Really want to read some Geralt x Yennefer fluff right now, but, oh wait, there aren’t any new ones… bummer!
That being said, could I write some? Probably. Maybe if my company shuts down and I’m quarantined I will, but that doesn’t appear to be happening just yet. We shall see.
Geralt rolls over to the other side and grunts. Ciri’s scream is still vibrating through his body, an echo of dread flooding it. He should sleep, but he can’t. Even for a man like him—used to fights, used to losing his brothers to monsters—this day has been a lot.
He should sleep, but every time he closes his eyes, his vision drenches in blood.
He held it together for Ciri pretty well, but now he thinks of his dead brothers lying in the laboratory, to be prepared for their funerals the next day. Vesemir keeps vigil by their bodies through the night. Geralt is grateful for that. He just can’t.
Geralt isn’t a fearful person. No witcher is. But he had feared for Ciri today, innocent and sweet as she is (too powerful for her own good and stubborn as hell, too), for Yennefer who had no magic to defend herself and still fought with everything she had, and for Jaskier, the stupid bard, running right into their battle, armed with nothing but wit and a stupid leather coat.
Seeing him safe and sound catching Yennefer after they returned from the other sphere had been a relief. The colour of Jaskier’s coat moving through the periphery of Geralt’s vision had calmed him somewhat in the after-battle adrenaline crash. Jaskier has this effect on him after two decades of travelling together, even if he isn’t tending to him but others who are harmed.
Geralt can’t remember when the bard’s constant chatter and string plucking had turned from annoying to some kind of comfortable white noise soothing the fraying edges of his being, especially after hunts and other fights.
He had missed him. He’s only now realising how much. But knowing that he’s safe in the keep just like Ciri and Yen is comforting. Witchers shouldn’t need comfort, but here he is.
Maybe he should get up and check on him, take away the booze Jaskier is surely numbing himself with or the notebook he’s frantically scribbling a new song into. But Geralt dismisses the idea. Jaskier is probably already asleep. He must be exhausted after the long journey and little sleep last night, not to mention the disaster that befell them.
Ciri fell asleep as soon as he had guided her to her chamber. She didn’t even light a candle. Geralt prays to any deity that might be willing to listen to send the girl a good night’s sleep for once. She’d deserve it.
He groans and turns once more. They’ll have to leave soon before the winter swallows Kaer Morhen whole.
He wishes they had more time. Ciri needs to learn to control her powers, how to defend herself. Granted, her progress in the little time they’ve been together has been impressive, but will it be enough for the road when mages and royals are after her?
Geralt’s eyes sting, a useless remnant of his past humanity. He won’t cry. He can’t. But for the first time since the Trial of the Dreams, he wishes he could. He remembers the catharsis of tears running down his skin. Tears didn’t solve anything, but they used to make his heart a little lighter.
Some humans might argue that witchers don’t have a heart. Oh, how wrong they are. Just like when they claim witchers don’t have emotions. Just because they don’t react to every impulse, reflect instead, and try to see beyond the surface. And because their bodies react differently.
Geralt’s heart beats slowly in his chest, heavy, filled with regret and the memories of people he lost along the way. He can never shake them because he cannot forget. He gets by. He survives. He always did. And now that he accepted destiny, accepted his child surprise, it’s necessary to push back the emotions that threaten to flood him as they often do at the brink of sleep even further and concentrate on the next steps.
He needs potions, he needs provisions for the journey and coin. They need garments for the harsh winter ahead. But most of all, he needs a plan.
A party of four is hard to keep hidden, but if Yen and Jask change their colourful garments to more moderate ones and their little group stays away from the big towns and roads, they should be able to make it.
The question is just, where to? Everyone will want to get their hands on Ciri. Fucking everyone!
Being on the move. Maybe that’ll be the sole goal. Not staying anywhere long enough to leave an imprint on people or the area.
Geralt isn’t sure why he’s dreading it so much. This has been his sole life since the trials. He’s probably the best-equipped person on the Continent for this task. Jaskier has been long enough at his side to be used to the hardship the open road can bring. Yennefer can use her magic to disguise them if need be, and Ciri is the centre all of them will spin and navigate around—teaching and protecting.
Geralt tries to envision it. Long miles on the road, Jaskier singing a song soothing everybody’s nerves, Yennefer explaining the intricacies of spells to Ciri, who has her serious ‘I’m listening’ face on (or is chuckling about a verse in Jaskier’s skit). His own senses are focused on their surroundings so that they can go off track if anyone comes near them or he can pull out his sword and defend them. It’s a strangely comforting scene.
But there’s still so much work waiting before they can leave, and while it’s still autumn in the lowlands, winter can arrive up here any day. They need to hurry if they don’t want to be snowed in.
Geralt catches himself with the wish nature would take this decision out of his hands. He just wants to rest. Yes, he meant what he told the girl earlier. Destiny shouldn’t be avoided. But postponing destiny sounds like a tempting option.
We could head to the coast.
Geralt closes his eyes, imagining it. The bloody red dissolves, gives way to white cliffs and dark blue waves, seagulls screeching above them. Jaskier sits in the lush grass plucking the strings of his lute, Ciri leaning against his back, humming along, the wind tousling their hair.
Geralt’s lips curl into a tender smile, and he hums lowly, his muscles relaxing for the first time in hours. No, days.
Finally, he drifts into sleep. He needs the rest. Tomorrow will be time enough.
The scrunching of the snow underneath his boots sounds loud in the eerie silence of the night. Jaskier pulls the collar of his coat closer to his neck and leans against the wind as he passes the corpse of the basilisk lying shattered in the courtyard.
He stops at the hitching post where Geralt tied down his horse, and with a sick feeling of satisfaction, he pats the mount’s neck.
“You’ll be good for me, won’t you?” he murmurs. The horse watches him with attentive eyes and neighs.
“Good,” Jaskier mumbles and closes the buttons of his doublet and then of his coat. They are meant to mainly look good, but if he wants to leave the mountains behind without freezing to death, vanity and fashion need to take a step back, and the buttons will have to prove their true worth.
Jaskier unknots the reins and throws them over the horse’s head. He looks up at the keep, so much larger, so much worse than he had imagined it, made it sound in his songs. But he understands his friend Geralt better now, having been here. This is his home. This is where he grew to become the man he is now, where he recharged every winter they spent apart. For sure not a place for warmth. Not a place to learn to deal with emotions beyond reining them in during a hunt and keeping people at arm’s length.
The bard purses his lips, his jaws clenched. No wonder that even after decades, he couldn’t carve out a tiny space for himself in the witcher’s heart. No, for that to be achieved, one needs destiny, and that one isn’t on Jaskier’s side.
Granted, he comes from a privileged place. Not one filled with love either, but at least one needn’t worry to freeze under the blankets while being fully clothed.
The events in the hall have sobered him up, but he can feel the weight of a hangover combined with an adrenaline crash pulling on every muscle of his body.
What a fragile thing the human body is. No wonder Geralt never meant to burden himself with someone as fleeting as Jaskier. Humans must be like annoying midges for long-living creatures like him and his witch, irritating, but easy to slap away.
Work Summary: The sorcerer grasped Ciri’s hair and dragged her upwards, exposing her throat. “Tick tock, Yennefer,” he crooned. “The child or the bard. It’s your choice.” At his feet, hunched over and still spitting blood, Jaskier lifted his head to meet Yennefer’s gaze. Her fists clenched at his determined expression, disgust pooling in her gut. He wanted her to save Ciri. She wouldn’t let either of them die. Unfortunately, they were at a standstill.
