the-scent-of-happiness

[the-scent-of-happiness]

While we work on the next chapter of TSOH, we've decided to open up a Q&A for Jaskier and Geralt in this AU. They will be answered much in an interview style, so keep that in mind when you send in your questions!

[the-scent-of-happiness]

The Scent of Happiness

Chapter 4 - Obtruder

- Set during the episode Of Banquets, Bastards and Burials -

As the night continued, Jaskier played and entertained and did all he could to keep things light and fun. No doubt Geralt would have work that night should even one of these young men find it appropriate to start a fight. Hell, one had almost been started just earlier over how many stings a manticore possessed! He only prayed that things would remain mild for the time being. Still, he saw Geralt speaking to the queen from the table at the front of the room, and based on their expressions, she had been trying to convince him to step in should anything go awry, and he had held firm on his decision not to. Finally, the lords began to present themselves, and Jaskier took a backseat. It wasn’t exactly an exciting affair- with Calanthe mocking the Nilfgaardian Lord, he almost felt sorry for the man.. Almost. The Kaedwinnian Lord was next, and their names all blurred together until, finally, Jaskier was called to perform again. This time, he allowed something he rarely did,knowing it would help soothe any brewing tensions between the men in the room..

He allowed his magic to slip through, ever so slightly, just enough to affect the emotions of the listeners. He strummed his lute and began to sing, and the crowd joined in quite quickly. It was a familiar tune- The Fishmonger’s Daughter, but with his magic, he was able to make it something else. That was what he loved about being a bard- turning old tales into something new with a simple bit of magic. It was like a new kind of magic altogether, one that was ancient and yet reborn each time. Still, he checked his shadow from the corner of his eye, and sighed with relief upon seeing nothing out of the ordinary for his human form. Everything was well again, but just as they began to call the chosen suitor up, there was crashing and a knight burst through the doors. Everyone fell silent, and listened as the knight spoke. Jaskier felt his heart jump a moment as the man’s helmet was knocked from his head and revealed his face. Jaskier’s eyes flickered to Geralt, and he prepared to stand as far back as possible just in case the monster slayer went for his sword- or any other man, for that matter. Geralt raised an eyebrow every so slightly. Placing a hand on his waist, he waited for the knight’s next move, eyes focused on every twitch of the man’s body. A wave of apprehension had settled over the crowd, and the Witcher was no exception. Hopefully he could find a way to explain the knight’s odd manner without any bloodshed. But the way the Queen looked, eyes full of fury and body tense, it seemed that there would be no other answer but violence.

“Witcher… Kill it.” Her voice was quiet, but firm, as she spoke to Geralt.

Geralt’s hand retreated from his waist and his gaze turned to the Queen. Firmly, loudly, he replied.

“No.”

“Whatever the price.” Her voice was quick, and she seemed to grow a bit more frantic.

“This is no monster.” He glanced between the knight and the Queen, appearing less apprehensive than before.

Calanthe shifted in her seat, “I order you.” She was obviously set in her desire for this man to be killed, and the tension was thick enough to have been cut with a knife.

The Witcher’s tone took a matter-of-factly energy as one hand extended towards the knight, “This knight has been cursed.”

“You’re as useless as the rest of them.” Her arm whipped out, and she commanded, voice firm and unwavering, “Slay this beast!” The knights moved quickly to follow her orders, but the knight, Lord Urcheon, was not some commoner. He managed to take them down easily, without killing either, disarming one and pointing the sword towards Queen Calanthe.

“Lioness of Cintra, I come to claim what is rightfully mine! Pavetta. By the Law of Surprise.” Men stood wide eyed and mouths agape as he said these words, and Geralt’s gaze went to the queen. Her face told all- she had known about this. Her daughter, Pavetta, was panting and staring at the knight, but not with fear of him. As the men in the crowd drew their swords, she watched with horror. A man with a halberd stood over the cursed knight, ready to bring it down, and Pavetta let out a cry. “No!”

Geralt drew his sword, swiftly moving it to slice the halberd in half. The knight below caught the upper, bladed half, and gripped it, ready to fight if need be as he looked at the Witcher. His expression hardened with a soft, almost inaudible huff.

“KILL THEM BOTH!” The shout prompted every Cintran knight to charge at the two, ready to die to carry out the Queen’s wishes. However, when the Lords stood, one stood against her, drawing his sword to assist Duny and Geralt.

“The Law of Surprise has been called. You kill them…” Eist of Skellige, he was called, and he headbutted a lord who charged at him. “kill me.”

The ballroom was pure chaos, and Calanthe stood, taking charge from her seat. She walked, strides swift and purposeful. A fallen knight tried to address her, but after taking his sword, she kicked his chest, sending him splaying back from her. She approached, swinging at a man behind Eist who held a sword before she stood and held her own blade to the Witcher.

