing, bard.” Lambert scowls.

Eskel smiles politely. “Yeah, it’s best if you did.”

Oh.

Jaskier can see the two witchers are clearly not at ease. Lambert’s face is a ripe tomato and Eskel is acting way too formal with all the niceties.

“Okay. Of course.” Jaskier raises his hands in defeat. “I will stop assaulting you with the overly familiar foreign customs. Message received.”

“Thank the gods. It was disgusting.” Geralt deadpans.

Jaskier looks into those golden eyes he loves so much and wonders if he can express ‘I’m gonna put a pillow over your face tonight’ with a neural glare. The bastard only raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“If you do need to let it out somehow, Jaskier, maybe your friends at that fancy academy of yours are open to it.” Yennefer says, chill as the winter sky, “Or some of your lovers.”

Maybe Jaskier’s eyes are deceiving him, but he swears the sorceress glanced in Geralt’s direction when she said ‘lovers’.

The ladies resume their discussion about spells and magic, and the gwent game continues. Geralt does end up winning.

Jaskier plucks his lute, imagining a million ways for his witcher to make it up to him later.

Oh the sacrifices he has to make for this ridiculous man.

 *

“The sacrifices I have to make for you, my dear.” Jaskier rests his head on Geralt’s shoulder, cuddling up to his witcher’s warm body.

“What sacrifice? I thought you were enjoying it.”

“They are quite good kissers though, especially–” He cuts himself off. It’s best not to discuss your lover’s brothers that way, or ex-lover, for that matter.

“Then what are you moaning about?”

“But my reputation!” Jaskier protests, “My name will be tarnished forever. Jaskier – barker and molester of witchers. None of you will ever let me sing your heroism anymore.”

“Hmm. Don’t you forget about Yen.” Geralt’s voice rumbles deep in his chest.

“Oh yeah. I’m surprised she didn’t turn me into a toad on the spot.” He plays with Geralt’s long hair. “By the way – I just have this inking – do you think, perhaps, Yennefer might know? About us?”

“Oh she knows.”

Jaskier bolts upright, looking at Geralt incredulously.

“Since when?”

“The day she arrived?” Geralt guesses, “I’m sure she took one look at us and figured it out. It’s not my fault she’s so smart–”

Jaskier picks up a pillow and throws it at Geralt’s smug face.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

Geralt finally breaks out laughing. He catches the bard’s feral attack and pins him into the mattress. Jaskier’s angry little pout is too adorable Geralt has to kiss it away. Uninterrupted this time.

“Is it worth it though? All the sacrifices?” Geralt's breath ghosts over the skin at Jaskier's throat.

The bard only glares at him for a moment, before letting out a sigh long-sufferingly.

“For you, my dear. Always.” He pecks Geralt’s soft lips one more time. “As long as no one turns me into a toad.”

[rebrandedbard]

@greyduckgreygoose Tumblr ate your ask when I tried posting it two minutes ago. You requested prompts 5 or 6, which I choose to read as 5 and 6. Stay tuned for prompt 6 in the future. If you like this, perhaps I’ll make it more Valdo. Whump or healing—you pull the trigger, goosey. Or perhaps I’ll use prompt 6 for some Filavandrel fun. Let me know.

5. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

tw: alcohol, depression

WC: 1600 even. Whoo! Even hundredth place! Two goose eggs!

A Good Man

Geralt meets Valdo Marx while taking a contract on a ferry, protecting its passengers from an unknown threat on the water. Valdo himself is an unknown threat, until the two of them get to talking, and Geralt learns a quiet truth.

Geraskier. One-sided Valdo/Jaskier

-

Valdo Marx, troubadour of Cidaris, was the last person Geralt expected to meet on the ferry from Brugge. Per Jaskier’s rambling, he’d assumed the bard stayed put, living it up in Oxenfurt or Cidaris—Geralt was never quite sure if Cidaris were his home or simply a place he’d chosen for his adopted title. He’d wondered if Jaskier were a ‘Bard of Thereabouts,’ but he was never curious enough to ask where-abouts. They both travelled so much, Jaskier could be from anywhere. Something told him that Jaskier would choose Lyria if asked; the name was lyrical.

But Geralt supposed bards were of a travelling nature after all. Besides, the ferry down the Yda was the fasted way to travel inland from Brugge to Craag An, and just beyond was the Adalatte. A straight shot through Kerack would have Marx home in Cidaris in no time at all, and people with coin to spare liked to hurry to and fro in laid-back comfort. It was a paradox Geralt often found amusing.

He paid no fare for his ride, having been hired on for protection. It would seem that, of late, people were disappearing from the ferry before reaching their final destination, reaching a much more final destination than anticipated. Drowners, probably. Sirens were less likely, but not entirely out of the realm of possibility. The channels were connected to the ocean; something could have come washing downriver. It wasn’t altogether unheard of to find displaced sirens after the summer rainstorms. If asked which he’d be more likely to meet, Geralt would have chosen sirens before Valdo Marx.

Geralt recognized him as a bard from the off: it was impossible to mistaken anything so brightly decorated. True, the man did not carry his lute about his person as Jaskier would, but he wore the uniform of satin, the season’s colors all in coordination and too impractical for the weather. It was a mark of their trade, their plumage like birds of paradise and that theatrical air.

Well, the atmosphere around Marx was less the foppish theatrics Geralt had come to expect. He did not saunter across the deck wooing a crowd, nor reciting poetry. He did not do much of anything to draw attention to himself. In fact, he was quite unlike anything that made up Geralt’s image of bards, drawing back against the bulwark, completely silent. Like a fool, Geralt presumed they would go all the way to Craag An without confrontation, but it would be a snowy day in the desert before bards acted predictably.

It was late afternoon the second day on board when he approached, the sun falling low, bringing on the evening. Geralt was keeping watch at the stern: if anything was about it would be disturbed, knocked back as the ship made headway, clawing its way onto the deck from the rear. Geralt kept to the lower main deck, closest to the water. If anything came crawling up from below, he would be in position to dispatch it. The passengers aboard had likely been warned beforehand, or else they’d heard the rumors, as they stayed on the upper deck and bow. With the lower deck abandoned, he easily read Valdo’s approach from a distance.

“White Wolf?” he asked, leaning casually a few feet away from Geralt. The question was monotone, almost disinterested, but he would not have come if there had been no reason.

There was nothing else to do and, truth be told, Geralt was bored. So he turned to Valdo and nodded. “Geralt,” he replied. He’d never quite grow used to the fanciful title, but it brought him good business. It made him recognizable, and therefore comfortable, in so much as anyone could be comfortable around a witcher. Reputations had influence.

“Valdo Marx. I’m sure you heard of me.”

Geralt hummed. There was something in his manner of speech. It was not an obnoxious flaunt of his fame: there was something resigned in it. Bitter, perhaps. It was the same tone Lambert used to say, “There was a wraith in Gulet. I’m sure you’ve already heard.” It had taken a witcher down from the school of the viper. The tone implied notoriety.

For a while, they did not speak. The only sound came from the water below lapping against the side of the ship. Geralt waited, glancing at the troubadour once more before he turned his attention back to the water. He supposed that had been it, a simple acknowledgement. People were often curious, coming to him only to confirm his identity as Jaskier’s witcher. It was a title he’d grown comfortable with more quickly than the White Wolf. It was truer, and he smiled to himself when he thought of such instances in private.

“You’re a right lucky fuck,” Valdo muttered.

Geralt looked up again from the water. He turned to examine Valdo silently, wondering what, exactly, Valdo thought he had going for him to mark him as lucky.

Valdo stared back at him, looking tired and severe. “Maybe I would have had better luck if I didn’t talk so much,” he continued. “If I didn’t sing … ”

“Bards are supposed to sing,” Geralt replied. He now wished Valdo would go back to the upper deck. Nothing aggravated him quite like people who refused to get to the point. He scented an undercurrent of hostility in the air. That, and an abundance of vodka.

Valdo produced a flask from his jerkin and gave it a swig. “Never was trying to be a bard,” he muttered. He took another sip, let it sit, then concealed the flask once more. It occurred to Geralt that the man’s leaning was not entirely owed to false causality.

Geralt knew not what to say. So he simply said, “Hm.” He heard the knuckles crack in Valdo’s tightening fist.

“Melitele’s tits. Years of poetry and songs, and you come along with your … ‘hm,’” Valdo mocked, “and that’s it. Not even a melodic hm. Just … hm.” He raked his fingers through his hair, hissing through his teeth in frustration. He was muttering something under his breath, but it was incoherent, even to a witcher’s ears. When Valdo looked up again, his eyes were red. Neither that, nor the sour note in the air were owed to the alcohol, Geralt surmised.

“He won’t love you,” Valdo said. “He can’t. He doesn’t hold on to things that way. You’re just—” he flapped a hand, searching for the word “—a fascination. You’re something shiny and new. He’ll forget about you the moment he leaves your bed.”

“Who?”

“Who the fuck do you think, witcher. Don’t mock me,” Valdo snapped, voice cracking. If he didn’t look so pathetic, if his words did not carry such weight, Geralt might have chuckled to hear Jaskier’s infamous rival croak unprofessionally. It was not flattering of bards. But there was nothing funny in what he said, nor in how he said it.

“Wait a minute,” Geralt said. He had said less than ten words to the man, none of them mocking in the slightest, and he meant to say as much.

But Valdo held up a hand to silence him. The broken man slipped down to the deck, curling against his knees, head bowed. When he spoke, he mumbled against his knees, fingers tangling in his hair. “I went to Oxenfurt for him. I chased after him for so long, watching him fall in and out of stranger’s beds for less than a wink. But all he wanted me for … he only met me on the stage. Irked if I played below standard, livid if I won. Try what you will, there’s no pleasing Jaskier.”

Geralt thought he understood him then. “Are you jealous?” he asked.

Valdo lifted his head enough to meet his eye. His cheeks were wet, shining in the fading light. “Are you Jaskier’s witcher?”

“Yes,” Geralt replied.