Prompt: Angstpril Day 1 - “I didn’t mean for this to happen” Word Count:3,810 Warnings: canon-typical violence, major character death, whodunnit except it’s who’s the corpse, on-screen death, canon-typical language, angst, description of a corpse, knife wounds, blood
Author’s Note: The title is from the poem Anniversary by Diannely Antigua. Sorry about this one, gang, and for the fact that my return to fanfic is through angst. Also, uh, sorry Pearl.
*
It was a crisp summer morning when they hit the narrow trail. They’d been travelling for days already, but finally, they were approaching their destination. Despite the exhaustion that chilled the trio’s bones, their spirits were higher than ever. In fact, for once, Yennefer found herself enjoying Jaskier’s company.
“Ciri, dear, give us a song.”
Nevermind. She hated the bard and his stupid fucking lute.
“Don’t you dare, Cirilla,” Yennefer growled out from atop her horse.
The other was occupied by her companions, dearest Ciri at the reins and Jaskier back-to-back with her so that his hands were free to annoy Yennefer to death. If she still had her magic, she would’ve cursed him with silence before he could open his mouth. Alas, she was stuck with his endless portfolio of songs and his even more endless babbling.
Ciri giggled, which would have been endearing in any other moment. The girl put a finger on her chin, in mockingly deep thought. Finally came her rumination: “Do Toss A Coin.”
Yennefer groaned a rumbling noise as if a dragon lived in her chest. “Not again.”
“It would be my pleasure, my lady,” Jaskier said. He gave his lute a wild strum with a flourish, a dastardly, falsely genial smile on his wicked face. Without hesitation, and despite Yen’s glare, he began to sing. “When a humble bard graced a ride along…with Geralt of Rivia—”
The great sorceress rolled her eyes. “The one time we are without the oaf and all you want to do is sing his praises.”
“Good gods, Yen, you could at least pretend to miss him!” he teased.
“It’s nice, just us three,” Ciri chimed in, knocking her elbow into Jaskier pointedly. “I don’t miss his hovering.”
Yennefer huffed a laugh. “You’re just glad he’s not here to stop you from stealing our wine. Hm?”
“And I get to hear the bawdy songs!”
The bard cackled. “Oh, you haven’t heard the truly ribald songs.”
“Even Jaskier is somewhat responsible, darling,” she said. “Geralt would kill him. He’s an idiot and reckless, but he hardly has a death wish.”
“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”
He scoffed, looking between them with a scandalised expression. “Always the butt of the joke. You know, I thought I’d get a break from it being without Geralt, but no, he’s rubbed off on both of you now! Cirilla, I truly expected better of you.”
“Grave mistake,” she chirped with a silly grin.
Yennefer spotted Jaskier’s scandalised face, his open mouth, and interrupted him before he could start rambling. “Enough, the both of you. We’re here.”
Ciri brightened significantly, while the sorceress shared a look with the bard, a disgustingly fond one.
This trip of theirs was not for Jaskier alone, though it had begun as a chance for him to perform for a crowd that wasn’t witchers at Kaer Morhen. The festival he’d pointed out in a nearby town was one Yennefer was fairly familiar with, so she decided to tag along. For herself, of course. Not to keep an eye on the bard. And when Ciri found out that they were going to a festival, a warm, flower-themed one at that, she absolutely begged to go. It didn’t take much to convince Geralt—no, just one pleading look from his girl. It took a little more to convince him to let them go alone, but eventually, they managed it.
It wasn’t that they didn’t want Geralt to go. They knew, however, that he wouldn’t enjoy the festival, nor would he be welcomed in the first place, annoyingly enough. So, Lambert and Coën, two of his closest brothers, dragged him along on a job and told him to let them bond.
Leading Ciri and Jaskier into the town, Yennefer reminisced on it fondly. Despite herself, she smiled. Lambert had called them all Geralt’s: Ciri “his girl,” Jaskier “his bard,” and Yennefer “his witch.” Her own nickname wasn’t exactly affectionate, but she knew he meant it lightly.
To think they were Geralt’s droll little group. Was there even a word for what they were to him? She couldn’t think of one.
“Yen, look!”
Her attention was drawn back into the present at Ciri’s insistent hissing. The girl had their horses sidled up next to each other, close enough that she could tug on her sleeve. She pointed into the square of the town as they entered, eyes bright with wonder.
Ciri was pointing at the decor, she thought, gaze drifting over the sight.
Every inch of the market stalls and walls was covered with flowers of all colours. Purples and blues seemed to be the favourite, though, with smatterings of reds and yellows and pinks. People wore flowers around their necks, wrists, and ankles. They handed them to each other, as well, in single stems, bouquets, and even artful pieces of jewellery. It was a sight to see, the beauty of summer here. Most other villages celebrated these holidays in spring, but this environment was perfect for flowers in summer, what with their frequent rain showers. Legend had it that it was some sorcerer’s fault a hundred years ago.
Yennefer probably would’ve thanked them if they were still alive, just for the look on Ciri’s face when a girl, much younger than her, offered her a necklace of carnations for her steed.
“They’re lovely, thank you,” the young princess murmured.
She ran her fingertips over the petals, apparently in deep thought.
At her back, Jaskier sat up. “Ooh, bookshop! We should see if we can find anything for dear old Vesemir.”
“Necessities first, bard,” Yennefer chided, swinging her leg over her saddle to dismount. “Then we can spend all Geralt’s coin.”
Snickering, Ciri let Jaskier hop down before she followed him. Once they got their horses situated for the night, they took to exploring the festival. Yennefer split from the other two briefly, haggling her way through the market. Ciri found her way to her later, hiding her giggles at the annoyed vendors as they attempted to bargain with an unstoppable force.
When Jaskier reappeared, he held something out to Ciri.
“For me?” she asked, eyes wide.
He nodded encouragingly, a blinding smile on his face. “Go on, princess.”
Without further questioning, the girl ripped into the brown paper packaging like the child she was. Yennefer gave their companion a questioning look, but he only smiled and shook his head. When she looked back at their girl, she saw a dumbfounded Ciri.
“It’sbeautiful,” she breathed, hesitant hands drifting over the gift.
Itwas beautiful; a curved, decorative hairpin forged of rose gold and decorated with sparkling white gems. The metal twisted like branches with leaves on the offshoots, the entire thing shaped almost like a tiara. The eye-catching part, however, was the line of three pink roses it bore. They were real flowers, enchanted to stay alive for decades. Of the three, the middle rose was the largest, but each was perfectly pristine. The jewellery was ideal for a princess, Yennefer thought. It was practically made for Ciri.
“I love it!” she cried.
Unexpectedly, she threw herself at Jaskier, tackling the bard in a vicious, witcher-trained hug. He took it with a grunt and a laugh, hugging her back the moment he could. Yennefer smiled at them both, eyes bright.
“Thank you,” Ciri whispered into his shoulder.
He petted her hair gently. “Any time, dear. Now, I think Yennefer has her eye on yet another vendor to harass. Help me make a song out of this one?”
“Only if you call Yen something wicked,” she bartered.
Said sorceress brightened, while he gave a dramatic, beleaguered groan. “If I must.”
Yennefer bore a devious smile. “That’s my cub.”
That night, Ciri and Yennefer retired to their room in the inn long before Jaskier, whose voice echoed throughout the tavern and its halls far into the night. While he belted out his songs and made all the village girls swoon, Yennefer helped Ciri undo her braids and settle in for bed. They stayed up longer than intended, a fact they would keep a secret between themselves, lest Geralt find out and never let Yen watch over Ciri again.
“I’m happy that Geralt found you and Jaskier,” Ciri said during a long silence.
Admittedly, Yennefer was somewhat dumbstruck. “Oh?”