“Stop.” Her voice was too quiet, but then again, she yelled, “STOP!” And the battle ceased around them.

Pavetta ran into the knight’s arms. “Duny!” She was relieved- everything about her body language conveying just how much she had worried for him. “I told you to stay away.” She held his face in her hands, looking into his eyes without fear.

After embracing Pavetta, Duny turned to Calanthe and kneeled, dropping the broken halberd at his side.

“Your Majesty… the witcher speaks the truth. I was cursed as a young boy.”

He paused, only briefly; taking a deep breath and rising to his feet, his eyes locking with the Queen’s as he continued.

“My whole life a living misery until the day that I saved your husband, King Roegner, from a certain death.”

Whatever meekness Duny had begun his explanation with was fading, and he now spoke louder and with purpose.

“By tradition, I chose the Law of Surprise as payment. Whatever windfall he came home to find… would be mine.”

Calanthe’s eyes burned with a deep sort of rage and hatred as he spoke, and she shook her head. “Oh, the stupid bastard. Better you had let him die!”

“You knew he’d come,” Geralt spoke up, “and you pushed me to kill him.”

Calathe’s rage turned to her daughter next, “And you… carousing with the beast that swindled your stupid father!”

“'Tis no swindle. Asking for payment with the Law of Surprise is as old as mankind itself.” The Skelligan man spoke as he looked at the Queen, and when she looked at him, her eyes softened- only a little, but it was there. “Don't lecture me, Eist.”

“It's an honest gamble. As likely to be rewarded with a bumper crop as a newborn pup. Or…” His head turned to the pair, Pavetta taking Duny’s arm as he continued, ”a child of surprise. He could not know. Destiny has determined the surprise be Pavetta.”

Duny’s expression softened slightly, “When I heard that King Roegner had returned to find a child on the way… I abandoned all thought of claiming the Law of Surprise. I knew… I knew no woman would ever accept me like this.”

After a slight glance to Pavetta, and her placing a hand on his chest, he continued, “And so I waited. I waited until the twelfth bell when the curse breaks. I never intended to meet her. Just to watch from afar.”

“Until destiny intervened… and our hearts collided.” She smiled as she looked at Duny, but Calanthe’s gaze remained hardened and angry. She looked away, then back as she heard the man speak again.

“And at dawn, I awoke with her in my arms and me… like this..” The man’s gaze dropped ever so slightly. Eist took a few steps toward the queen of Cintra, and he spoke, voice low but firm.

“Who are we to challenge destiny? Life was saved, debt must be paid, or the whole order of the world falls apart.” His eyes held her gaze, and it was clear he wasn’t intending to let this go. As another voice spoke from the crowd, Calanthe’s head turned.

“Honor destiny's wish..” Mousesack shook his head, eyes full of concern, “..or unleash its wrath upon us.”

“There is no us! I bow to no law made by men who never bore a child!” Her voice raised as she said this, and her disdain for the idea carried to every person in the room, “Is there not a man amongst you who does not cower before destiny?” Her eyes scanned them, finally falling upon Geralt. “You, Witcher… who has known monsters of every fang and claw… are you afraid too?” She almost seemed to be testing him.

Geralt was initially silent, before speaking in a tone that was soft and somber yet dripping with venom, “No. I've seen mothers lash themselves raw over the death of a child, believing they crossed destiny, ignoring the stench of the 50 other children in the plague cart outside.”

His eyes never left Calanthe, as he paused yet again to compose the rest of his thoughts before continuing, “Destiny… helps people believe there's an order to this horseshit. There isn't.” Calanthe seemed very pleased with this, at least, for a moment.

“But a promise made must be honored. As true for a commoner… as it is for a queen.”

The rage welled inside her chest, but as the Witcher’s amber gaze turned to them, Pavetta gained her courage once more. She turned Duny to face her, and holding his cheek in her hand.

“I love Duny, Mother. I will marry him.” She looked to her mother, then back at Duny, smiling as she held his face. “I will finally be free.”

Calanthe remained silent. She looked at the room again, and for a moment, seemed to soften, handing her sword to Eist. She smiled, then turned to the two, holding her hand out.

Duny took it, gently, and she pulled him in close before she whispered in his ear, “Here is your destiny.” There was momentary confusion, but it was soon shattered by horror as the Queen drew her dagger, ready to strike and kill the cursed knight who stood within her presence.

“No!”

[the-scent-of-happiness]

Chapter 4 is finished and Chapter 5 is in the works!

Thank you all for your continued patience as Mod Elf and I navigate working together on this project.