“Then you have your answer.”

Geralt paused a moment. He approached Valdo slowly and lowered himself to his side. They sat together in silence, hidden in the shadow of the bulwark as the sun set behind. Valdo produced the flask again, offering Geralt a sip without a word exchanged. Geralt took the flask.

“Have you kissed him?” Valdo whispered.

“No.”

“Don’t. If he never kisses you, he might not leave.”

Geralt watched as Valdo finished the last of the vodka. “Did you?” he asked.

Valdo stared across the empty deck. “No,” he replied. “But I don’t count. He sings songs about you. I only exist to him three days a year at the bardic competition.”

“He talks about you,” Geralt offered. It was a poor comfort when one knew how Jaskier talked.

Valdo sighed and tucked away the empty flask. He stood on unsteady legs, turning back toward the stairs to the upper deck. “I know. I have a rough idea what sort of man you must think I am from his gossip.”

“I don’t hold with gossip.”

“No,” Valdo chuckled. “Your kind wouldn’t.” It wasn’t an insult, but empathy. There was an understanding between them on that mark. “I wanted to find out for myself what kind of a man you were to entice him so. I hate to think I see it.”

“What do you think you see?”

“A man. One whose best friend’s first wish would be to strike death upon his rival, and knowing him, would allow that rival to approach him without preconceptions. Who would share a flask with a sobbing drunkard and listen earnestly. A good man, in short. So ... hatefully good.”

-

Send me drabble prompts!

[limerental]

My first Geraskefer Wolfbarge bingo @geraskeferbingo is my 69th fic posted on ao3 and thus harkens back to my very first fic posted on ao3 back in 2017, the fic I made my ao3 to post.... a loki omo/piss fic. Therefore, this fic contains similar.... thematic elements. There's pee.

for waters shall burst forth

pairing: Yennefer/Jaskier

rating: E

content warning for omorashi (desperation to pee and wetting) featuring the usual bodily fluids, plus a handjob and inappropriate arousal.

read below or on ao3

"Right. So," said Jaskier, wiggling more earnestly in the cramped space. "This isn't wholly my fault."

"You wandered off to relieve yourself despite strict instructions not to, activated a mechanism that opened a trapdoor, and confined you and I together in uncomfortably close quarters in a cell lined with dimeritium," said Yennefer. "By what metric is this not your fault?"

It had been Yennefer's hope that Geralt's bard would be left behind while she and the Witcher infiltrated the abandoned, wraith-infested stronghold once occupied by a powerful mage of ill repute. No such luck. The colorful irritation of a man had tagged along, griping about the stench and the dark and the mold spores he was surely inhaling all the while, and before Yennefer knew it, they were trapped together in a narrow space with nothing but blank stone wall at their backs. No doubt there was another mechanism to open the trap somewhere, and Geralt had called out that he would find it, leaving leaving alone.

"And," said Jaskier with increasing plaintiveness, "I still really have to pee."

"You're insufferable," said Yennefer. 

"No, I don't feel that you understand the ah-- gravity of the situation," said Jaskier. "Or rather that gravity is acting rather urgently on my--"

"That's enough of that."

"See, welll, that's the thing. Soon er-- I'm afraid that sooner rather than later, nothing will be enough to-- um." The little bastard squirmed in exaggerated discomfort.

"Just hold it, bard. Are you an infant?"

"I'm a very well-hydrated individual! I'm trying. " Whined Jaskier. "Trust me, I would really rather literally be doing anything else in the entire universe than… well than.."

"Than wetting yourself."

"In front of Yennefer of Vengerberg of all people," he squeaked. "No offense."

"Offense taken."

"I mean you're so--" He gestured. "And I'm--" Another gesture. 

"Weren't you mant to be a man of words?"

"I'm a little distracted! Oh, but it hurts."

To her horror, tears began to escape from.the corners of his eyes. He gritted his teeth as they spilled down his bright-red cheeks and wobbled at his jaw. 

He was terrified, she realized. The narrow chamber they were trapped in suppressed her ability to read his mind, but the bard's frayed mental state appeared clearly on his face and the lines of his body. Terrified and deeply humiliated.

And truly about to wet himself.

In close quarters.

He squirmed, flushed pink and whimpering, and something about the sight was more pleasing than expected. Yennefer would never say anything approaching such a thing out loud but he wasn't horrible to look at as far as men went. It wasn't a hardship to watch him. And she had always taken more than the usual interest in the sight of men squirming before her, usually in more pleasant and consensual circumstances.

If she had full access to her command of Chaos, she may have considered any number of remedies to his situation. She could vanish his waters elsewhere or transfigure the bladder walls to expand more and thus alleviate the pressure. And if she was feeling particularly vindictive and cross with the bard for trapping them like this, she could not bother to relieve said pressure but command his body not to release except at her word. 

Though the latter idea sent a small thrill of arousal through her, Yennefer was not so cruel, and even so, it did not matter. She was helpless to do anything but wait for Geralt to find a way to free them. 

Yennefer did not prefer feeling helpless.

As a sorceress and a woman, base bodily functions did not hold much influence over her life. She had never understand the male desire to discuss bowel movements at length or engage in literal pissing contests. One did not live as long as she did and move in the circles that she did without encountering certain erotic proclivities surrounding bodily liquids, but she had never had any interest in sex involving more fluids than the usual, often of the mind that there should be less. 

Jaskier whimpered, interrupting her thoughts. She had no way of knowing how much time had passed or how much more would pass before they could be freed.

Yennefer felt a pang of sympathy. This was not simple inconvenience. The man was clearly in pain.

Droplets of sweat appeared on his creased brow and the meat of his palms dug into his thighs, hands opening and closing uselessly. She knew he must be resisting the urge to grab at himself like a child in front of her. Some part of Yennefer wanted to tell him that he could, that she did not mind, but another part knew it was a matter of his pride. Another, more sordid and previously unexamined part found herself darkly fascinated. Would he truly lose control and wet himself before her? It had been a very very long time ago that the thought of needing to urinate badly had last occupied her thoughts. Normally, she handled her bodies needs with magic at the slightest urge.

Seeing him struggle in increasing distress, she found herself newly grateful for forgoing that particular aspect of humanity

And that was the crux of it.

Jaskier was human. Constrained to the limits of his own body. Bound by bodily discomforts and pain and inconveniences. Worst of all, Yennefer was ordinarily above awareness of such things and now the little idiot was forcing her to confront their reality with increasing urgency.

She startled when Jaskier whined low in his throat, an involuntary noise that he promptly went pink over. He clearly was attempting to limit the shift of his hips, rubbing his palms with firmness down the length of both thighs as though that could possibly offer any relief.

"Oh, quit being noble," said Yennefer. "Will holding yourself help?"

"Holding my-- n-no!"

"No, it won't or no you're too stupid to do it?"

"I'm not going to… debase myself in front ot--"

"Oh please," said Yennefer with a roll of her eyes and pressed her hand between his legs. Another whine escaped him, and he pressed himself flat back against the stone wall of the trap. His hips shifted miserably. His penis was soft beneath her palm and the fabric of his pants, small and vulnerable. This close she could feel his body shaking.

She could not say by his whimpering and trembling whether it helped or made things worse, so she shifted her grip to more firmly encompass him, unsure how tight was too tight. Despite her reputation, she did not often put men's genitals in a stranglehold.

"Just… just like old times," Jaskier managed to squeak, and Yennefer blinked at him. "You ah--" he gestured at her hand cupping his junk "--in Rinde."

"Oh," said Yennefer, remembering. "I don't remember."

"You know, it helps if-- Well its harder to... to piss if-- if one is--" he floundered, staring dumbly where she pressed her hand against the front of his pants. Yennefer sighed.

"If you have an erection, you mean."

"Yes."

"Are you requesting that I service you with my hands?"

"N-no, I would never ask such a--" He winced and seemed to be enduring an increase in pain, his hands tightening to fists at his sides. "Yes! Yes. That's what I'm asking you. Please, Yennefer, I know you completely loathe me, but can you--"

"What's in it for me?" Yennefer asked, eyebrow cocked.

The pink flush of his cheeks and wobble of his chin, the little pants and whines he could not hold back, the shivering tension of his lean body. Control over his body's urges, holding all of him in the palm of her hand. All of it warmed her with guilty arousal. There was plenty in it for her, though the pitiful man could not be allowed to know it.

"Um, isn't it motivation enough that I don't… you know… on your hand?"

She considered this. 

"Fine."

"It might… take some effort frankly. You are very scary. Defense mechanism."

"Don't lie," says Yennefer, adjusting her hold. Already, she can feel the slight pulses of his body attempting to get hard. "That wasn't an issue in Rinde."

"You said you didn't remember."

"Mmmmhmmm."

Yennefer had not attempted something as quaint as pleasuring a man with her hands in many years. She remembered engaging in such things with Istredd. Her small glow of pride the first time he had shuddered and spent at the touch of her hand alone.

Nodding in acquiescence to the task at hand, Yennefer began to undo his laces with her free hand. To her great alarm, the idiot began to squirm more fiercely, the urge seeming to increase in a conditioned response to the imminent release signaled by the opening of his trousers. 

"Oh, Yen don't-- oh. Help."

A small bloom of wetness appeared on the light blue fabric.

Yennefer quickly made work of his lacings and shoved her hand inside his brains, gripping the bare skin in a pinching hold that felt far too merciless but seemed to offer immediate relief as Jaskier groaned. The sensitive skin beneath her fingers felt velvety soft and only a little damp.

On impulse, she swiped her thumb along the flared round of the head, and Jaskier shuddered through his whole body.

 It was a queer thing to feel the twitch and swell of the organ as his softness abated, the rabbiting heartbeat where her fingers held. She did not shift the pressure of her hold, but it grew tighter all the same as he hardened, until she was certain he must be in pain, the solid firmness of his growing erection flexing beneath the curl of her unyielding fingers.

"Does that hurt?" She asked, truly curious.