She gave a sheepish smile, her free hand playing with her hair. “Everything that happened was…scary,” she continued, “but you’re both with us now. I like it better with you here. So does Geralt, even if he doesn’t say it. He’s happier with you two around. More, uh, complete.”
At that moment, Yen’s heart broke. She didn’t even like it around simply because she liked them, but also because Geralt was apparently all the better for their presence. The way she said it, too, with such love in her eyes, killed the sorceress right there. She almost wanted to bundle her in blankets and never let go.
Before the clock struck midnight, however, she tucked the girl into bed alone and kissed the crown of her head.
“Sleep, dearest,” she murmured, sure she was already asleep. “I’ll keep watch.”
And keep watch she did; her keen eyes drifted over their room what must have been a thousand and twelve times before Jaskier arrived. There was a sag in his shoulders but a pep in his step as he entered. The sight of Ciri’s hairpin on the nightstand made his eyes all rheumy, disgustingly enough. Yennefer greeted him with a nod, ready to turn in herself now that he was there.
“Good show?” she asked, her voice barely a breeze.
“Not as good as Kaer Morhen,” he admitted with something like longing in his words. “But good. Ciri’s alright?”
She nodded as she climbed into bed beside the girl, leaving Jaskier on his own. “No nightmares yet. I’ll wake up if she does.”
“Good.” He curled into his blankets. His speech was slurred. “That’s good.”
Yennefer huffed out a chuckle. “Goodnight, bard.”
“Goodnight, witch.”
She was very nearly asleep the second she laid down, but her mind kept her up a moment longer. We’re Geralt’s family, her traitorous thoughts decided. That was the word she was looking for earlier. We’re family.
~
“GERALT!”
It was a bright summer day in Kaer Morhen, a rare occurrence, when Lambert burst through the doors to the library. Vesemir and Geralt dropped their conversation in an instant, the latter getting to his feet with a hand on his sword. He knew his brother and that tone of voice meant bad news.
Lambert turned the corner, finally coming into view. “Geralt,” he said breathlessly, “it’s Yennefer. At the gate. She—”
He never did finish, what with the way Geralt ran out of the room like a bat out of hell. His feverish escape didn’t go unnoticed by his fellow witchers, many of whom followed at a somewhat slower pace. Of course, he ignored them all, gaze set on the front gate. Underneath his ragged old boots, soft grass parted for him without resistance.
It was rare for him to be home in the warm months. He was used to the crunch of snow under his feet and the biting cold of the mountain snows. This summer at home felt almost new to him after so long of being deprived of the experience, but he’d grown fond of it. It was all for Ciri, who loved Kaer Morhen dearly and needed a stable environment while she learned to use her magic. Everything those days was for Ciri. Even Lambert and Coën visited more frequently to see her. (And her alone, they’d claim. Perhaps for Jaskier’s music. Yennefer loathed the bard’s boasting when they said as much.)
The trip to the festival was for Ciri, too. But the fear in Lambert’s voice had Geralt choking on air. He knew it was a bad idea for them to go alone, without him, especially such a distance.
One of his brothers had just managed to get the gate open when he appeared, rushing through without pause. On the other side, a single horse stood. At its side was the trembling shadow of Yennefer of Vengeberg, a ghastly looking image of a once-powerful sorceress who held the reins with a deathly grip.
“Geralt,” she choked out, voice raspy, as though she’d been screaming.
Geralt was starting to hate his own name.
He took a few steps toward her but stopped at the sight of something on the horse. Someone.Almostsomeone.
A limp body lay across the saddle, buried under blankets.
The witcher felt his stomach leap into his throat. “Yen, what—?”
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she cried. Her voice trembled in a way he hadn’t heard in years, something broken and shattered in every word. “Geralt, I’m—”
When she tried to step forward, her body seemed to collapse on itself. The white-haired witcher barely caught her, holding her in his arms when she lost the strength to stand on. He wondered, absently, if she had walked the whole way here. Did she transport herself, the horse, and the…the corpse with magic?
Thecorpse. He couldn’t see their face. He couldn’t tell which of their companions laid dead before him; nausea crawled up his throat all of a sudden. For a moment, he almost didn’t want to know.
Was it Jaskier, his lips never to quirk up in a smile or open for a song again? Or was it Ciri, her bright eyes dead and cold?
“Geralt, I’m sorry,” Yennefer gasped. She grasped the back of his neck, desperate for something to ground her. “I’m so sorry.”
~
“Let them go and I won’t turn you into ashes,” the sorceress hissed.
She gathered flames in her hands. Before Sodden, it might have been an empty threat, but the sorcerer in front of her knew very well what her ash-ridden palms were capable of now. In fact, she would do it for lesser things than this, far lesser.
On the floor before him, Ciri squirmed dangerously. The skin of her cheek was unnervingly close to the blade in the other sorcerer’s hand, but she clearly didn’t care. On the ground beside her, Jaskier had been beaten to the floor for daring to open his mouth. Unfortunately, it was a situation he was all too familiar with. This time, however, his insults had been to keep the filth’s hands off Cirilla. It worked too well.
“I was sent to break you, Yennefer,” the sorcerer said. She didn’t even know his name. “I only need one alive to do that, so…pick your favourite.”
He grasped Ciri’s hair and dragged her upwards, exposing her throat.
It was the same way he’d pulled her out of her soft bed in the inn. Yennefer barely had a second to react and even that was too long. By then, Jaskier was flying at the man with his lute and beating him over the head with it, folly as it was. With both the bard and the princess in hand, the sorcerer had Yennefer as well.
“Tick tock, Yennefer,” he crooned. “The child or the bard. It’s your choice.”
“Over my dead body.”
He only laughed. It was a mid-tier cackle, she thought. She’d certainly heard more villainous attempts. “Not the deal. One dies.”
At his feet, hunched over and still spitting blood, Jaskier lifted his head to meet Yennefer’s gaze. Her fists clenched at his determined expression, disgust pooling in her gut. He wanted her to save Ciri. She wouldn’t let either of them die. Unfortunately, they were at a standstill.
“And if I don’t choose?” she questioned fiercely.
“Yen,” Jaskier hissed, receiving another swift kick to the stomach for his gall.
Ciri glanced at the bard. “Don’t you dare.”
The sorcerer rolled his eyes. “I’ll stand here as long as I have to. Or, if I get bored, I could always kill them both.”
“You wouldn’t live to make the second hit.”
“But the first, well, that one’s easy,” he mocked.
Ciri met Yennefer’s gaze. There was childlike terror in her expression, but trust as well. It was nothing like Jaskier’s determined, knowing look he gave the woman a moment after.
This was not Sodden. Making a rash, desperate decision would not have her kidnapped and without her magic. One wrong move here would lose her something far more precious and dear to her than any form of Chaos.
She clenched her fists, quenching her fire. Jaskier nodded sharply.
“The bard,” she declared, her voice sickeningly steady.
The sorcerer grinned and moved his knife away from Ciri’s throat just as her eyes went wider than plates. “Very well.”
“No! Jaskier!” the girl cried. She tried to move to him, but the sorcerer stopped her with a click of his tongue.
“If you love the girl so much, I’m sure this will hurt more.”
Despite his early words, he lunged for Ciri. She yelped. Before she or Yen could do a damn thing, Jaskier flew at the sorcerer with a furious cry. He tackled him to the ground, both of them falling. Yen blinked and the bard was horrifyingly still above their kidnapper, a muted shock on his face.
He lifted his hand, and blood dripped off his fingers.
“JASKIER!”
Her scream was drowned out by Ciri, who wailed. From deep in her chest came her Chaos and its wind, driving the room into a restless hurricane. Yennefer blocked her face with her arms, but couldn’t hold against it. Her back slammed into a wall. The shrieking of the young girl had her ears ringing and similar screams from the sorcerer indicated his were as well. Regardless, he’d been thrown off Jaskier, leaving Ciri to run to him.