[the-scent-of-happiness]

The Scent of Happiness

Chapter 3 - Vagary

- Set during the episode Of Banquets, Bastards and Burials -

Jaskier sighed as he heard the lively folk music playing in the banquet hall. He started whispering to Geralt, trying to pretend he was fine. "Right, so stick close to me, look mean and pretend you're a mute. Can't have anyone finding out who you are." He paused for a moment, then added, "And please, keep those sneezes of yours quiet.."

Yes, thank you, very helpful, Geralt wanted to quip back, but instead he just grunted his agreement and followed behind the bard, trying not to sniffle.

“Geralt of Rivia! The mighty witcher!” Mousesack shouted in greeting as he caught sight of the white-haired witcher and several heads turned in their direction. So much for not being noticed. Mousesack strode up to the pair with a stein in hand, grinning. “I haven’t seen you since the plague.”

“Good times, Mousesack.”

Jaskier heard 'plague' and shuddered a bit. He remembered those times, all the dead and dying, those he tried to heal, those he couldn't.. He gripped the strap of his lute tighter, trying to soothe himself by rubbing the leather with the pad of his thumb.

Mousesack chuckled. “I’ve missed your sour complexion. I feared this would be a dull affair but now that the White Wolf is here, perhaps all is not lost.” The druid stepped closer and pulled a slight face at the witcher’s attire. “Tell me, why are you dressed as a sad silk trader?” Geralt glared over his shoulder at the bard. Mousesack pulled him away and they weaved among the crowd of royals.

“How much longer until this horse trading is done? I find royalty best taken in.. small doses.” The witcher glanced around uncomfortably. When his friend assured him they’d be here all night, he couldn’t help cringing internally. He wasn’t fond of events like this, all the noise and people and spectacle of it all tended to be overwhelming. Not to mention he wasn’t overly fond of the idea of attracting any more attention to himself and between Mousesack announcing him and the itch still in his nose… Ah, speak of the devil— "Hh-! Huh’WRSCHH!” Geralt ducked into his hand to muffle a powerful sneeze, then pinched his nose. "HEH’NKGT! HH’KTCH!”

"Something about you reminds me of a scoundrel I once saw fleeing my wife's chambers!"

Jaskier took a moment, stepping back with hesitance "Um, well..." He was about to make an excuse, but the man beat him to it.

"Drop your trousers."

"What?!" Jaskier practically squawked like a bird. Geralt’s amber eyes flicked instantly to Jaskier, rubbing a knuckle against his septum. Mousesack was rambling on about which man would marry Pavetta when the witcher made his way to the bard.

“Well I didn’t get a proper look at the little shit’s face, but he had the strangest cock I’d ever seen, I’ll never forget it!” The man had Jaskier damn near pinned to the wall, backing him into a corner.

Jaskier looked like a caged animal, and he stumbled over his words, "Well... uh, uh... Ah, Geralt." The sight of the witcher made him relax and he gave him a pleading look. The witcher approached the man and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Forgive me, my lord. This… hh..happens all the time.” His nose twitched and his gaze went hazy for a moment, but he managed to suppress the tickle for a few moments more. “It’s true, he has the face of a cad and a coward. But, truth be known, he was kicked in the balls by an ox as a child.” Geralt looked at Jaskier, a little smug.

Jaskier looked incredibly offended at first, and his mouth ran faster than his mind. "Well, that's-" He then remembered why he had spoken up at all, "t-true..." The man apologized and gave him some coin, and once he was gone, he gave Geralt a sour look. "Oh, wow. Thank you. Thank you so much." He sounded miffed, and he had to carefully keep his shadow in check with his glamour magic, as it would be the first thing to change in appearance. “First of all, you hog all the fanfare,then you go and ruin my courtly reputation.” He tried not to be too angry, but he had NEVER been accused of something so painful and untrue in all his life- except for maybe the time his sisters had accused him of fathering a human boy.

“I saved your life,” he muttered, clenching and unclenching his fists as he tried to ignore the itch in the back of his nose.

“You're on your own from here on. Try not to get any daggers in your back before dawn.”

Jaskier only had a moment to sigh before Queen Calanthe arrived, bloodied and ready to drink. He went into his proper spot, and when he actually started, he was admonished- much to his chagrin, before he was told what the Queen desired, and instantly, he got to a proper tune. The night wore on and on, and when something interesting FINALLY caught Jaskier’s attention, it was an argument over a manticore. He thought he might actually get to see a brawl between the fancy-pants lords before the Queen’s voice interrupted.

“Enough!” She called out, and it brought quiet instantly. “We have a renowned guest here tonight.” As soon as she spoke, people turned their eyes to Geralt, and Jaskier looked as well. Fuck.

“Perhaps he can declare which esteemed lord is telling the truth.”

To be truthful, Geralt could’ve given less of a shit about two lords, nor the number of stings a manticore had. However, out of courtesy to the Queen and to cause a bit of a stir, he chose to answer. He lifted his head, speaking in a flat, matter-of-fact tone.