"No," said Jaskier. " Yes "

He seemed not to be able to help but buck into the tightness of her hand, now seeking pleasure as much as control. Experimentally, she lightened her grip and teased her fingers along the head of his cock, and he cried out and curled down, his forehead along against her shoulder. He breathed unsteadily in her ear.

"Oh quiet, you can hold it."

"I can't, Yennefer. I can't. I can't."

A warm trickle of wetness ran down the back of her hand. She looked down to see that a single dark streak had appeared on his powder blue shirt.

"Ah," said Yennefer and firmed her grip once more, moving in broad strokes. But that small leak seemed to have worsened the pain and effort considerably, Jaskier silent but for his ragged breaths as he curled against her. The occasional whimper and bodily clench was not quite enough to hold back fine droplets of escaping fluid. Not a flood, certainly, but enough for Yennefer to understand the desperation of the situation. The inevitability.

"Yennefer, I'm going to-- I have to--"

"Don't, you little idiot," she said, surprised by the breathless pant of her own voice. "I'll kill you if I do all of this and you still piddle on my shoes."

His orgasm seemed to catch him off guard, grunting as he spilled across her fist and his own shirt. 

"Idiot," said Yennefer. In the immediate aftermath, he groaned aloud as his softening erection but his other need to the forefront. His hands leapt to join hers at his crotch. 

"No, no, no," he whined in increasing panic, clenching his fists.

"Hands off," said Yennefer. "You'll hurt yourself."

"Yen-- since when do you-- care about--" He lost the thread of his thoughts as a longer leak of piss wet their hands. He managed to stop the flow but only just. She knew it was only a matter of moments.

"I don't," she said crossly. 

"Yen--, I-- I can't--" He quivered against her with withheld tears and bodily restraint.

"That's alright," she said, one hand soothing down the plane of his back. "It's ok."

Her words seemed to be all the permission his body needed to release in earnest, the sound of rushing liquid loud in the confined space. Yennefer dropped her hand to spare herself any more indignity and politely patted the bard's shoulder as she held herself away. Yennefer's heartbeat pounded in her ears, and she could not deny the heat of arousal between her legs.

Jaskier's body trembled, and he let out shallow groans of relief against her shoulder as he continued to wet himself. It seemed to go on and on until at last petering out, leaving the two of them in an uncomfortable silence in a trap that reeked of piss. 

The silence broke suddenly with a grind of gears and stone as the back wall of the trap fell away, dropping Jaskier backwards into an open chamber. Geralt looked down at him, grimacing.

"Again, Jaskier?" Geralt grunted, eyeing his wet clothes. 

Jaskier groaned on the ground, making no effort to stand.

"I am a very well-hydrated man, Witcher!" 

"Yeah, yeah, let's get out of here before something nasty is attracted to the stench."

Yennefer strode out of the trap with as much dignity as one could muster when she too reeked faintly of piss, endeavoring to put the whole miserable affair behind her. Unfortunately, as she watched Jaskier scramble to his feet, remembering his urgent cries beneath her hand, something told her that nothing would be that simple.

[ruffboijuliaburnsides]

voiceless Jaskier AU (part 6)

I EMERGE! With... uh, angst. I’m so sorry. It’s getting better, I swear to god it is

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) Now on AO3

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

The road to Mahakam was not particularly long, but it seemed slow. By the third day on the road, Jaskier was confident that Geralt was traveling slower intentionally, and he wasn’t sure how to take it. It was probably concern, that mother hen instinct that Geralt absolutely had and denied at every turn. Jaskier’d seen it, the man was… well, all right, he was very bad at nurturing, but he also tried, and that was the important part.

The other option was that he didn’t want to go to Mahakam, or didn’t want to go with Jaskier, and that sat less easy with him. Was it that he felt like finding words for Jaskier that weren’t spoken seemed like giving up? Jaskier could understand that; he felt like that himself, in a way, and though he was trying to see it as a boon it was not lost on him that learning another language, especially one so alien to his experience, would take time. Time that they could’ve spent trying to get his voice back, if that was something so easily done. If it wasn’t easily done, well, it might be worth spending this time first, so he wouldn’t destroy himself through his forced silence.

But also… the reticence Geralt was showing in their travel could come from Geralt not wanting to be caught up in this. Jaskier wouldn’t blame him. He didn’t even sign up for a bard, not really, but at least before Jaskier could largely take care of himself. Now he’s just a voiceless nothing, draining on Geralt’s always-limited resources, not even pulling his own weight as much as Roach did.

Jaskier took a deep breath, from his perch on Roach’s back (at Geralt’s insistence), and then let it out slowly.

Geralt turned back to frown at him, because of course he did. “Need to stop?” he asked, and Jaskier wanted to kiss him and kick him in equal measure. Jaskier pulled out his tablet and scribbled, his letters large and a little wobbly thanks to Roach’s gait.

Fine, keep walking.

Geralt didn’t seem to fully believe it, but turned forward and back to leading. It would be okay. Geralt would take him to Mahakam, and whether he stayed or not, Jaskier could learn a hand sign speech and find someone to translate for him. There had to be those in Mahakam who could hear but knew this hand speech who’d like to leave, like a reason to leave, that working as a translator would grant them. If Geralt wanted to leave him behind, he’d be all right. He could manage.

He always had.

**

We’re going really slow.

Jaskier held the tablet out as Geralt chewed his dinner (rabbit, not rations, thankfully). Deciding to broach the subject had taken a while, but ultimately he just wanted to get where they were going. Once they were there, he could start learning, and have something to do with his evenings by practicing.

(Once they were there, maybe the noise and the people and the purpose would make the world stop feeling distant and unreal, like it was mist he could disperse with a wave of his hand, if he could bring himself to go to the effort of moving it.)

Geralt seemed a bit taken aback by the comment, and looked between Jaskier and the tablet a couple of times, that little crease appearing between his eyebrows that meant he was confused. (Jaskier wanted to kiss it until it turned into the thin-lipped, surprisingly frownless expression of exasperation. When had it gotten so hard to box up these feelings and put them aside?)

“You’re hurt,” Geralt said, and it was a declaration, sure, but Jaskier knew him. Knew what it meant. I thought you were hurt and reacted how I thought I should, but now I’m not sure anymore. The giant idiot. Jaskier rolled his eyes and reached over to gently smack Geralt upside the head with the tablet. The confusion deepened, and was joined by irritation. “What the hell, Jaskier?” he asked, more sharply than Jaskier thought his light love-tap warranted, but it was better than the just-this-side-of-too-gentle that he’d been getting. Nice as it was to be looked after tenderly, from Geralt it felt wrong, after a point.

Can’t talk, he wrote in the wax, the letters carved almost awkwardly deep in his rush. Not injured. Nothing healing. Can go faster.

“Hm,” is the only response Geralt gave as he read the words, frown firmly in place, and Jaskier could scream from the frustration of not being able to say what he meant and shout at Geralt for being overprotective and making him feel more broken than he felt already. He got up abruptly and all but stalked a few feet away to get on the other side of Roach and actually do it. He pressed his forehead to the mare’s side, grateful for her patience, took a deep breath, and just screamed.

If anyone could’ve heard anything but a sharp exhalation of breath, it would’ve been loud and long and absolutely feral.

It didn’t help as much as he’d hoped; his throat felt raw and strained in a way that probably meant he’d overdone it despite Yennefer’s magical healing, and the lack of sound made the catharsis feel hollow and empty.

Like a pie with no filling.

A few more deep breaths, trying to get air back into his empty aching lungs, and he went back around to sit down again, picking up his tablet. Geralt looked concerned, openly concerned, not just hidden in specific grumpy frowns, and Jaskier pretended he didn’t see.

I’d like a bath if we can afford to stop, he wrote, taking the time to write it completely, not leaving out unnecessary words or working quickly. And then, after handing it to Geralt, Jaskier left it with him, his bedroll already laid out, waiting for him.

Geralt waited a long time, and Jaskier had actually nearly fallen asleep, before he climbed in to curl around Jaskier as usual.

Jaskier sighed in relief that he’d come, muscles unspooling, and drifted off to sleep bitter that he was so comforted by the warmth of the witcher at his back.

**

Jaskier got his bath.

The water was still being warmed when Geralt strode back into their room to grab his swords.

“Found a job in the next village,” he said gruffly, strapping them on.

Jaskier scrambled across the room to grab his tablets, carving into it as quickly as he could, turning it back toward Geralt.

He didn’t look.

“Has to be tonight. Sprit only shows up on the new moon,” Geralt continued, and Jaskier tried to catch his attention with his tablet more insistently.

He didn’t look.

“Should be back in a day at most. If it’s two, don’t panic.” And then he strode out - not cruelly, not angrily, just in a rush. Trying to get to the neighboring village and its nighttime, new moon monster.

Jaskier was left in the room, holding his tablet in his lap as what just happened sank in. As his complete lack of being able to communicate, in any way, was taken and shoved back in his face like an old sock someone never wanted to see again.

Geralt. Didn’t. Look.

The girl who prepared his bath started to leave, and he gestured wildly to get her attention, then turned back to his tablet to scribble on the side he hadn’t written to Geralt on.

Is room and food paid up? Go ask please? The girl squinted at the words, carefully sounding them out with her mouth, and Jaskier was just glad she could make them out at all, to be honest.

“I’ll ask,” she said helpfully, and ran off. Jaskier undressed anyway, even though she could theoretically return any moment, and got in the tub, not bothering with salts or oils. There was a sharp knock and Jaskier tried to ask who it was, but-- oh. The girl opened his door and stuck her head in, carefully. “Miss says the room is paid for three days, but food was not included,” she said in the cadence of someone who was repeating something precisely. He smiled tightly, both in gratitude and because he didn’t have any coin to tip her with, because Geralt of Rivia set off with his coin purse firmly affixed to his belt, and Jaskier could feel his stomach sour already with the stress of it.

He sat in the tub for too long, everything feeling wrong, his heart feeling like it had been torn out and chopped up and stitched back into him in chunks. He had a room. He had no food. No way to pay for food. And Geralt had been right there and–

He sank into his bath water, holding his breath until he couldn’t anymore, surfaced and gasped until he could breathe again, then submerged again.