The girl didn’t take a breath, shrieking her heart out as she held Jaskier with trembling hands. When she finally did stop her screams, she broke them with heaving sobs.
“Stay awake, stay awake—” she begged. Her voice was gravelly, worn from the rage and the fear and the grief. “Hold on, please, Jaskier!”
Yennefer sent a ball of magic at the other sorcerer, who had just been standing again. With a shout, the two were at it, sparks flying and Chaos going wild.
Ciri didn’t spare them a glance, desperately putting pressure on the massive wound across Jaskier’s doublet. He held her hands back, one of his own reaching up for her face. With a gentle, pale hand he caressed her cheek.
“It’s alright,” he whispered, hair clinging to his sweaty forehead. “I’ll be alright, dear, don’t cry. Shh, shh, it’s not your fault. Look at me. It wasn’t your fault, I swear.”
“He was going to kill me.” She hiccupped, tears streaming down her cheeks and turning them red. “You stopped him. Why? Why? It was supposed to be me!”
His hand grasped her shawl, the precious one from her grandmother. “No. Never, do you hear me? I would do it again, Ciri, again and—” he was cut off by his own hiss of pain.
“Brat!”
Ciri opened her mouth to scream, but a calloused hand slapped over her face, silencing her. He ripped her away from Jaskier, dragging her toward another corner, where a portal appeared with a quick flick of his hand.
Yennefer, recovering from a nasty blow, cried out. “Ciri!”
“Yennefer!” She screeched, the sound muffled as she pushed and kicked against the sorcerer’s grasp. “Yen! Jaskier! Yen—”
A woosh of magic cut her off, and then she was gone.
Yennefer howled, racing forward even though the portal was long gone. She slammed her fists against the wall, quivering with rage. “Fuck. Fuck!”
Her palms fell against the wood a moment later, defeated.
Then, she realised.
“Jaskier!” she gasped out, whirling around. She flung herself to the ground next to him. Her hands went to his shoulders, shaking him viciously. “Bard! Bard, wake up! Wake up, damn you!”
The bard moved with her, putty under her hands. She realised he wasn’t moving an inch, not even looking up at her through his dark hair. Quickly, she brushed aside the locks. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw his eyes.
They were dull now, cold and empty and wrong. His skin was still warm under her touch, as was the blood staining his fanciful clothes.
“Come on, you useless fuck, he has Ciri! We have to—” Yennefer gasped for breath, shaking her head as if to shake off the idea that he wouldn’t respond. “Get up! Get up, damn it!”
He did not move.
She pulled him close, her face in his hair. “Please, Jaskier. I’m—I’m sorry. Gods, I’m so fucking sorry, please just get up. Get up.”
In his limp, lithe fingers, he clutched a blue shawl with golden tassels.
“Jaskier?”
~
Geralt couldn’t bear to let go of Jaskier when he pulled him down from the horse. Vesemir had appeared, barking orders to the other witchers to deal with the horse or something like that. He could hardly hear over the cotton in his ears. Maybe, if he’d had the ability to, he would have been crying. Instead, he felt a gaping hole in his chest.
Yennefer cried enough for the both of them, her face buried in his shoulder as she avoided looking at the bard anymore.
Meanwhile, Geralt had brushed his hair out of his face and done nothing but stare.
He almost looked asleep. He was…peaceful, like those nights out under the stars with all four of them. Ciri would try to last the night with them, but she always drifted off beside Jaskier, whose lilting voice lulled her right to sleep.
More than anything, Geralt wished for this to be a nightmare. Then, he could wake up and find the three of them worrying over him, ready to coddle him into his grave. Ciri would curl up under his arm and snore into the early afternoon, utterly dead to the world. Yennefer would run her hands through his hair with gentle mutterings of comfort. Jaskier…Jaskier would tease him, the big, bad White Wolf, but he would always have a cup of something warm and a tune to hum him right back to sleep. It was silly, wanting a comfort he never needed.
“Where is she?”
Yennefer nearly jumped at his voice. She only shook her head, unable to cry anymore. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I don’t—”
“Shh, it wasn’t your fault,” he murmured, tucking her close. “It wasn’t.”
Her shoulders shook. “Ciri’s gone, Jaskier’s—and I’m here. Fuck, he still has her, fuck—Geralt, what do we do?”
“Fuck.” He grimaced, a grunt barely passing his lips. “We’ll find her, Yen. We will.”
“He’s gone,” she whispered, weaker than she’d been before. “He’s not coming back; I can’t—I can’t bring him back, Geralt. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
It was a crisp summer morning when they buried Jaskier.
You and Jaskier have been traveling about the Continent together for…well, forever it feels like. Just when it seems you’ve written a song about everything, you make the acquaintance of a Witcher and inspiration strikes! Though, Geralt seems to regard your artistic voice with indifference, borderline disdain. You’re starting to take his comments personally.
“I like that, it’s just jaunty enough, I think.”
“That’s not how it happened.”
You glanced up at Geralt who, perched on Roach’s back, seemed as tall as the cliff faces around you. His amber eyes were squinted in your and Jaskier’s direction, watching as he often did. Always so alert. Though you surmised it was a habit that came with the Witcher title. But the aversion in his furrowed brow and frown? That was all Geralt.
“Where’s your newfound respect?” He asked, forcing your focus back to his words.
“Respect doesn’t make history,” Jaskier countered before he began to sing again. Geralt stayed still, fists tightening around Roach’s reins as your fellow bard sang away.
“It’s poetic,” you added when you saw the Witcher’s jaw clench. “An artistic reimagining.”
“It’s a lie,” he huffed, “life isn’t poetic.”
“That’s why we make music. We make things…more palatable. Your life of violence isn’t suited for everyone.” You pointed to your cut lip and added, “I know people that would run for the hills with a wound like this. But our songs will mark you in history for your chivalry…”
Geralt grunted, clearly unmoved by your speech. Despite all you and Jaskier tried to do for the Witcher, he was determined to discourage your efforts. You had long since grown tired of his unamused ‘hmming’ and blank, quiet watching. Through gritted teeth you spat out a stinging end to your miniature diatribe.
“…your chivalry, which is yet another artistic reimagining.”
Before he could make another hum of displeasure, you left Geralt in the sandy dust and followed after Jaskier. He reached the chorus in your new ballad as you neared him and, as you fell into step beside him, you glanced over your shoulder. Geralt was still….still, his head moving to take in the sight of the canyon you were walking through. For a moment, you felt that maybe your speech had reached through the iced-over love in his heart.
Then you saw his shoulders sink with a sigh and the deep line of a frown on his lips form as he pressed on Roach’s flanks to push the horse forwards. You wore your own frown as you pulled your eyes to the path ahead. As you walked, you listened to Jaskier as he sang about a more poetic Geralt that slew Elves and caught coins. Never would you admit it, but it was that fictionalized Witcher in the ballad that you found yourself dreaming of in the dark of night.
What made those wonderings all the worse was the fact that the true Witcher, Geralt, your inspiration, was always a mere few paces away. Whether you were staying the night in a grimey inn or were laid across from him with a campfire between you, as you were later that night, Geralt was always nearby. Always a reminder of what, of who, you couldn’t have. Being held hostage by the steep rock faces of the canyon did not help to ease that turmoil. Even over the crackling embers, you could hear Geralt shift in his sleep.
The sound echoed too much of reality and made falling to the fantasy of your dreamy Witcher far too difficult. From where you laid, you glanced to your right, away from the dwindling campfire, over to Jaskier. His lips were parted and soft snores filed out of his mouth only forcing rest farther from you. With a sigh, you looked up to the starry sky.