“Neither.”

“Are you calling me a liar, old man?” The first of the lords asked, serious, when the other spoke up after.

“Aah! The Butcher of Blaviken bleats utter nonsense.” The laughter filling the hall filled Jaskier with a cold sense of dread, and he looked to the Witcher’s golden eyes, his own blue ones speaking louder than words as he subtly shook his head, almost as if warning him. With a soft hiss, Geralt gathered himself internally and spoke once more.

“Perhaps the lords encountered some…rare subspecies of manticore.” He twisted his facial expression to one of vile sarcasm, before glancing to Jaskier to gain approval for his approach, to which the bard sighed heavily with relief before Calanthe began to laugh, “Perhaps our esteemed guest would like to entertain us with how he slayed the elves at the edge of the world?” The laughter that followed made Jaskier’s stomach twist. He knew what was coming next.

“There was no slaying. I had my arse kicked by a ragged band of elves. I was about to have my throat cut when Filavandrel let me go.” Geralt’s reply caused an uproar, someone yelling about the song and Jaskier giving a worried look as he agreed with them, obviously displeased with Geralt’s honesty in the situation.

Scrunching his nose, Geralt looked through the crowd of groaning and shouting men, “At least when Filavandrel's blade kissed my throat, I didn't shit myself. Which is all I can hope for you, good lords; at your final breath, a shitless death.” The bard tried not to groan at the Witcher’s words, and he tried to just let the party resume as Calanthe spoke- when she invited Geralt to sit with her, he was a bit shocked, but said nothing, simply resuming his place as a bard as he tried to keep things calm and double checked his shadow. So far, so good..

[the-scent-of-happiness]

Hi everyone. Mod Fae here. Due to how long it's been, some burnout on Mod Wolf's part, and parting ways, I've decided that something needed to be done, and I've invited on another Mod.

Welcome Mod Elf! I'll let them write for themself!

-----

Hey there. I’m Mod Elf.

I use they/them and xe/xem pronouns, and from here on out I’ll be writing on behalf of Geralt.

(I haven’t properly written like this in several years, so I’m warming back up to how proper AU writing should go, apologies in advance.)

[the-scent-of-happiness]

Chapter 3 is in the works! I've recently had surgery, so things may be a bit slow, and Mod Wolf is sick, but we'll be working on it properly soon!

[the-scent-of-happiness]

The Scent of Happiness

Chapter 2 - Preparations

- Set during the episode Of Banquets, Bastards and Burials -

The days bled into months and soon enough they did part ways, and Geralt felt like he could finally breathe again. With the bard gone, that sickeningly sweet flowery scent went with him. Geralt’s days grew quieter, and though he’d never admit it, he almost missed the company. It was several months before they met again. Jaskier had seemed to pop up like a damn weed you couldn’t get rid of— maybe that’s why he’d chosen the alias Dandelion..

The colorful bard had spotted him in a tavern again, whirling over to him after he finished his last set. “Bard,” he said in greeting, sitting down with his bowl of stew and bread and ale. Jaskier had insisted on accompanying him on his latest hunt, a selkimore terrorizing a lakeside village. Geralt had told him no, of course, he’d only get in the way and it was far too dangerous besides. The man who commissioned Geralt volunteered to retell the story when they returned, and was currently rambling on about how the witcher had surely perished— then Geralt slammed open the door of the tavern, cold and wet and stinking of selkimore innards. Jaskier smiled and began to lead the tavern in his now infamous song, following Geralt to the bar.

"And now, Witcher, it's time to repay your debt. "What debt?" you're probably asking yourself in your head right now. Well, I'll tell you. I've made you famous, Witcher. By rights, I should be claiming ten percent of all your coin, but instead, what I'm asking for is a teeny, teeny-weeny little favor." He tried not to cringe at the scent and appearance of the selkimore guts all over the witcher before him.

"HH’RSCHHUH!” He sneezed viciously down toward his feet, his hands too filthy to cover. “Fuck off, bard. snf!” he grunted, taking a swig of his ale to wash his mouth out.