On his tablet, an unread message, carved too quickly into the wax, read, Everything paid for??

**

He’d write a letter, he decided. He’d write Geralt a letter about how upset he was by the fact that the witcher left him, without any way to buy his own food, and it was quite rude not to look at his message asking about it. He managed to look sad enough at the innkeeper downstairs that the man parted with a few sheets of parchment meant for his books, with promise of repayment once Geralt was back.

He started the letter quite sensibly, and reasonably. Laying out the facts and why it upset him. He only had his writing to communicate. If he’d been able to speak, he could have shouted and protested. If he’d been able to speak, he could have simply sung for his supper, which he couldn’t do anymore.

He made it about half a page before his handwriting was getting looser and larger as he scribbled, his words that had been so trapped in him spilling over and onto the page.

He ran out of paper quickly, and with a silent fuck that no one would hear, he reached into his bag, pulling out his journal, ripping a chunk of pages out from the back without thinking about the possibilities or repercussions. They were small. They were meant to be used with his usual cramped handwriting, and a few of the pages in fact included a few lines in faint pencil. Nevertheless, he starts letting his looser, angerier, cooped-up-in-his-throat words bleed out over the pages in ink.

I didn’t ask for this.

You fucking abandoned me.

I don’t want pity.

You can’t just fucking LEAVE.

I know I’m broken stop trying to convince me I’m not.

Fuck you fuck you fuck YOU.

It was like yelling, so fucking, not-quite, deliciously like yelling, and when he finally ran out of things to write, he made sure to spread them across the surfaces of the room. The bed, the little table, the floor. It wasn’t yelling, but he let an exhausted little breath out anyway, cathartic energy already drained.

He left enough room on the bed to climb into the far side, and all but collapsed into sleep.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) Now on AO3

[scribblingfangirl]

CHILD SURPRISE | The Witcher - Part One

not my gif!

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Author’s Note: My first request! Thank you so much nonnie! I’m sorry it took me so long and I really, really hope you like and enjoy what I came up with. I’m very aware that this is mostly a shorter and changed recounting from Ep. 6 and that you’d probably wanted to see more of the aftermath, but somehow that’s where my mind went and I had to follow it. Please excuse me if I went totally against your will. I could do a part two if you wanted to? Or rewrite it?

word count: ~ 1.9k

request: Hello! Please could you write something where the reader is Geralt's child surprise (instead of Ciri) and they find out that Geralt said "I'd rather use my child surprise as bruxa bait"? Perhaps set during that mountain scene with Jaskier & Yen? 🌷

warnings: swear words, mentions of death, spoilers for Episode 6 of The Witcher

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You were sitting on a bench in front of the tavern when they came back. The room you were actually supposed to wait in seemed to grow smaller by the minute and your bouncy legs were no longer satisfied with walking the same line up and down while waiting impatiently for Geralt and Jaskier to return.

You hadn’t been travelling around with them for long. As the daughter of a common farmer, you would’ve never travelled with them, but there was that little and annoying law of surprise. Once claimed, the law was inevitable. And well, long story short, your father had been saved by Geralt and kind of insisted on the law as repayment. They then parted ways and Geralt said that he’d come to get was is rightly his. A few years later their paths crossed again and Geralt met his child surprise. You.

You quickly jumped up as you saw them in the distance, running towards them. “What happened? And who are they?” you asked curiously, pointing at an old man, you’d later know him as Borch, and his two female warrior companions.

While Geralt gave you an angry look, otherwise completely ignoring you as he passed, Jaskier hooked your arm in his and pulled you with him. “Nothing a kid like you has to be concerned about,” he said as you both followed the others into the tavern, “but there might be a story coming up.”

x-x

And what a story it would be. You were off to a dragon hunt! You couldn’t believe it! And so the race to the mountaintop began. It was actually a rather pleasant adventure if one forgets about the death of that hirikka creature and Sir Eyck. Having other people around you meant that you didn’t have to spend time with Geralt or better, he didn’t have to spend time watching your every move. Jaskier, however, he probably should have.

“We’ll watch each other’s backs until we reach the next peak, then every man for himself. What say ye?” the dwarf leader asked Borch.

“Let’s go.”

“Go on. I’ll catch up,” Geralt said in your direction, but looked solely at Jaskier and then followed the mage called Yennefer.

You had yet to get properly introduced to her, but you’d seen the glances she had thrown you over the camping fire and during your travels. Each time it felt like cold water running over your back and it was as if your blood turned to ice. “Quick question, do we like her?” you asked Jaskier as you watched Geralt walk away, following his instructions and walking behind the dwarfs.

“I don’t.”

x-x

“Yeah, you’re right, this is a shortcut… do death!” Jaskier exclaimed as he leaned slightly around the curve, glancing warily at the wooden pathway.

“We should turn back,” Geralt said behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder, “This is not a place for a little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl!” shaking off his hand you stomped up to Jaskier, following his glance, “I’m not afraid of heights!”

“You heard the girl.” Yennefer grinned and for the first time, her smile was full of warmth and encouragement. The ice in her eyes gone.

“See ya on the other side!” the dwarfs yelled as they passed you and started walking along the floating wooden path.

“Yeah, yeah, yes,” Jaskier mumbled to himself and then turned around to you, “Ladies first then?” But before you could say something Yennefer had already pushed him in front of you, urging him to go on.

Everything that happened afterwards was a blur to you. The adrenalin that rushed through your veins and your beating heart the only memory of the horrible accident. You didn’t see how Borch lost his footing, only heard Jaskier scream. The wooden path vibrated dangerously under you and let him push you against his chest.

“Geralt! The planks won’t hold!” Yennefer shouted as another vibration went through the wood, more planks loosening up under your feet. And then you heard Jaskier gasp and Yennefer sigh sadly.

x-x

You were sitting beside Geralt on the stone, overlooking the beautiful yet tragic view, still shaking due to the aftershock.

“Here,” Jaskier wrapped you in a blanket as he took a seat beside you, stroking your back soothly while he turned to Geralt. “You did your best,” he said in the most calming voice he could muster, “There’s nothing else you could have done.”

The wind blew while he waited for Geralt’s response and his hand left your back to join his other one in his lap, as you heard him breathe out. “Look, why don’t we leave tomorrow? We could head to the coast. Get away for a while. A little bit of sea salt never hurt a child.”

Yet again Geralt didn’t say anything, just kept staring into the distance. You three, probably a very unique looking bunch, stayed there in silence, basking in the last sun rays of the dying sun. Then Geralt stood up without a word, making his way to Yennefer’s tent on top of your own resting place.

“Come on,” Jaskier whispered, embracing you, “Let’s get you to bed.”

x-x

The next morning you were awoken by a bird cry. You were laying back to back with Jaskier, sharing the blankets as it got cold during the night. Heaving yourself into an upright position, you realised that you were alone. “Jask? Jask!” you woke him up, nudging his side, “Where are the other ones?”

Jaskier lifted his head with a snort. “Uh,” blinking he looked around confused, sniffed and sat up as well. Then he stood up, still a little bit stiff from sleeping and walked around the camping site. “Geralt? Dwarfs?”

“Well thank you, I could’ve done that myself.”

“Alright, but thanks to me you see the dwarfs over there though,” he said as he pointed to your left and in the distance, you saw little tiny black dots lined up along a path. 

“They’re not moving though. You sure-”

“Yes, let’s go!”

x-x

You had laughed at the dwarfs as you passed them. “Are we… queuing for something?” Jaskier had asked. The moment you and Jaskier had seen the scene in front of you, you started to run.

“Oh fuck!” Jaskier quickly turned around to you, a shocked expression on his face. “You didn’t hear that from me.”

“Really?! Dead bodies everywhere, an old man fell to his death and that’s what you think about?!”

“I’m panicking, okay?! Let me!”

“Yeah, whatever. What hell happened?”

x-x

A lot, apparently. Not that anybody would tell you, or Jaskier for that matter. You were sitting with him, looking down at Borch, Yennefer and Geralt who were talking about things neither you nor the bard needed to hear.

“What happened?” you asked while you scratched the ground, carving tiny lines into the sandy stone floor.

“Hm? Your guess is as good as mine,” Jaskier stated and looked at you.

“No, I mean way back then. How... Why did Geralt save my father’s life?”

“Oh… well, that’s a funny story actually,” Jaskier chuckled embarrassed and scratched the back of his head, clearing his throat.

“How could we ever know?” Yennefer then asked loudly as she stood up which made you and Jaskier snap your heads towards them. “Disregard for other’s freedom has become quite your trademark.”

You couldn’t make up what Geralt answered, but it obviously didn’t help as Yennefer angrily shouted, “I didn’t need your help!”

“Like fuck you didn’t!”

“There, say you heard him from him,” Jaskier mumbled beside you and you punched his shoulder, “Ouch.”

“And you, you flit about like a tornado, wreaking havoc, and for what? So you can have a baby?” Geralt's words made you both look down to them again. “A child is no way to boost your fragile ego, Yen. I would know! I have one now!”

She scoffed. “I’ll take advice from you about children as soon as you take responsibility for the one you bound to you and then abandoned!”

“Abandoned? She’s here, isn’t she?”

“Are you really sure about that? I haven't seen you talk to her once these past few days. If I didn't know better, I'd say she belonged to the bard,” Yennefer said, already walking up the slope you and Jaskier were sitting on. As she passed you, she threw you a pleading look. Run as long as you still can.

Meanwhile, Jaskier had stood up and had made his way downwards to Geralt. You stood up as well but kept your distance. Unsure if you wanted to walk after Yennefer, who was making her way back or stay behind for Jaskier.

“Phew! What a day!” Jaskier tried to lighten up the mood with a chuckle, “I imagine you’re probably-”

“Damn it, Jaskier!” Geralt suddenly screamed, making you flinch as his voice even reached you in full force. “Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you shovelling it?!”