In it, you found the same quiet, and seemingly indifferent, company Geralt provided. You longed for more warmth; though you would never admit that out loud. The songs you wrote were devoid of romance for that purpose. You did not dare give away any hint of your feelings. Doing so would feel worse than death, you imagined.
And imagine you did. Your mind wandered and you stayed, terribly awake, staring up at the sky for a few minutes more before you got up. With your companions asleep, you were careful with your steps as you made off towards a nearby strip of woods. You hoped that a midnight stroll along the treeline would tire you out or, at least, dull the whirlwind whistling of your thoughts as they raced by.
Yet, you found yourself venturing further into the bush to better escape them. Ferns of all sorts nipped at your legs while a small symphony of nocturnal birds led you deeper. Their singing distracted you enough, but not quite enough to dull your every thought of Geralt, as he consumed so many.
And definitely not enough to ignore how a sudden mass of fog seemed to surround you. Hazy and light, the low clouds sent a shiver down your spine. How eery, you thought before you asked yourself: how could this be worked into a ballad? Perhaps there was a poor fair maiden, lost and alone, who wandered the woods in search of home.
But you were no fair maiden, and that would be considered dishonest if Geralt had any say. You scoffed at the thought. How you hated his influence over you. Every comment he made, every disapproving stare, Gods! However, it wasn’t anger for the Witcher himself that swelled in your chest. No, it was anger for yourself, for falling for a man so, seemingly, cold.
Your body, unable to hold all that disdain within itself, made your foot stomp against the obscured earth as you trekked through the fog. Heaviness nestled in your heart like a root of some toxic plant and you forced yourself to stop, take a breath. The walk through the woods wasn’t helping to clear your head, not anymore. You needed to lay down, push the thoughts aside with the promise of sleep.
Though, when you took the next few seconds to glance around, you saw only fog. “But I am lost,” you murmured bitterly, “and I am alone.”
It was then you heard the crackling of twigs. A white-hot flash of panic flooded your entire being. Where had it come from? Somewhere in the fog! Above? To the side?
Fear sent you into a frenzy of wide-eyed glances between trees and through the mist. You saw nothing but heard something. Something large, you imagined, something viler than the elves of the morning. Something with sharper teeth and a thirst for blood.
Just as you felt the darkness of doom creep over your shoulders, a glimmer in the fog caught your eyes. Almost as if a firefly found itself lost in the haze, a dull flicker of light spread through the mass of mist. The romantic in you hoped that it was a mystical muse lighting your way back to camp. A more primal part of you begged you to step towards your only possible source of illumination.
The Geralt in you, his voice nearly ever-present, scolded you. Turn around and run, that’s what it told you. For the first time, you were compelled to listen.
Quickly, you spun around on your heel and tried to ignore the continuous rustling of fauna behind you. You started forwards, back the way you came, just as the sounds of whatever hidden something grew louder. With each step you took, your apprehension grew, as did the volume of the growling, glowing creature that stalked after you. Your gut twisted with wild nerves, stirring you into the closest thing to a sprint as you could muster.
Lungs heaving, you darted through the trees in a desperate attempt to escape. Astray in the searing panic that was running for your life, you sent frantic, wild-eyed glances over your shoulder. What chased after you was a spindly figure that almost seemed to glow from its chest, shedding a dim light on the forest floor before it. Soulless eyes were sunken in a wrinkled face that was framed by a pair of pointed ears.
You didn’t have a clue what it was, only that its grimace made it less friend and more a dangerous foe.
You didn’t have a clue what it was, until a gruff voice shouted out, “Fogler!”
The yell made you jump, set your footfalls off-center, and primed you to fall flat on your face. Roots entangled your foot, anchoring you firmly and suddenly to the dirt. Stones and sharper twigs bit at every inch of skin you had exposed. You winced at the pain until the scurrying and nasty gurgling of the creature, the Fogler, pulled you back to the threat of death. Then numbed by fear, you turned and saw it.
Claws, long and dark, reached for you. In a feeble attempt of defense, you raised your hands and cried out.
Rather than a strike, thick wetness hit your open palms. Slowly, you lowered your arms and looked at where the Fogler had been moments before. The creature was still there, though it was laid back and a dagger was buried in its chest.
“Are you alright?” Asked the same gravelly, and terribly familiar, voice from before. With wide eyes, you glanced up and were met with Geralt’s amber eyes. He looked down at you, as he always did, with his hand extended towards you, fingers waiting for your own.
“You…You?”
“Were you expecting a valiant knight?” He asked, gently shaking his hand for you to take it. “C’mon.”
You shook your head and stood on your own, despite the aching in your legs. Geralt’s sudden appearance shook you from the panic that claimed you a mere moment ago. “Did you follow me? Were you following me?!”
“You went for a walk in the woods, in the dark, like an idiot. So, yes, I followed you.” Geralt replied, his hand falling to his side and gesturing towards the slain creature behind you. “It’s a good thing I did.”
“A good thing?!”
“Yes,” Geralt replied coolly. Even in the limited light, you could make out his stone-cold features. There was no give in him. No deeper twinge that whispered of concern he held for you. But the way his eyes were fixed on you made you feel so watched, so wonderfully, frighteningly seen. How infuriating he was!
"Gods! All you ever do is watch and grumble and groan! You’re,” you threw your hands up in the air and looked up as if the right words hung there. You found nothing. “You’re-”
“What? What am I, Y/N?”
At the softer tone of his question, you felt compelled to meet Geralt’s gaze. His expression was still blank, waiting, and his posture was, as always, heavy. Shoulders were drawn back slightly, as if ready to hurl another dagger into the heart of a new threat. The way he carried himself made the quiet, honest curiosity in his voice all the more strained.
“Immovable,” you admitted in a breath, “a tower whose shadow I can’t escape.”
Geralt’s lips quirked upwards then, one of those fleeting smiles that you saw him wear all too rarely. Despite his expression, there was a sadness in his voice as he said, “sounds poetic.“
It was then, caught in a ray of moonlight, that you saw a Witcher more akin to the one that had your heart. Geralt’s gentle side shone through in the darkest hour. What sweet torture it was to see him at last, to have him so close, but unable to touch.
As if he read that thought, Geralt’s gaze dropped from yours and you felt a chill run down your spine. He was always out of reach. You had Folger blood on your hands anyway.
"We should get back to the camp,” you mumbled bitterly.
Geralt hummed in response, a sound you assumed was an agreement. Yet, as you began to walk past him, a hand shot out and gripped your arm. You stopped dead in your tracks and found Geralt’s eyes once more. Something shifted, something gave way.
Wordlessly, Geralt’s hand brushed down your arm until his fingers found your wrist. He pulled one of your ichor-covered hands close to his chest. You wanted to ask what he was doing, what he was planning, but you didn’t dare ruin the moment or interrupt the sensation of his skin against your own. When he pulled out an already grimey handkerchief from a pocket on his dark trousers, any question you held died on your tongue.
“Thank you,” you murmured as Geralt wiped the blood off your hands. His movements slowed as crimson soaked in the fabric, but he did not loosen his grip. You saw the amber of his eyes flick down to your lips before he looked into your eyes again.
"Poetic enough for you?”
There was an edge to his question. Not quite like the refined, cutting edge of Geralt’s favorite sword or the usual harsh honesty his words were laced with. No, it was teasing. It was an edge of humor that you had barely seen Geralt express since you met him.
“So much so that I must be imagining it,” you replied, playing into his tone.