Jaskier pouted a bit before he spoke. "For one measly night of service, you will gain a cornucopia of earthly delights. The greatest masters of the culinary arts crafting morsels worthy of the gods. Maidens that would make the sun itself blush with a single comely smile. And rivers of the sweetest of drinks from the rarest of--" He then found the witcher walking away from him as he spoke, and his temper flared a bit. "Fuck!" He turned around and called a bit louder, "Food, women and wine, Geralt!" He knew that saying it plainly would better get Geralt's attention, despite his desire to make things more pretty and flowery to make it seem more appealing. Geralt huffed a sigh. He did owe the bard, he could say that much, his contracts had been more abundant and his coin purse fuller than it had a few years ago, now with the singer sweetening the public’s opinion of witchers. He was ushered into the baths, where he was promptly washed and doused in various aromatics, chamomile and lavender among them, and some other fragrant herbs that all seemed to simply serve as tinder for the inferous tickle in his nose. "HAH’SCHHHuhh! HUH’TSCHH! Nghh…” he growled softly, scrubbing a fist under his nose, and growling again as water was dumped unceremoniously over his head. Jaskier chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Now, now, stop your boorish grunts of protest. It is one night bodyguarding your very best friend in the whole wide world. How hard could it be?" He went to grab more bath salts and soaps, checking over the scents and then making a final decision. "And blessings. You might want to keep those quiet at the banquet."

"HUH’ZSCHHHUH!” The witcher sneezed ferociously again. “I’b ndot your friend.” He rumbled, sniffling and scrubbing a cloth over his skin. Jaskier looked slightly offended at the protestation.

"Oh. Oh, really? Oh, you usually just let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom?" Geralt glared and didn’t bother to respond, his nose twitching. Damn the bard and all his lotions and perfumes and— ”HUH’ASCHH! HAH’TZSCHHuhh!” He shook his head, rather resembling a wet dog, his nose running and dripping down into the bathwater.

"Yeah, well, yeah, exactly. That's what I thought." He walked back around the tub. "Every lord, knight and twopenny king worth his salt will be at this betrothal. The Lioness of Cintra herself will sing the praises of Jaskier's triumphant performance!" He tossed some more salts into the bath with a performer's flourish, smiling.

“How mba’dy of these lords wa’dt to kill you?” He asked, deadpan. He reached over the edge of the tub where a stack of clean washcloths lay and he plucked one from the pile, blowing his nose into it with a groan.

"Hard to say. One stops keeping count after a while. Wives, concubines, mothers sometimes." He saw the look on Geralt's face, and he smiled. "Ooh, yeah, that face! Ooh! Scary face! No lord in his right mind will come close if you're standing next to me with a puss like that. Ooh, on second thoughts..." He lifted the stein from Geralt's hand and set it aside. "-might want to lay off the Cintran ale. A clear head would be best."

The white wolf bared his teeth. “I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry.” He snarled. “I’m not killing anyone, not over the petty squabbles of men.” He huffed, sniffling and scrubbing at his nose.

"Yes, yes, yes. You never get involved. Except you actually do, all of the time. Ugh. Is this what happens when you get old? You get unbearably crochety and cantankerous?" Jaskier looked at Geralt now. "Actually, I've always wanted to know, do witchers ever retire?" Geralt didn’t answer, glaring down at the bathwater with an odd expression. His lip twitched, his nostrils flared, then— ”Hh-hehHH-! Heh’ASCHHuhh! Guh…” He sneezed fiercly, uncovered, wet hair flung into his face. He sniffed sharply. “Sure, witchers retire.. when we get slow and get ourselves killed.”

"Blessings. And come now, you must want something for yourself once all this... monster hunting nonsense is over with." Jaskier knelt by the bath and looked at Geralt closely.

What I want doesn’t matter, he wanted to say, I don’t get to choose a comfortable, happy life, with someone I love..

"I want nothing,” he sighed.

"Well, who knows? Maybe someone out there will want you."

“I need no one.” He said, voice firm. Their eyes met, and the witcher saw that look. That tender, longing, lovestricken look. “…and the last thing I want is someone needing me.”

"And yet… Here we are.." Jaskier looked at Geralt, meeting his gaze for a moment before he looked down towards the floor behind the tub. Geralt’s head spun around as he noticed his clothes were gone.

"Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?” He growled.

"Ah. Well, uh, they were sort of covered in selkiemore guts, so I sent them away to be washed. Anyway, you're not going tonight as a witcher." Jaskier then shifted and grabbed the clothes he had prepared for Geralt, setting them on a stool by the tub. "Here, these are for you. I'll just head into the other room and get ready myself, if you don't mind." Without waiting for an answer, Jaskier exited the bathing room and began to change his clothes, starting from his stockings up, hearing the door open when he had just finished with his trousers. His back was exposed- he hoped to all the gods that his glamour magic still made his wings appear as ink on his skin to the eyes of an outsider.. Geralt got dressed, doing his best not to fidget and tug at the clothes. He never liked dressing up for these big events.

"Wow..” He gasped softly as he saw the tattoos covering Jaskier’s entire back. They were beautiful, he had to admit.. “I’ve never seen tattoos like that…” Jaskier flushed slightly, turning his head to look at the witcher as he began to pull on his tunic.

"Ah, well, you know me.. I tend to be a surprise.." The witcher stood behind him, a calloused hand smoothing down the long planes of his back, his touch gentle.