“Well, that's not fair-”

“The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it! If you hadn’t run into that stupid ambush and dragged the farmer with you, he would have never been able to burden the law of surprise upon me! All I wanted was to save your ass and now look at this! If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands! And you know what? The child too! Because I'd rather use my child surprise as bruxa bait but that’s not going to happen as we’re bound by destiny!”

It felt as if you were back on the wooden path, the planks breaking under your feet as you plunged into unknown depths. It shouldn't hurt that much. You knew it, it was as clear as the morning sky that Geralt had never liked the thought of you. You were a burden he had picked up during his travels but never welcomed like Jaskier.

Your legs were moving without your consent, carrying you away from Geralt, away from Jaskier, away from the last piece of life you had. What were you now, an orphan? You parents didn’t die, but you wouldn’t be able to go back to them, you couldn’t run from your destiny. Could you?

“You could come with me, you know?” Her voice was soft, even caring as she appeared by your side. Or where you fast enough to catch up with her?

Your mind was racing, your view blurry with the tears that had found their ways into your eyes. You wiped them away, sniffled and looked up into the face of the mage. Her smile was warm and inviting. “You might not be my child surprise, but seeing as we both are bound unwillingly to that witcher, we might as well stick together, right?”

[randomfandomimagine]

Soul of a Warrior. Chapter 13: True Love Awaits

Fandom: The Witcher

Ship: Jaskier x Nissa (OC)

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Please reblog and leave a comment, it would make my day!

A/N: I hope you’re all enjoying this series so far, thank you so much to everyone that is still following it! 🥰 Also, I’ve been including a few The Amazing Devil references here and there because reasons, if you’re a fan too, see if you catch them! 😄

Hana was kind enough to retrieve Pal for me in Touissant. I had missed my beloved horse, and his company proves helpful in my loneliness. Of course, I am not quiet alone, though that weight in my chest hasn’t left me. I try to take it as a reminder, as further incentive to stay, for the quicker I accomplish my goal, the sooner I can return and let go of that ache.

Her company is indeed a delight, as always, even if our interactions are a bit tepid until we recover the time we’ve lost. She has been very supportive of me the entire time I have been here. After I suggested I could go to nearby towns to work as a medic, she has always accompanied me. Hana hasn’t ceased looking after me with the care of an older sister. I enjoy her presence every day, it being the best thing of this place as well as learning.

“Are you having any trouble?” The redhead asks over my shoulder, forcing me back to reality.

“N-No” I clear my throat, redirecting my eyes to the woman’s wound. “I’ve got it”

These days I have been quite absent and find it nearly impossible to focus. I can’t exactly explain what is causing this state, though I have a faint suspicion. The first few days I was enamored with the place, with the new people and opportunities, with all the new knowledge. I was far too distracted by this wondrous situation to miss anything. Or anyone. At the end of the first month, however, as soon as the routine set in and the magic vanished, things changed. Some absences became too noticeable, and the ache in my heart grew in intensity. No matter how much I adore Hana, or everything that I am doing here, there is something missing. A gaping hole in my heart.

“Nissa” Hana insists, and I click my tongue in annoyance with myself. This person needs my cares. All my monster knowledge proves incredibly helpful as well, even if these are claw marks this time.

“Right” I must concentrate, I am working after all.

People often came to my aid when they were in need of a healer. The first few clients weren’t as pleased with my services, but as time passed and I acquired more practice, I also found confidence in my learned skills. Now, as I observe the wound on the woman’s arm, I recognize it doesn’t require magic. It is fortunately superficial, and although nasty looking, it can be treated fairly easily. More importantly, it can be treated manually, for I have learned not to use magic at every opportunity and instead save it for deep wounds or complicated injuries.

My hands nearly work on their own as they treat the wound, firstly cleaning it now that it has stopped bleeding to then move on to carefully bandaging it.

“Change the bandage twice a day” I tell the patient as I finish. “And apply salve when you do, it will help it heal quicker”

“Thank you” The woman heaves a sigh of relief. “I was so frightened… I didn’t want to turn into a werewolf”

“That won’t happen” I patiently repeat, used to people sometimes being more concerned about non physical ailments. “If it were a bite, perhaps. Claw marks, however, are like any other wound”

“A coin?” Hana reminds her not so subtly.

“Of course” The woman produces some from her pocket and hand it to me.

“Charmed to help” I offer a polite smile as I save the payment in my pouch.

“Remember not to go out late at night” Is my friend’s goodbye as we exit the small house.

I absently count the coins in my pouch. It is hard to believe that not long ago I didn’t even own one and now it is full to the brim. In all honesty, it does bring a smile to my face.

“You didn’t use magic this once” Hana’s hand moves idly and creates a portal that sits on the ground before us. “And you haven’t fainted, what a coincidence”

“That was so long ago…” I roll my eyes, returning my pouch to its place on my belt. “Are you not going to forget about it?”

“No, you obstinate woman” She grunts in exasperation, nearing the magical portal. I grin in spite of myself, even if it only exasperates her more.

When we cross, we are once again at Aretuza. Hana's brown eyes are attentive to my every move. Surely, she must have noticed how distracted I am as of late. I pay no attention to her concern and instead begin walking, leading the way. We near the academy, bustling with the sorceresses that I have gotten to know these past years. I pay more attention to them than to Hana, who keeps lecturing me and giving me a bit of a headache. Triss is heading our direction, bearing her usual warm smile as she approaches us to fortunately put an end to my friend’s endless scolding.

“Nissa, you’re back!”

“Hello, Triss” I hug her when she opens her arms. “Long time no see”

As I found out, Triss happened to be affiliated with King Foltest. After what happened in Vizima, she had often gone back to aid the very few survivors that managed to escape the dragon fire massacre. A stark survivor herself, Hana often accompanied her to Vizima. Not lately, however, for rumor had it that these days Triss went to meet with a certain witcher instead. Even separated, their memory chases me.

“Are you alright?” Triss asks, frowning slightly. “You seem a bit absent”

“Her head is on the clouds lately”

“I’m fine, Han”

“If you are unhappy, feel free to leave at any time” The latter reminds me, even if with a resigned sigh. When I peer at her in surprise, she nods her head. “Yes, I have noticed it”

“I am not unhappy…”

“Yet you don’t quite feel at home” I detest that Hana knows me so well.

I also hate that returning to the comforting feeling that was her friendship wasn’t as ideal as I expected it to be. Of course, it has been wonderful to meet her again and spend some time together. It feels as though her magic healed internal wounds. Reconciling that part of my past and closing that chapter of my life feels like letting go of one of the many burdens that seemed to haunt me. Yet that is not quite enough, somehow.

Things have changed. I have changed. And mostly there are two people to blame, even if one takes a bigger part of it. Nonetheless, how am I to voice these thoughts? How am I to admit to Hana, my old friend, that I crave something more? That now that I know that she is alive and well, safe and more than capable, I can carry on without her? That now that I have learned healing my stay here seems pointless? I feel like a child that only desires that which she cannot have, yet my heart keeps yearning for their return. The more I think about them, the more my skepticism fades and the more destiny and true love feel real instead of a foolish fantasy as I once thought they were. This feeling in my heart tells me so.

“I… It is nothing personal, truly. I have met some amazing women here and made great friends” I fondly squeeze Triss’ arm, earning a smile from her. “Still, I…”

“They are your home” Hana completes for me, abandoning her grave tone. Now it is full of understanding and resignation.

“Am I that transparent…?” I force out a smile, even if averting my eyes.

“You speak his name on your sleep” The redhead smirks, although it is the playful glint in her eye that speaks for itself.

“Hana…” I whine. When Triss giggles, I am convinced that I am blushing.

“I am appalled that I never got to meet the bard” The latter nudges me. “Honestly, it makes me curious that you sigh for him in such a way”

“Oi, I don’t sigh for him!” I defend myself, perhaps too adamantly. “We are just friends”

“There is no need to lie” They share a look of rapport that sets my teeth on edge.

I glare at them and laugh in outrage. My embarrassment deeply amuses them.

“There, I haven’t seen you smile like that in weeks” Hana insists, pinching my burning cheeks. I scowl.

“If you could stop torturing me, that would be wonderful” I softly push her away, refusing to look into their eyes while they laugh at my expense.

“Nissa” Triss shows me her kind smile. “You better visit us”

“I haven’t even decided anything yet” I mutter, shoving behind my ear the strands of hair that escape my disheveled bun. “Stop that”

“Perhaps you should take Pal for a ride” Hana tilts her head in the direction where I left my horse. “Clear your head”

I squint at her when I recognize the meaning behind her words. Her eyes are expressive enough to speak her thoughts. ‘You may be deceiving yourself, Nissa, but you can’t deceive us’. No, I am not deceiving myself. I have not made my mind up yet.

“Hm…” I utter a mocking hum as I wrinkle my nose at her. Hana grins.

Perhaps trying to let that sink in, she takes Triss and leaves me alone. I don’t look at them over my shoulder, yet I can feel their eyes on me as I stand there deep in thought. No matter, Pal’s company will be reassuring. It might contribute to solving the conflict within me. I stare at my worn-out boots as I approach the horse, calmly sitting where I left him. He leans his head against my shoulder as soon as I approach, and I smile and caress his mane back. As soon as I climb onto the saddle and start galloping, I grin widely. It feels liberating. Last time I freely rode Pal and wandered was far too long ago.

_ 

My thoughts feel as tangled as ever. If I didn’t know it was impossible, I would blame my state on some sort of powerful sorcery. Although the source of my emotions is real, it does feel purely magical.

With Pal moving for me, I found it hard to ground myself in reality, immersed in deep thoughts which weren’t useful. Nothing has changed as a result, not my uncertainty nor my yearning. Forcing myself to actually pay attention to the direction my feet take, I have left Pal to rest for a moment while I take a stroll. I promise myself to make it brief and then return to him.