Geralt’s eyes wandered back down to your lips at your response. When he met your gaze again, there was a question heavy in his features, his furrowed brow, and parted mouth. You leaned in closer, hoping he would take the hint, take your silent answer to his silent question. When his grip on your wrist tightened and he pulled you to his chest, you became grateful for the Witcher’s watchfulness, his intuitiveness.
Through you were far more grateful for the surprising softness of his lips, how easily they melded against your own. How you fit together like a dream, like two lines of poetry that flowed lyrically into each other. Your next song felt like that midnight kiss.
AU where Jaskier is an annoying but charming musician in the theatre club and Geralt a grumpy but soft football player (I’m writing a fanfic about this )
I’m honestly not sure why you lovely bunch would do so, but I’m an truly grateful all the same.
I’m sending Henry sized hugs and kisses to all of you.
After being inspired by many of my super talented friends in the fandom. I’ve decided for the first time EVER in the long time I’ve been writing in various websites and fandoms to OPEN my requests in a special writing event, to celebrate the milestone.
Rules are simple - send me anASK requesting a country song and a character and I’ll see what the combination inspires me to write. It might be fluffy, might be funny, flirty, sad or it might be smutty who knows.
I’ll try to take on most requests but can’t guarantee I’ll find inspiration in all of them.
I’m thinking of doing 10 one shots in total, but I won’t give a word limit as I never abide by them !.
There is a 2 week deadline and I’ll either finish taking requests on 10th June 2022, or before if I have enough requests and inspiration.
Here’s a small sample songs so you can get a feel for the songs and artists I’m familiar with. Although requests are of course not limited to these -
Cowboys and Kisses - Anastasia
Cowboy Casanova - Carrie Underwood
Dancin’ Away With My Heart- Lady A
Black Roses - Clare Bowen
You’re Still The One - Shania Twain
I Need You - LeAnn Rimes
Anything from Nashville TV series or from any of the artist above back catalogue, along with any other country songs you may wish to suggest are welcome, but please bare in mind I’m a 90s kid so anything pre 98 might be a bit of a struggle .
Characters you can request are as follows,
the man himself ,
Henry Cavill
Walter Marshall
Captain Syverson
August Walker
Will Shaw
Charles Brandon
Clark Kent / Superman
Sherlock Holmes
Geralt of Rivia
If you are one of my wonderful 200 followers, get your cowgirl/boy and boots on and send me an ASK with your request.
Thank you for all the kindness and support
❄️
FINAL DAY to get your requests in.
Then I’ll start writing these stories . Thank you to those that have sent their requests in . I’ll try my best to do them justice.
Eskel and his elven lover Aniela have been together for some years when an accident occurs…
See the Masterpost for more info, chapter links & content/warnings. Masterpost here.
Ch. 4: The promised happy ending <3
-
When they arrived in Kaer Morhen they took Vesemir by surprise, being early, and arriving by portal. After they gave him a quick explanation, Yennefer retired to the room she used when she visited to rest, and Eskel went to his, followed closely by Vesemir. Vesemir filled the fireplace and started a fire, then turned to Eskel.
“I’ll bring up a jug of water. Let me know if you need anything else.”
Eskel gave his thanks and the older witcher left. He took his and Aniela’s outer layers off, then tucked them into bed, holding Aniela close to his body. Her head was tucked under his chin, and he combed his hand slowly through her hair. He felt like his heart was held in a vice. He could have lost her. A voice in his head whispered that he still could, and he pushed it forcefully away. He couldn’t bear the thought.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “Please, come back to me.” He brushed a kiss to her forehead, then leaned his head against hers. He drifted in and out of consciousness, unable to settle enough to sleep properly. Every time he woke, he held his breath until he heard her breathing, her heartbeat, before allowing himself to relax again.
-
Aniela woke on a familiar chest, surrounded by a familiar scent. Fingers combing through her hair. She must be dreaming, she thought. Or had she died in that cell? Perhaps this was what the afterlife was like, if you deserved it. She didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to break whatever dream or spell this was.
“Ani?” A whisper, a voice she would know anywhere. She blinked her eyes slowly open. She looked up into a face more familiar than her own. Golden eyes, full lips, ragged scar.
“Eskel.”
“How do you feel?”
“I…you…do you remember me?”
A pained look crossed his face. “Ani, I’m so sorry.”
“Am I dreaming?” she whispered, a tear tracking down her cheek.
Eskel reached down and brushed it away gently with his thumb, caressing her cheek, and she leaned into the touch, closing her eyes again.
“No,” he replied quietly, voice choked with emotion. “We’re in our room in Kaer Morhen.”
She blinked up at him. “How?”
“Yen portalled us here.”
“But, how… I was… you…”
Eskel took in a shaky breath. “Geralt and Jaskier found you in a jail cell. I think they contacted Yennefer for help, and she brought you all to me, then brought us here. She helped me regain my memories. I think I must have hit my head during my hunt. Ani, I’m so sorry. I scared and upset you, and then you ran, and… you must have been terrified. I don’t know how to make it up to you, but I swear I’ll try.”
Aniela shook her head, trying to hold back more tears. “It isn’t your fault. I panicked, I was stupid. By the time I could think more sensibly, it was too late. I was too far away, and had no way to find you.” She hiccoughed a sob. “I missed you so much.”
“I had the horrible feeling that I was missing something, but I couldn’t remember. I’m so sorry, Ani. I promised to take care of you. The thought that I could have lost you…I can’t bear it. I hope it never does, but if something were to happen again–” Ani stiffened in his arms, and he rubbed a hand up and down her back soothingly, “Yen said she would get a xenovox for you, so that you’d be able to contact her.”
“Really?”
“Really. I know you have a hard time believing it, but everyone cares about you very much. You’re family, and they were all worried. I think Yennefer was ready to run me through with Geralt’s sword for being away from you. She was afraid for you. If anything ever happens, please don’t run again.” He gave her a squeeze. “Get help from our family. Please, promiseme?”
“I promise,” she whispered. She looked up into his eyes and found everything she had been missing; love, care, devotion, warmth. She shuffled further up to bury her face in his neck, wrapping her arms around him. He tightened his own around her, face in her hair.
“I love you,” he breathed. “I love you so much, more than anything. That was terrifying, I never want to go through that again.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head in silence.
After a few minutes, she moved her face back an inch. “I suppose I’ll owe Lambert an apology as well, and thanks to the others.”
Eskel huffed a laugh. “What did you do to Lambert? I haven’t seen him in months.”
“I ran into him, while I was… on my own. In a market. He was glad to see me, and kind, but he asked after you, and I panicked. I shook him off and ran. I think I confused and worried him. I feel horrible.”
“Hmm. I’m sure he’ll forgive you. He’ll be glad to see you’re alright.”
She tucked her face back into him. “Are you sure that…”
“Hmm?”
“Are you sure I’m not… a burden to you?”
“Never!” He nudged her face back so he could meet her eyes. “Ani. Never. You bring warmth and light and happiness to my life. I can’t imagine being without you. Even without my memories, those days without you, they were awful. I hope I’ll never have to know days like that again. Iloveyou.”
“I love you too.” The tears she’d been fighting spilled down her cheeks, and he thumbed the first few away, then clasped her face in his hands and kissed the rest of them away. Her tears slowed, then stopped, and she snuggled back in his arms.
“How did Geralt and Jaskier find me? How did they get me out?”
“I really don’t know any of the story, we didn’t have time. I don’t even know what you were doing in jail to begin with.”
“I lost my glamour bracelet. A baron thought I made a good curiosity to show off.”
Eskel growled. “He’ll be lucky if I never meet him. We’ll get you a new bracelet. If you want. Or we can stay up here.”
She laughed. “And do what?”
“Raise the goats and chickens.”
“We can’t!”
“We could, if we wanted to. I just want you to be safe, and happy.”