"Hm. Pretty,” was all he said, tracing the lines of ink with his fingers. They’re so intricate, so life-like.. Jaskier shivered at the touch before he gasped, pulling away and flushing bright red.

Jaskier shivered at the touch before he gasped, pulling away and flushing bright red. "I.. Thank you..?" He then slipped his shirt on further, embarrassed. "People don't usually trace them.."

“Wait.” Geralt stopped him with a warm hand against the bard’s back. “I want to see..” He leaned in to get a closer look at the markings. How could any tattoo be so detailed? So focused on his examination, the witcher didn’t notice the rising tickle in his nose until it was too late. "HhUHH-! RSCHHhoo!” He sneezed, directly across Jaskier’s back. “Fuck, I— HH..! Huh’TZCHHHuh! Uhh’TSZCHH!” He turned away and clamped a hand over his face, stifling another desperate, squelchy sounding triple. “Guhh..” he groaned , rubbing his nose and looking rather sheepish. “I’m.. I didn’t mean to-“

Jaskier shivered, chills running up the length of his spine before he covered his back again. "J-just- Don't worry about it- I'll finish getting ready, you go.. Do something else.." His cheeks were a bright red, and he took a deep breath, sighing shakily.

This was going to be a long night..

[the-scent-of-happiness]

Chapter 2 is in the works!

I'm so happy you've all followed and seem to enjoy the blog so far! Thanks for your support!

[the-scent-of-happiness]

The Scent of Happiness

Chapter 1 - Capture

- Set during the episode Four Marks. -

Jaskier strummed his lute and sang, and as the crowd boo'ed him and tossed food at him, he felt his anger rise. These fools wouldn't know good music if it hit them in the face! He picked the bread up regardless, then spotted a lone male. He grabbed a stein off a tray and approached. "I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood." Geralt glanced up at the bard as he approached his table, bringing with him the scent of honey and fresh grass and dandelions in high summer. It was strangely alluring.

“I’m here to drink alone,” was as much an answer as he gave. What would such a young sweet thing want with a monster like him?

"Good. Yeah, good." Jaskier brushed off the dismissal and took a sip of the ale before he spoke again, his voice holding a bell-like charm to it. "No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except..." He then sat down across from the man. "for you. Come on. You don't want to keep a man with... bread in his pants waiting." He internally cringed and made a note to smack himself later. "You must have some review for me. Three words or less.

The witcher’s nose was beginning to tickle, rather fiercely at that. “Fuck, hh-hold on—" He gasped turning away and stifling harshly into his shoulder. "HUH'MFSHH!" A few tavern patrons turned their heads, but most were too full of wine and food to notice. “Ghh.. There’s your three damn words. snf! And the creatures in your songs don’t exist.”

"Blessings. And how would you know?" He paused, then smirked as he intertwined his fingers, resting his chin on the space where his knuckles almost met. "Oh, fun. White hair... big, old loner, two very... very scary-looking swords. I know who you are." The bard stood as the man did, following him. "You're the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia." When the tall, hulking man paused, he lit up with a massive smile. "Called it!" Geralt was quickly stopped by a man, asking something about a job. Gods, his nose still itched.. Something about a devil- ”HUH’NTSHHhuhh!” He ducked into a gloved fist. A hundred ducat- fuck, not again. ”HH’MFSCHH!” He blinked, annoyed, and scrubbed his nose against the leather.

“Make it one-fifty and you’ve got a deal.” The man handed over the pouch of coin and Geralt was on his way in no time. Ugh, that scent.. it was so sweet and inviting, tempting as a piece of candy. Jaskier took a moment or two to gather himself and his things before he followed the witcher out, smiling. "Need a hand? I've got two. One for each of the devil's horns." And there he was again.. what the hell was wrong with this kid? And that scent... It was lovely, but his nose seemed to disagree as he scrubbed at it again, sniffling.

"Go away.” He growled to the bard. He was far too young to know what he truly wanted, so Geralt decided for him. The Path was too dangerous, he was dangerous.. First sniff of trouble and he’d turn tail and run.

"I won't be but silent back-up. I heard your note, and, yes, you're right, maybe real adventures would make better stories. And you, sir, smell chock-full of them. Amongst other things. I mean, what is that? Is that onion?" He paused, scrunching his nose up before he decided he didn't care. "It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak." Jaskier smiled as he fantasized about what he could learn and experience.

“It’s onion.” Geralt rumbled, trying to focus on not fucking sneezing again. As the bard continued to babble, he stopped with a low growl as he heard the dreaded nickname he’d received in Blaviken. That’s it.. He turned and beckoned him closer. “Come here.” As the poet approached, he struck him hard in the stomach, then led Roach away, growling softly as he rubbed his nose again. Jaskier gasped and sputtered as he tried to regain his composure. He followed Geralt on anyways.