Like a wake-up call, a sound suddenly startles me. My eyes examine the area that surrounds me, scattered with trees, until I find the source. As if I needed more proof to blindly believe in destiny, my heart halts as soon as I turn to the sound of footsteps. I recognize the figure in the distance, even when he faces his back to me. His vibrant red clothes are a dead giveaway. If that wasn’t clue enough, an instrument hangs from his back. A smile creeps up to my lips as I walk closer to him. My accelerated heart betrays my excitement. For several seconds I can only watch him, still astonished that it is truly him. He clumsily steps on the soil under his feet, nearly slipping because of the mild slope. I chuckle. It is really him.

“Jaskier!” I call him, causing him to immediately turn around. His face lights up.

“Nissa!” He replies in surprise, trudging my way as well. “Ugh, a friendly face”

We meet in the middle and stand there for a moment, just peering at each other. I have the urge to lunge myself at him and hug him tight, though ultimately I don’t. I am mortified when I feel out of breath at his mere presence before me. The effect he has on me has not changed, as my feelings have not faded in the slightest. A smile slowly creeps up to his lips, as those lively blue eyes I had missed so much look me up and down. He hasn’t changed a bit in all this time. 

“You… you changed your hair” He points out, lifting a finger up to push away one of the strands that frame my face. “Y-Yeah…”

I never feel his touch, for he lowers his hand and looks away from me. Time has taken a toll on our closeness, as things seem to have cooled after so long without seeing each other. I no longer know how to address him, and our once intimate connection seems gone.

“It gets in the way” I shrug, chuckling nervously. “And it’s more comfortable than a braid”

“Less laborious too, I assume” Our eyes meet once more. “You always spent so long braiding it”

The cold autumn breeze fills the silence as it caresses our skins and ruffles our hair. As usual, he doesn’t push his away when it falls over his eyes. I smile. Remaining quiet, he imitates my gesture despite not knowing the thought that conjured it.

“What… what are you doing here, Jaskier?” He pauses, apparently too busy staring at me.

“It is so good to see you, honestly” Making me realize we are still just standing there, he begins walking. I do the same, lingering by his side. “You are not going to believe what happened”

“I’m all ears” My heart unexpectedly wells up, being thankful for the company myself.

“I got lost in this… stupid place” He motions around us. “Luckily I found you, and you can be my compass”

“Gladly” I say, desperate to break through this rare stiffness in the conversation. In reality, there’s a question burning in my mind that I can’t help but to blurt out. “And… where’s Geralt?”

As we walk together to a more open area, I notice how his feet halt for a moment. Jaskier recovers quickly, though, and carries on with our brisk pace.

“I don’t know, actually” He plays with the leather strap supporting the lute to his back. “We sort of… parted ways too”

I take notice of the reluctant and saddened hint in his voice. Sensing something has happened between them, I open my mouth to ask. However, Jaskier pipes up once more.

“Never mind that, tell me about what you’ve done” He tilts his head in my direction. His voice has acquired its usual energy once more. “Have you learned a lot?”

“I have” I glance at my hands, now calloused and mildly worn-out. “Even if I haven’t quite perfected magic yet”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re fine” He waves his hand in the air. “There's nothing you can’t do”

I chuckle. His compliment flatters me. I have missed how casually he can spew lovely words. Struggling to find a proper reply, I only part my lips. The sudden rustling of nearby bushes alarms me. Forgetting about searching for a witty remark that before came so naturally, I peer in the direction of the sound.

“I suppose magic is quite a complicated subject” He is saying, still focused on the conversation. “Still, you have been here… what, nearly two years? Surely, your abilities must have greatly improved”

“Shut up” I ask him, slowly nearing the bushes. I tip toe not to be noisy, though he does not. His steps are fidgety and heavy.

“Well, that isn’t very nice” He puts a hand on his hip, mindlessly following. “Nissa, have you turned impolite?”

I recognize his attempt to rekindle our relationship, though the timing is greatly off. Thousands of possibilities fill my mind. It can be a monster behind the bush. It can be Scoia’tael. It can be Jovan. Was Jaskier followed? Was I being watched? Did I put all my friends in danger again?

“Honestly, that was quite hurtful, I-“

“Shut up!” I slap a hand against his mouth, not worrying to glance at him. Jaskier grunts against my hand, but resigns himself to his imposed silence.

The noise continues, although the rustling alone isn’t enough to properly hint to who the attacker might be. The tall bush is moving. Jaskier stiffens when he sees it too. I recognize a shadow lurking behind it and gasp. Then I act on an instinct and throw myself towards Jaskier. He yelps, clumsily holding on to me when I push him to the ground.

Landing on top of him, I hear him grunting when his back makes contact. The lute thuds against the ground, protecting him from harm. Before he can speak again, I cover him with my body and return my palm to his mouth. His eyes are wide as he watches me in astonishment. I look away from them and back to the bush. My heartbeat fills the silence. I hold my breath. The rustling then continues as a shape slowly emerges from the bushes, too slowly for my poor nerves. I breathe out when I see our ‘attacker’.

It is only a deer. The animal calmly paces near us.

“Melitele…” I utter in annoyance, heaving a deep breath.

Jaskier’s fingers meet with my hand, which he gently pushes off his mouth. When I peer down at him, there is a pronounced frown on his brow. Worried about his wellbeing, I open my mouth, though my breathing is so erratic that I can’t speak.

“Uh… Nissa?”

“False alarm…”

“I noticed… Uh, I don’t know if you realized, but… you’re straddling me”

I feel heat creeping up my entire face when I see I am in fact straddling him. Because of the lute on his back, his torso is propped up and our faces are extremely close. I can feel his breath on my nose. My body is pressing his to the ground while my free hand protectively keeps his chest in place, so I take it off.

“Sorry…” I laugh a bit, hoping he can’t hear the hammering of my heart. “Are you hurt?”

“No…” His hand squeezes my hip. “But you’re still on top of me”

“Forgive me” I hurriedly scurry off him and allow him to move.

“Oh, you are forgiven” Jaskier calmly mutters. I can feel his eyes on me.

I suddenly feel incredibly disheveled when several strands of hair fall over my face. My panting doesn’t help. Neither does my still racing heart, nor the heat in my body. Wishing the ground could just eat me whole, I focus my glance on it while my hands try to find something to occupy themselves with. They still remember the feeling of his chest hair against them, of the movement of his breathing under my palm. Instead they move to my hair and attempt to fix the mess that is my bun. Once I check it has survived the sharp movements, my fingers instinctively fall upon my dagger. I whip my head up and stare at Jaskier. I pretend not to realize how he is gawking at me.

“You should take this” I offer it to him, not wanting to leave him exposed. “Just in case”

“There was no danger” He reminds me, watching the harmless deer with the corner of his eye. “I’m alright”

“But if there is, you have no weapon”

“If I take it, I leave you with no weapon”

“I can take care of myself”

Studying magic and medicine hasn’t been the only abilities I have improved on. Every day, I have made it a mission to train a bit. Abandoning the use of my dagger, I familiarized myself with Kader’s old sword. I am nowhere near as skilled as Geralt is, but I can surely hold myself in a fight now. Furthermore, and remembering how obstinate the witcher was about it, I have tried to use my legs and fists as weapons as well.

“I appreciate the thought, Nissa, but-“

“Jaskier, take the damn dagger”

“Actually, I don’t need it… I… always carry something with me”

When he pushes his open doublet aside, I see a familiar hilt sticking out from his waistband. As my hand rests over my dagger, I recognize how similar Jaskier’s is. For a moment I wonder why he hasn’t said anything about it before. Then I remember where he got the weapon from: it was that day in the mountain, when one of Jovan’s treasure hunters dropped it and we found it. Has he kept it all this time? Why? Was it because it reminded him of me or only to arm himself? To my knowledge, he never carried weapons before we met, only his trustworthy lute. The idea that he held on to the dagger only flusters me further, as if I wasn’t very much so before.

“Don’t worry about me, love” Jaskier grins in the end, even if there is so much to him at this very moment. The way his fingers delicately hold on to his dagger. How his eyes are fondly watching me. The subtle blush in his cheeks.

“R-Right” I nod, cringing on the inside. “Good”

“Are you alright, Nissa?”

“Yes. A-Anyway, where was I?” I continue walking, flustered by his scrutiny. “Right, magic”

The subject change is rather abrupt, and I know how bizarre the moment is when Jaskier doesn’t say a word after that.

_ 

Finally forgetting about my strange moment of alarm, Jaskier has started talking again. He seems fascinated by my tale of all the things I have learned here. When he jokes and asks about the beautiful sorceresses, I feel as though the awkwardness is in the process of leaving us.

Pal has taken us back to the academy. I lightly tug on the reins and proceed to jump off. Before I can, Jaskier is already on the ground and reaching out with his arms. I grin as I lean in his direction, allowing him to hold me by the waist and carefully lower me onto the floor. I feel stupid as I wonder in the gentle touch of his hands and his surprisingly muscular biceps under my fingers.

“Thank you” I mutter, moving away from him too quickly when we stand too close.

“My pleasure, my lady” He stands still for just a second. “So, uh… why didn’t you just use a portal, if you can in fact conjure them?”

“Simple” I say as I walk away, waiting for him to follow. “I refuse to use them unless I absolutely have to. Magic comes with a price, and I dislike using portals in any way”

“Ah, just like Geralt…” His tone instantly shifts from cheery to gloomy. I anxiously glance around to distract him from whatever has happened with the witcher. As I do, I spot Hana and Triss sitting by a tree. They are having a lively conversation that I hope does not include me.

“I want you to meet Triss” Though I hesitate to touch him again, I link my arm with his and drag him in their direction. “She is the sweetest”

“Is that her, the brunette?” The grin does indeed return to his lips. “She is gorgeous”

“Oh, how I have missed your blatant adoration for other people” I mock him, averting my eyes when both the women and him watch me.

“Sarcasm can harmful a weapon, my dear Nissa” His hand pats mine over his forearm. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re jealous”

“Nissa!” Triss luckily calls attention off the subject, standing to her feet and approaching us. Hana stays behind for a bit, mouth agape as she stares at Jaskier. I can’t wait to have her tease me further, especially knowing that she was more than correct.