“I’m happy as long as I’m with you. And you keep me safe. I think you would go crazy if we stayed here all year long, and I’m not sure we can live sustainably off of just the goats and chickens.”
“Hmm. You might be right. Well, we have all winter to think about it and make plans. And I’m not letting you out of my sight all season.”
“Alright. That sounds nice… I love you, so much. It’s good to be home.”
Eskel and his elven lover Aniela have been together for some years when an accident occurs…
See the Masterpost for more info, chapter links & content/warnings. Masterpost here.
Ch. 4: A reunion, and a protective Yennefer
-
That night, the pair snuck onto the baron’s property, Jaskier dressed in one of Geralt’s black shirts and a pair of dark pants for better camouflage. Jaskier followed obediently behind Geralt, and they managed to sneak across the grounds as the guards moved about, then into the manor. Geralt knocked the dungeon guard unconscious, then they quickly opened the cell, Jaskier sneaking inside while Geralt kept watch.
“Psst, hello, you there, elf! We’re here to save you!” Jaskier whispered loudly as he crept closer. “Hello?” He came up beside the huddled figure and knelt down to shake their shoulder gently. “Can you hear me, are you alright?” He started to worry that the baron might have been wrong about the elf still being alive. He tugged at their shoulder to pull them away from the wall so that he could see their face. “Ani!” he cried out.
“Jaskier!” Geralt whispered harshly.
“Geralt, it is, it’s Ani!” Jaskier whisper-shouted back, trying to keep his voice under control.
Geralt cursed under his breath. “How…”
“Ani! Aniela!” Jaskier whispered desperately. “Geralt, she’s not waking up!”
Geralt took another moment to listen for anyone coming, then quickly crossed over to Jaskier and Aniela. Her heartbeat was slow and weak, and she looked pale and gaunt.
“Fuck,” Geralt cursed under his breath.
“I’ll carry her so you have your arms free if anyone comes after us,” Jaskier offered. He carefully scooped her up into his arms, tucking her against his chest. “Shit, Geralt, she doesn’t weigh anything. And she’s so pale and cold. And what happened to her glamour?”
Geralt growled. “Where the fuck is my brother?”
“Do you think she’s hurt?”
“I don’t smell blood. We’ll check her over more carefully once we’re out of here.”
“Alright.”
Geralt was on high alert as he led them out of the dungeon and across the baron’s estate, having not only his human lover to protect, but his brother’s unconscious one as well. They made it outside of the walls without incident and he relaxed slightly as they hurried back towards the town, but now that he wasn’t preoccupied with watching for guards, he was free to worry about Eskel and Aniela. It made no sense. They hadn’t seen his brother, nor heard anyone in town mention another witcher, and yet here was Aniela. They always travelled together. Eskel was never apart from her for more than a couple of days for a hunt, and he was anxious until they were reunited. They were never apart for longer than three days, unwilling to test the limits of Yennefer’s spell. Aniela being unwell and locked in a cell, having seen neither hide nor hind of Eskel, made worry grow like a stone in his stomach.
“Do you think—” Jaskier started.
“I don’t know,” Geralt cut him off with a growl. “Here, I’ll take her.”
“I’m worried too,” Jaskier said softly as he passed her over. “Should we take her to a healer first? Then if… if there’s nothing they can do, we’ll use the xenovox to contact Yennefer. Ask her to help us find Eskel.”
Geralt grunted his agreement, his mind whirling too much to be able to formulate a proper answer. Where was Eskel? What had happened? What happened to Aniela’s glamour?
“Her glamour! Her ears. We can’t bring her to a healer,” Geralt bit out.
“Fuck, right. Of course. Straight to Yenna, then?”
Geralt nodded. “We’ll gather our things from the inn, then call her.”
“Here, wait.” Jaskier set a hand on Geralt’s shoulder, and he stopped walking. Jaskier fussed with Aniela’s hair, making sure her ears were hidden from view. “That should do.” They hurried the rest of the way in silence, both wrapped up in their worries.
Up in their room, Geralt set Aniela gently down on the bed, before he checked her over briefly for injuries, not finding anything noticeable of concern. As Jaskier quickly packed their belongings, Geralt pulled out the xenovox.
“Yen, I need your help.”
A sigh. “What is it this time?”
“We’ve got Aniela, she isn’t well, something’s wrong.”
Yennefer’s tone instantly changed, full of worry and urgency. “I’m portalling to you.”
A moment later there was a zap, and Yennefer stepped into their room. She hurried over to the bed, kneeling down and assessing Aniela.
“Where is he?!” she demanded.
“Eskel?” Geralt asked. “We don’t know. She was in a baron’s dungeon. We haven’t seen him. Something must have happened to him, he would never leave her…” he trailed off, voice tight with worry.
“I am going to happen to Eskel! What’s wrong with her is they’ve been apart too long. She’s wasting away, Geralt, and she’s just about out of time.”
Geralt’s face turned even paler than usual. “Fuck,” he breathed out.
“You have no idea where he is or what happened?” Yennefer demanded. Geralt shook his head.
“I’ll use a locating spell, we’ll portal to wherever he is.”
Geralt nodded. Jaskier walked over and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. Once Yennefer was ready, Geralt gathered Aniela in his arms, and Jaskier shouldered their belongings. They stepped through a portal into another dark room. A figure bolted up in the bed.
“Who’s there?” a sleep-rough voice demanded.
“It’s us, Eskel,” Geralt said, relief at hearing his brother’s voice battling his portal-sickness.
“The fuck?” Eskel grumbled, swinging his legs out of bed and reaching to light the candle at the bedside with igni. “What are you all doing here?” He squinted at the assembled group, then noticed the person in Geralt’s arms. “What are you doing with that woman??”
“Why wasn’t she with you?!” Geralt retorted.
“That woman was in my room when I got back from my hunt a few days ago… Do you know her?”
Geralt stared blankly at his brother.
“Do I know her?!”
“She’s your partner,” Jaskier said. “Do you not know her…? You never go anywhere without each other. Well, you can’t go anywhere without each other, really. Her life is tied to yours.”
Eskel stared at them in growing confusion and horror.
“Your lives are tied together by a spell. A spell you cried and begged me to do. One I cautioned you to be very sure you wanted,” Yennefer said, a dangerous edge to her voice. “How could you let her be away from you for so long and get to this state? How are you sleeping while–”
Eskel cut her off. “I-I don’t understand. I don’t remember. I don’t remember any of it,” he stammered.
“What do you mean, you don’t remember?” Yennefer demanded. “When I did the spell, I made the terms of it very clear. You had to be committed, and you swore you were. You begged me to save her life. I was clear that you can’t be away from each other for more than three or four days. So why did your brother and his bard find her wasting away in a jail cell?!” Yennefer’s voice rose in pitch and fury.
Eskel dropped back onto the bed. “I don’t–I don’t remember. By the gods, it seems I should, may they punish me, but I don’t remember.”
Yennefer glared at him. “What is wrong with you?!”
He looked up at her, his eyes haunted. “I don’t know. I woke up in a forest after a hunt, with no memory of how I got there. No memory of the contract. I came back to the village to find that woman in my room, a different horse in the stables…I think…I’m missing time. Missing memories of the past.”
Yennefer crossed the small room to him, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him up, jerking her head for Geralt to come over. He did, and she pressed Eskel’s hand to Aniela’s cheek, and something sparked. Suddenly images flooded through his mind. Aniela laughing; Aniela dancing with the crowd during a festival, face lit up; waking with her sleeping in his arms in his room in Kaer Morhen.
He gasped. Ani. He stumbled a step back and looked down at her. She looked like she had a foot through death’s door. Frail and pallid, dark hollows under her eyes.