"Reading between the lines and the gut punches, chum," He paused, shuddering a bit, "I'd say you have got a bit of a... an image problem. Were I to join you on this... feat to defeat the devil of Posada, I could relieve you of that title." He smiled as he waved his hands to express his excitement. "All the North would be too busy singing the tales of... Geralt of Rivia, the-the White Wolf or-or something." He was moving in as close as possible. Geralt sighed, climbing up on his horse. This job was hard enough without a chatty songbird getting in his way, not to mention whatever perfumes or fancy soaps he seemed to use were constantly making him sneeze. He’d never been good at stifling them, and the effort it took usually outweighed any benefit. Speaking of which… "Hhuh-! HH’RSCHHHOO! Huh’TZCHHHuh!” He lurched forward in the saddle, groaning softly. Ugh, his eyes were beginning to itch and water too. Fuck. Jaskier tensed a moment, then moved even closer in, next to Geralt. "Mind if I hop up? I'm not wearing the right footwear." He also made quick work of pulling a handkerchief from his sleeve and extending it to the witcher.

“Don’t touch Roach.” The witcher growled softly, urging his horse onward at a slight trot, ignoring the offered handkerchief. Instead he took to rub rub rubbing his nose again. He could stand to be a bit gentler with the thing, instead of roughing it almost raw against the leather of his gloves.

"Yeah, right, yeah." Jaskier nodded before he put the handkerchief away and continued following Geralt as he dismounted eventually and started looking for the supposed devil. "The elves called this Dol Blathanna before bequeathing it to the humans and retreating into their golden palaces in the mountains." He cringed a bit at the lies he knew he was telling. "There I go again, just... delivering exposition." He then noticed the witcher leaving him behind and picked up the pace. "Geralt? Geralt? Wh-Where are you going? Geralt, don't leave me. Hello? What are we looking for again?"

Godsdamnit, I’ll never get anything done with him chattering away like that! "Blessed silence.” He rumbled, hopping off Roach’s back and approaching the area with caution, keeping his eyes open for movement.

"Yeah, I don't really go in for that. Have you ever hunted a devil before?" Jaskier followed close behind and took out the handkerchief again. "Oh, and you probably still need this." His breath began to hitch again, nostrils giving a distinctive twitch. He accepted the handkerchief, quickly burying his nose into it as a fit overtook him. "HH’RSCHH! Huh’RSHHhuhh! Huhh’RSCHHuh!” He sniffled, then buried another harsh triple into the luxuriously soft fabric. “Ghh.. snrf! Devils don’t exist.” He said, tucking the handkerchief into his own pocket for now.

"Right. Obviously. Then, uh... then what are we doing?" Jaskier quirked a brow as he watched, following Geralt.

“Sometimes there’s monsters… snf! Sometimes there’s money.. rarely both. Thahh-ats the life…” He pressed a knuckle against his septum, lurching to the side as something whizzed past him, grazing his forehead. “Shit!” Jaskier stepped back and gasped softly, looking at the small projectile. "Act Two begins!" He smiled and looked closer. "What was that? Looks like a tiny cannonball from a... Oh, my gosh. Geralt... it is a devil." Jaskier smiled as he recognized the creature, pretending not to know it. "Ohh. I have to see this magical, this mythi--" He was then hit with an iron ball and pretended to go down. The wound stung, but he had to keep his glamour magic. Well fuck. Geralt examined the small iron ball, then brushed back the foliage to look for the beast. Where did it go? He slunk forward carefully, but didn’t draw his sword just yet. He had a feeling he wouldn’t need it.

Jaskier put his sole focus into keeping his magic up. He could vaguely hear what was happening, but paid little attention. However, when they were picked up and bound, he knew he had to pretend to wake up. Especially when they took his lute. He began to struggle against the bindings, jostling both himself and the witcher he was tied to. Geralt woke with a start, his head throbbing painfully, and glanced quickly around at his surroundings. They were inside a cave, and the songwriter was tied at his back. Fucking wonderful. The witcher grunted and struggled against the bonds, but the ropes held fast. He cursed under his breath, wriggling in the restraints. Jaskier rolled his eyes a bit before speaking. "This is the part where we escape."

Geralt growled, “This is the part where they kill us!” Two elves entered then and one— an auburn-haired she-elf—punched Geralt in the face, spitting curses in Elder.

"Oi, that's my lute. Give that back. Quick, Geralt. Do your-your witchering--!" Jaskier growled a bit and gripped his fists.

“Shut up-“ Gods, his nose itched even worse than before… The she-elf kicked him, shouting something he didn’t understand. He heard the bard say something back in a snarky tone. How the fuck did he know Elder speech? “Do you want to die now?” The elf snarled. “What, as opposed to later?” Geralt snapped back, receiving another blow to the face.