“Hello, lovely dame!” Jaskier offers his hand as soon as Triss is close enough. “I‘m Jaskier, and who might you be?”

She isn’t exactly subtle when her eyes widen at the mention of the name she has heard so many times. Gosh, why does he make me feel like a child with a stupid crush?

“Triss. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jaskier” Her eyes fall upon me for just a second before returning to him. “Nissa has told me all about you”

“Has she now?”

“H-Hana!” I call her over, frantically gesturing for her to save me.

I ‘accidentally’ bump my shoulder against Triss while I leave them to reunite with Hana. Triss whispers a ‘he’s cute’ before I leave her side. Hana rushes to reach me, even if her eyes won’t stop traveling from him to me. An uncharacteristically mischievous grin plays in her lips.

“How did you find him?” She blurts out, tugging at my sleeve as soon as she approaches.

“We sort of... just found each other near the woods” I chuckle, mildly distracted by the sound of his voice behind me. “Isn’t that such a coincidence?”

“Coincidence…”

“Of course”

“Are you leaving with him?”

“I…” Although I hesitate, that feeling in my heart returns to eliminate any doubts. “I think so…”

“True love awaits” She simply whispers to me as we return with them.

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[lesdemonium]

I’d Be The Choiceless Hope Chapter 5

Ship: Geraskier Word count: 15002 (total) Chapter: 5/16 Summary:  

“Such a nice, beautiful sound,” the fae crooned. “If only he were this way always.”

Julian’s mother stood up. She claimed she was prepared to stop the fae, to protect her baby, but in Julian’s darkest moments he doubted this part of the story. His mother loved him, of that he had no doubt, but she had been young and weary, and even years later, she couldn’t quite get the twinge of exhaustion out of her eyes when she recalled Julian’s infancy. Even if she had been keen on protecting him, the fae was too close, too fast, too set on his plan.

“A gift, for the new mother,” the fae continued. He leaned a hand in to stroke Julian’s cheek. “I give you the gift of obedience.”

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier’s mother with Jaskier’s obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the “gift” became more of a curse.

Additional tags: AngstAngst with a Happy EndingHeavy AngstUnrequited LoveNot Actually Unrequited LoveAlternate Universe - Canon DivergenceCanon EraNot Canon CompliantCursed Jaskier | DandelionAlternate Universe - Ella Enchanted FusionCurse of ObedienceRape/Non-con ElementsImplied/Referenced Rape/Non-conJaskier | Dandelion Whump

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As it happened, he found Geralt in Murivel. Or, rather, Geralt found him.

Jaskier had been haggling with a merchant over lute strings. The merchant was being particularly onerous and refused to budge even a little, despite Jaskier insisting (almost rightfully) that the strings were ridiculously overpriced. Both had their arms crossed and their eyes narrowed as they bickered back and forth and, unfortunately, Jaskier was pretty sure he was losing.

Jaskier didn’t even notice the witcher approach until the merchant looked just over his shoulder, and the merchant’s eyes grew wide. Jaskier turned, confused, only to be met with Geralt looking almost… pleased? Relieved? Jaskier couldn’t quite put words to the face Geralt was making, but it was definitely positive. The corner of Geralt’s lip was quirked and his eyes were open wide.

“Geralt!” Jaskier greeted, and he wasn’t ashamed at how large his grin was. He was thrilled to find the witcher. The idea of finding Geralt first had been quickly abandoned; while Geralt would likely be a huge help, Jaskier still wasn’t sure how to explain his quest to Geralt. But if he was here , then Jaskier didn’t have to waste time by looking for him.

“Jaskier. It’s been awhile,” Geralt said back and, oh, yes. That was absolutely a smile. Jaskier’s grin only grew larger.

“Ah, yes. I’ve been in Ellander! Met a lovely woman, the Countess De Stael. She tried to make an honest man of me, but I have an adventurer’s spirit, in the end! It does me no good to remain in one place for too long. I’m afraid the stories are dull, unless you wish to hear me tell you endlessly of her beauty. I imagine your stories are far more exciting!” He wheeled around mid breath and pointed at the merchant accusingly. “Don’t think we’re finished , sir. I want those strings and I want them for a fair price!”

It took another ten minutes of Jaskier haggling and wearing down the man--and perhaps a healthy dose of Geralt’s brooding to help--before Jaskier finally got a price he felt he could part with. They talked as they made their way to the inn Geralt had stabled Roach at. Geralt had been busy, as usual, and unfortunately the battle he decided to describe to Jaskier was between him and a pack of drowners , as if Jaskier didn’t already know how those fights went! The amusement in Geralt’s voice told Jaskier that the witcher knew exactly what he was doing.

“Geralt, really, you can’t just say ‘Fought a bruxa’ and shrug your shoulders as if that’s the end of it!” Jaskier whined as he closed the door behind him. “I very politely listened to your, quite frankly, shitty drowner story. And this is the time you choose to be taciturn? You are a cruel witcher, and I believe this is no way to treat a beloved friend--”

He was cut off by Geralt’s hands on his hips, pressing Jaskier against the wall, and Geralt’s mouth claiming Jaskier’s as his own. Jaskier found he didn’t mind the interruption at all, though he was sure he would circle back to the bruxa encounter. It was hard to care about anything except Geralt’s mouth, hands, body on Jaskier’s.

Twice, Geralt almost barked out a command. Jaskier could tell, by the way Geralt started with a directive word, only to cut himself off. Both times, he stopped for a moment, then rephrased, and Jaskier swelled with love for Geralt. This man had no idea what he did for Jaskier. He didn’t even know why Jaskier didn’t want to be bossed, and still he tried so hard. Jaskier could follow this man until his dying days, if only Geralt would allow it.

After, Jaskier’s body draped atop Geralt’s. Geralt’s fingers traced patterns into Jaskier’s back and Jaskier’s fingers twisted Geralt’s hair. Jaskier lived for these quiet, soft moments. There were no expectations here. He could just be Jaskier. Jaskier, with his witcher. It had been so long since Jaskier had felt safe, and now he was home, swathed in amber.

“I missed you,” Jaskier mumbled against Geralt’s chest. Jaskier was sure he had never before put more honesty into his words than he did with that one sentence. Geralt’s hands slowed, but did not stop.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

It felt almost like a confession, but Jaskier knew it wasn’t. He could pretend to have Geralt, to hold him in his hand as if he belonged there, but they both knew the truth. Trying to keep Geralt was like trying to hold water in his hands. Jaskier was a poor container.

For almost a week, they stayed in Murivel. It was the longest they had stayed in a city, but Jaskier never found himself itching for more. They took contracts--all little things, dispatched within a few hours, but the coin flooded in. Jaskier performed each night, and though the coin tapered off the longer they stayed, it was still enough to put some in Jaskier’s pocket after their meals and lodgings were taken care of.

Geralt and Jaskier took their time in rediscovering each other's bodies. It wasn’t completely unfamiliar, like learning a new song, but rather like recomposing an old favorite. Jaskier was sure he could stay here forever, but they never stayed in one place for too long. It wasn’t conducive to their lives. Geralt had monsters to slay, Jaskier had songs to sing, and they both had adventures to chase after.

Jaskier convinced Geralt to travel west. They hadn’t discussed yet where they would be going, but Jaskier was sure he would work up the courage in time. He had to, after all, if he was to enlist the witcher’s help in dealing with his problem.

It was surprisingly easy, as long as Jaskier kept them more north. Otherwise, Geralt would make short little comments about them going too far southwest. Geralt did not want to tread too close to Cintra, it seemed, and face news of any potential child surprises that may be lurking around corners. Jaskier, though frustrated with Geralt’s plan of just ignoring the problem, could understand his avoidance. He didn’t have much of a leg to stand on, after all, what with all the avoidance and secrecy he was participating in during this very venture. So he kept them as far north as he could as they traveled west along the continent.

They were outside Rinde when it all went to shit.

Jaskier had been complaining. Under normal circumstances, he would not admit to the fact that he had been complaining, but this seemed a time that he could own up to what was his fault. He had complained to Geralt about how hungry he was, how they should have stayed at that town they had passed earlier, with the inn that had the most amazing smelling stew. Instead, they were stuck out camping, and Geralt hadn’t been able to catch anything around them.

Jaskier would have offered to help, but after five failed attempts to hunt himself--apparently he was too noisy--he and Geralt had agreed that it was best to leave the hunting to Geralt. As it was, Geralt hadn’t managed to catch anything, and Jaskier was complaining, because he was hungry and the dry rations simply weren’t going to cut it.

“Melitele, Jaskier. If I try again will you shut up ?” Geralt demanded, finally at the end of his rope.

Jaskier’s mouth closed with a click as he thought this over. “Yes. If you try again, perhaps cast a wider net, I will shut up about it. Because, really, did you even try earlier? It seemed as if you just sniffed about and then decided you couldn’t catch a single thing. What’s the point if you don’t give it a real--”

Geralt stood abruptly, and stormed off into the trees. It would have been amusing if Jaskier wasn’t so gods damned hungry.

“Stomping isn’t going to help you hunt! I’ve been told animals don’t like it when you’re loud!” Jaskier called after him, cupping his hands over his mouth to boost his volume, though they both knew Geralt would have heard him just fine without it. Jaskier was feeling much like being an arse.

Geralt was gone for a long time. Long enough that Jaskier really should have been paying more attention, because witcher senses really could only do so much , but he had gotten caught up with the song he was composing. He didn’t hear his company until the knife was already pressed into his neck.

“Stand up nice and easy for me,” the man wielding the knife commanded.

Jaskier would have obeyed the command even if he didn’t have a curse to compel him. After all, the knife against his throat was inspiration enough. Jaskier rose slowly, holding his hands out in front of him as if to show that he meant no harm. Internally, he was kicking himself. He should have been paying attention. Geralt was going to be pissed .

“Anything good?” the ruffian asked, and Jaskier looked to see, to his horror, another couple of people by Roach. She was causing trouble for them, though, which made Jaskier swell with misplaced pride. He would have so many sugar cubes ready for her when next they stopped in a town.

“This damn horse won’t let us anywhere near the saddlebags!” one of the other bandits, a woman, complained. Bless Roach.

The man behind Jaskier snorted. “You’re afraid of a little pony?”

“I know, why don’t you come over here and get kicked in the gut by this little pony,” the final brigand, another man with curly red hair, spat. Literally. There was now a wet, bubbly glob on the ground. Jaskier’s face scrunched up. That was really quite unnecessary.

“Yeah, why don’t you?” Jaskier spoke up. “I’m sure she’d love to get to know you. Her witcher would love to get to know you, as well, if you so much as look at her wrong.”

“Oh, a witcher ,” the woman purred. “We’re shaking in our boots. All I see’s a fancy bard and his grouchy horse.”

“Get to the fucking saddlebag,” the man behind Jaskier interrupted, before Jaskier could quip anything back. It was probably for the best, anyway. The woman’s eyes went back to Jaskier’s captor, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“What d’you expect me to do? I’m not risking my bones over some shite rations and maybe a little coin.”

They descended into a terse argument. Jaskier stopped following at this point; it didn’t matter what they decided to do with Roach. She wasn’t going to let them anywhere near her without causing some bodily harm, and everyone seemed to know that except the knife-happy barbarian. Jaskier watched, though, as the hand wielding the blade grew more and more lax as he became invested in the argument they were having.

Jaskier reared back his elbow as hard as he could into the man’s gut. He didn’t wait for his captor to react to his winding before Jaskier wrenched the blade from his hand. Before Jaskier had time to think about it, he stabbed the blade into the man’s abdomen. In his haste, Jaskier hadn’t put it in a prime location--it was low and to the side, near his hip. A stab like that certainly would hurt and put him at a disadvantage, and had the benefit of giving Jaskier time to get out of his reach, but Geralt would have been disappointed that it wasn’t enough to completely put the man down.

Jaskier bolted to Roach. He made it past the other two ruffians, who stood still, dumb-founded, and was climbing up on Roach when one of the brigands, the red-headed man, finally caught up.

“Stop!” he yelled.

Fuck . Jaskier froze, one foot still in the stirrup.

There was a beat, and then the woman was hauling Jaskier down off Roach. He stumbled to the ground and struggled to find his footing as she dragged him down, and now there was another blade pressed against his throat. This time, the woman was holding him while the red-headed man held the knife. The sharp edge was pressed hard into his neck, and Jaskier’s skin broke, just a little.

“Clever trick,” the man spat again, this time also literally, though Jaskier doubted the spray of spittle was intentional. “Hold out your hands.” Jaskier obeyed, and something flashed behind the man’s eyes. “Obedient, aren’t you?”

He pulled away, only to very quickly return with some rope, which he wound around Jaskier’s wrists. It was cheap garbage, which splintered and dug into Jaskier’s skin. Jaskier had a feeling his complaints of discomfort wouldn’t be taken seriously. As his hands were bound, Jaskier glanced around, trying to find something he could use to his advantage.

There were only the three of them. The woman was surprisingly strong, despite being a good foot shorter than Jaskier. The man Jaskier stabbed was several yards away, clutching at his injury and rasping as he tried to recover. The red-headed man before Jaskier had his attention completely held by his task. Maybe if he could get them to leave him by that rather large rock, Jaskier could throw it at them, or he could try to kick out and crumble his captors--but likely he could only get one before the other subdued him. His odds were not looking good right now.

“You’ll behave now, right?” the man asked. He wrapped the rope around Jaskier’s arms and torso now, effectively binding Jaskier’s arms to his body. Jaskier looked at him with venom, and opened his mouth to speak, only for the man to tut, “Close your mouth. Do not make a sound.”

Jaskier wanted to scream, wanted to voice every obscenity he had ever heard even in passing at this man. But he couldn’t. All he could do was glare at this man with fire in his eyes, only for his rage to be laughed at .

“Here, let go of him,” he said, looking past Jaskier at the woman behind him. She backed off, and Jaskier was about to bolt when the man said “Stay there.” Fuck . He froze again. “Sit down on that rock.”

Once Jaskier was seated, he watched his captors. The man Jaskier had stabbed had joined them now, a hand still pressed against his wound, and the blood seeping out from between his fingers. Good . The woman was watching Jaskier incredulously, her arms crossed over her chest again as she regarded him. The bossy, red-headed one just looked delighted.

“I say we keep him. Do you do everything you’re told?” the red-headed man asked.

Jaskier just glared back.

“Cat got your tongue? You seemed like you had so much to say before,” the wounded man sneered. “You’re so docile now. Where the fuck was that when you took my fucking knife?”

“Shut up, Harmut,” the woman said. “You’re a fuckin’ disgrace, letting him get the jump on you like that.”

“Talk, bard,” the red-headed man said, ignoring the second argument Harmut and the woman descended into.

“You’re going to regret this. You shite for brains bandits won’t be anything but blood splatters on the ground when Geralt returns and he finds out you touched his horse,” Jaskier snarled. He didn’t let himself consider if Geralt would also be angry at what they very well might do to Jaskier. He knew Geralt would mostly be mad about Roach, and likely angry at Jaskier for how little he did. Jaskier wouldn’t even be able to brag about how he had gotten the upper hand on Harmut; it was tainted by his current position. “You’ll be sorry, then, when--”

“But he’s not here now, is he?” the red-headed man said, stepping close. He had his knife again, and he trailed it along Jaskier’s cheek. “He’s left you all alone. Pity. You seem very interesting. You’ll come quietly if I tell you to, won’t you?” Jaskier opened his mouth to speak again, and the knife pressed against his cheek. “Don’t talk.”

Jaskier took a deep breath in through his nose and, making eye contact with the man, yelled as loud as he could. He earned a slice across the cheek for his troubles, and his yell descended into more of a pained scream, but just as loud. Volume was what mattered here. Something so that Geralt could hear him, could find him, could save him.

“Shit,” the woman said, diving forward and clamping a hand over Jaskier’s mouth. He kept screaming through it. “Stop! Stop!”

The scream died in Jaskier’s throat, and she looked at the red-headed man, panicked. “What if he’s telling the truth? What if he is with a witcher?”

“Then we need to go. Now ,” the red-headed man said, finally looking just the slightest bit perturbed. He straightened up, as did his companions, and he looked around wildly. “We take him too. Stand up.” He motioned at Jaskier, and Jaskier rose to his feet with some difficulty, given his bound arms. “Come on.”

They rushed through the forest, away from Roach. The red-headed man dragged Jaskier along with a firm hand on his bicep and a reminder, no less than three times, to “Not make a single sound, do not scream or talk.” Really, it was quite overkill, and Jaskier would have been embarrassed for him if he wasn’t getting so fucking nervous. Where was Geralt?

Just as he was wondering that for probably the hundredth time, Jaskier heard a sick squelching sound to his right. He turned, and Harmut crumpled to the ground, leaving only a bloodied sword in his wake. Or, rather, a bloody sword attached to a very, very angry looking witcher.

Everything after that happened so quickly, Jaskier couldn’t keep eyes on it all. Jaskier’s captors reacted at once. The woman drew a weapon as the red-headed man pulled Jaskier closer, away from Geralt. The woman was dispatched quickly, crumpling much like her male counterpart had, but by the time Geralt had achieved this, the red-headed man had a knife pressed hard to Jaskier’s throat again . If Jaskier hadn’t received his earlier orders, he would have hissed in his pain. As it was, he could only sniff loudly.

Geralt froze, but his eyes shone with fury.

“Let go of the bard,” Geralt warned. The knife dug, impossibly, deeper into Jaskier’s skin.

“Not a chance. He’s my shield. Don’t come any closer, or I’ll slit his throat.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, glancing down at his feet expectantly. Jaskier almost snorted. If the blade wasn’t currently cutting Jaskier’s skin--which, ouch , unnecessary when clearly they were both cooperating--Jaskier was sure Geralt would have had some quip about how he hadn’t moved.

Geralt’s eyes went to Jaskier, and though he was still furious, something in his face softened. Jaskier wanted to melt, wanted to think that was an indication of something more, but now wasn’t exactly the time to try to translate all of Geralt’s subtle shifts in facial expressions. Geralt wanted Jaskier to do something, if the small, almost imperceptible, nod was anything to go off of. But what Geralt wanted Jaskier to do, he wasn’t exactly sure. Jaskier was bound, held to his full height with a blade to his throat. There was nowhere for Jaskier to go, no move for Jaskier to make.

Geralt looked back over Jaskier’s shoulder at the red-headed man, and he held his hands up in surrender. There was a moment, a brief one, where Jaskier was incredulous. Was Geralt just going to let this happen ? Was he just going to let this barbarian take Jaskier?

Then Geralt’s eyes cut to Jaskier, just for a moment, and oh. Geralt wanted Jaskier to trust him.

The red-headed man’s grip loosened, just a bit, but enough that he was no longer trying to make acquaintance with Jaskier’s vocal cords. His other arm, his fingers still digging into Jaskier’s bicep, tugged Jaskier back with him as he started to back them both up. Jaskier kept his eyes on Geralt, waiting for some sort of order to do something, and when Geralt tipped his head, Jaskier grinned.

Jaskier launched himself back as hard as he could, taking the red-headed man down underneath him as they both fell into a graceless pile of limbs. The man’s breath was knocked out of him but Jaskier, whose fall had been largely caught by the ruffian, caught his bearings almost immediately. He rolled off the man just in time for Geralt to overtake them.

Jaskier heard, but did not see, Geralt’s sword go through the man’s body. Jaskier was too busy trying to catch his breath and hold in place the knife that had lodged itself into his side. He looked up at Geralt helplessly, and had just enough time to catch Geralt’s panicked look before the black around the edges of his vision took over completely. He fell to the forest floor.

read chapter 6