Jaskier looked over to the elf with his lute, and he felt his heart sink. "No, please, not the lu--!" He was then kicked in the stomach, and he gasped a moment, then pretended to be in pain. He had to keep up the facade.

“Leave him! He’s just a bard..” Geralt was trying damn hard not to sneeze, but between the poet’s scent and the dusty cave— ”Hh’SCHHHuhh! Huh’TZCHHHuh! Hh-huh-! Hhuh-TSCHHhoo!” The elves snapped the bard’s lute to splinters, while the red haired elf continued her assault on the bound witcher. “You don’t deserve the air you breathe! Everything you touch you destroy!” She shouted, and Geralt spat blood at her feet.

"You hide in your golden palaces. You beat a bound man, too scared to even look him in the eye!" Jaskier yelled with righteous anger, and he nearly lost composure of his magic. It was only a moment, but his scent took on a heavier quality and almost seemed to burn with intensity. He knew he was wrong, but he would be damned if he dropped his act in front of a witcher..

“Do you like my palace, hm? Does it live up to the tales you humans tell?” The female elf knelt down to tip Geralt’s chin up and he rammed his forehead against her nose. She flung herself backward, spluttering. Torque the Sylvan and more elves entered the cave, arguing amongst themselves. “What’s two human lives when countless elves are dead?”

“One human. Hh.. A-and you can let him go.” The witcher wriggled his nose, trying desperately not to go into another fit, his eyes watering with allergic tears. Jaskier didn't want to correct them. He sighed softly as he listened to them all talk, biting his lip.

-

When they finally got off without much trouble, thanks to a deep conversation between the elf king and the witcher, Jaskier walked alongside Roach.

"Credit where credit is due. That whole reverse-psychology thing you did on them was brilliant, by the way," He made a serious sour face as he imitated Geralt. "'Kill me. I'm ready.'" He laughed a bit. "That's the conclusion. They just let us go, and you give all of Nettly's coin to the elves."

Geralt sniffled thickly, his nose gone red and eyes streaming. "Snff! What, is Fihh-Filavandrel’s lute not gift enough for you? Hhuh- Hehh’ESHHue! Huh’TZCHHHuh! Hh’RSCHHhuhh! Guh.. huh-! Hh’SCHHhoo!” He buried yet another fit of sneezes into the bard’s soft handkerchief.

"Blessings. Yeah, she is a bit sexy, isn't she? I do have respect for Filavandrel. He survived the Great Cleansing once. Who knows? Maybe he can do it again. Be reborn." He paused before he turned the lute around to his front, then began to pluck the lute strings. "Will the elf king heed, what the witcher entreats? Is history a wheel, doomed to repeat?" He finished, but he shook his head. "No, that's... that's shit."

The witcher mopped at his running nose, tucking the handkerchief away again. “Ugh… snf! This is where we part ways for good, bard.” Surely an encounter like that would have scared him off… and if not, well.. Geralt supposed it might be nice to have a bit of company that wasn’t his horse. Even if he did make his nose itch horribly.

"I promised to change the public's tune about you. At least allow me to try." Jaskier smiled and began to strum again, then began to sing. However, the lyrics had been changed from fact, skewed. Jaskier knew that people wouldn't take well to the truth- after all, no one seemed to when he would tell it.. Still, he sang on. " While the devil's horns, minced our tender meat, and so cried the witcher, 'He can't be bleat--'"

“That isn’t what happened.” The witcher’s brow furrowed. “Where’s that newfound respect you were just going on about?”

"Respect doesn't make history.." Jaskier then continued with the song, strumming on as the lyrics poured from his mind and through his lips. It was as though his entire being was made of music, and when he finished, he turned to the witcher, smiling. "I never told you my name.. It's Jaskier."

[the-scent-of-happiness]

Working on compiling the first chapter's content, but for those who've followed already, welcome! Feel free to ask questions!

[the-scent-of-happiness]

Hello everyone, welcome to The Scent of Happiness.

This is an AU for the Netflix series, The Witcher, and also takes inspiration from the games.

In this AU, Jaskier is a fae. There will be plenty of time for questions and explanations on how us authors portray fae in this AU, but for now, just know that he is a fae!

The AU is also created by people with a sneezing fetish. If this isn't your cup of tea, then please kindly just step back. We have no intentions of allowing harassment or bullying for an innocent kink.

The author of this AU will be referred to as Mod Fae. Former co-authors: Mod Wolf and Mod Elf.

The AU started as a simple roleplay, but has since evolved and become something much more for us.

Thanks for reading this little intro, and we hope you enjoy!

NOTE: Mod Elf is gone. I'll be going it alone for now ig?