“Fuck. Ani.”
“Welcome back,” Yennefer bit out. “You should take her. She needs to be as close to you as possible.”
“Will she…is she… Yennefer…” Eskel faltered for words as he took Aniela from Geralt’s arms.
“She was about out of time, this was dangerously close.” Yennefer’s words were clipped. “But I think if you keep her close to you for a day or two, she’ll recover.”
Eskel took in a shuddering breath, clutching Aniela close to him, and buried his nose in her hair, his eyes scrunched closed. “I–Thank you.”
Yennefer took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I take it you’re on your way up to Kaer Morhen?” Eskel nodded. “I’ll portal you there.”
“Thank you. But, my horse…”
“We’ll get Acorn,” Geralt offered. “Where are we, exactly?”
“Aldersberg,” Eskel said.
“We can ride her back to our inn, it’ll only add a day or two onto our journey up to Kaer Morhen.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course. You just worry about Ani.” Geralt clapped a hand on Eskel’s shoulder before turning to Yennefer.
“Thank you, Yen.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” she replied, but she hugged him anyway.
“I know,” he murmured.
Jaskier quickly gathered Eskel’s things, then handed the bundle to Yennefer, who looked rather put out, but accepted them. He hugged her and she pulled a face, but didn’t attempt to push him off.
“Thank you, Yenna.”
“Get off,” she said, without any bite. “And don’t call me that.”
Jaskier grinned. “You like it.”
Yennefer made a noise of disgust. Jaskier wrapped his arms carefully around Eskel and Aniela next.
“Take care of yourselves,” he said softly. “We’ll see you soon.”
“Thanks Jask.”
“See you in Kaer Morhen.” Yennefer opened a portal and stepped through, Eskel following closely behind.
Eskel and his elven lover Aniela have been together for some years when an accident occurs…
See the Masterpost for more info, chapter links & content/warnings. Masterpost here.
Ch. 3: Geralt & Jaskier show up and take over the chapter. Lots of banter.
-
Two days later, Geralt and Jaskier paused for lunch at a tavern in a small village, quickly tearing into their bread and stew when it arrived.
“Mmf, Geralt, I don’t know if it’s because it’s genuinely good, or if it’s because we’ve been eating travel rations for days, but this is excellent.”
“Mm. The latter,” Geralt suggested, looking at the bard with amusement.
“Well, even so.” Jaskier chewed happily and glanced around the tavern. It was just past lunchtime, so it wasn’t overly busy, but a few tables were occupied by villagers. He kept his ears perked while he ate, always listening for things that would make good writing material. It was mostly gossip and idle chit chat: who was sleeping with whom, whose chickens had been attacked by a wild animal, opinions on the weather. Then the conversation at a table near their own caught his interest.
“But not a real elf, surely!”
“Aye! Pointed ears and everythin!”
“Haveyou seen it?”
“Well, no, but Mable’s cousin works in the kitchens, and she swears—”
“Mable’s cousin’s mouth gets away from her. What would he do with an elf, anyways?”
“Dunno. She says he’s planning a party, gonna show it off then.”
“Show off what, exactly? What do elves do? It gonna make a plant grow, or, turn green, or something?”
“What are you on about?”
“I dunno! What do elves do?! Surely it must do something, else what’s the point?”
“Well, it’s a curiosity, innit? Don’t see elves these days, do ye?”
“Suppose not. Dunno why it’s so exciting, though.”
Jaskier shot a look at Geralt, who was clearly listening as well, his brow furrowed.
“Terribly sorry to interrupt, dears, but did I hear you mention an elf?” The villagers eyed him sceptically, and Jaskier waved the barmaid over to order another round of ale for both tables. They relaxed somewhat at that. “It’s just, I’ve never seen an elf!” he lied smoothly. “Sounds exciting! Where’s this party taking place? Will it be soon?”
“At the baron’s, of course. I think he plans to hold the party this week.” They looked Jaskier and Geralt over. “Why, you planning on being in town long?”
“Oh, who’s to say? Always ready to stay longer in order to have some fun!”
They grunted in response.
Jaskier downed his beer quickly and Geralt followed suit, giving Jaskier a quizzical look.
“Well, lovely chatting to you! Enjoy your ale!” Jaskier gave the strangers a wide smile, then gathered his things and set off for their room, with Geralt close behind.
Once their door closed behind them, Jaskier spun around to face the witcher.
“We have to go find out about this!”
“The baron?”
“The elf!”
“Hmm.”
“If what they said is true, then this baron is likely holding some innocent person prisoner!”
“Who’s to say they’re innocent?”
“Geralt!”
“I agree, it sounds unsavoury, but we’re here for a night’s rest, and to hopefully make some coin, before we keep going towards Kaer Morhen. It isn’t our business, Jaskier.”
“Well I’m making it our business!”
“Jaskier.”
“What if it were Ani?”
Geralt snorted. “It isn’t Ani. As if Eskel would let such a thing happen.”
“How will you face her this winter after letting one of her people be used and mistreated?” Jaskier tipped his chin up petulantly.
“Who’s going to tell her?” Geralt cocked an eyebrow at the bard.
“Geralt!”
The witcher sighed. “Do you have a plan, or do you think we’re just going to storm into this baron’s doubtlessly well-protected manor and stage a dramatic rescue?”
Jaskier scoffed. “Please, Geralt, I’m a noble. I’ll make a visit as the Viscount de Lettenhove and declare my interest in his rarity.”
“And then?”
“And then… and then, if I confirm he does indeed have a captured elf, we’ll sneak back in at night and break them out!”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that!”
“We won’t be doing anything of the sort at night.”
“Geralt!”
“It’s a stupid and dangerous idea, and you will be staying here, if we do anything at all.”
“Oh, and let you do the stupid and dangerous thing on your own?” Geralt glared at him. “No thank you, I think I will be coming too. I can provide a distraction if need be.”
Eskel woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. He’d been having a nightmare, someone in the dark, in the cold, crying out his name. He couldn’t see them, didn’t know who they were, but it filled him with dread. He gave up on sleep and set to sharpening his swords until daylight.
-
Later that day, dressed in his best finery, Jaskier approached the baron’s home. Geralt lurked outside the walls, hoping he’d be able to hear if things went south.
Jaskier charmed his way in the doors, complimenting the village as well as the baron’s home and furnishings. After the baron had given him a tour of his home and property, Jaskier turned to him.
“What a lovely estate, your lordship. Truly impressive. There’s just one thing I’m wildly curious about,” Jaskier said, a twinkle in his eye.
The baron puffed his chest out. “Oh, and what’s that?”
Jaskier leaned in conspiratorially. “I heard you have something quite rare indeed, hidden away here.”
“Oh, did you, now? Word travels fast. You’ll have to attend my party, then. You are hereby formally invited, in three days time—”
“Oh,” Jaskier pouted at the baron, “but I’m afraid I won’t be in town in three days time.”
“Leaving so soon?”
“Alas, I must keep on my way. I’m expected elsewhere, you see. Couldn’t I just have a wee peek? I’d hate to miss such an opportunity.” Jaskier batted his lashes.
“Well, I supposed it wouldn’t do any harm.”
Jaskier clapped his hands in delight and followed behind the baron as he made off across the manor.
They made their way down stone steps, the air growing chillier and damp as they went. When they reached the bottom, two cells came into view, one empty, one occupied by a figure slumped into the corner on the floor. Jaskier stifled a gasp at the colour of their hair. It looked just like Aniela’s, but there was no way… Jaskier turned the gasp into a cough, covering his mouth with a handkerchief and looking apologetically at the baron.
“Sensitive nose,” he said by way of excuse. He moved closer to the bars, trying to get a better look at the figure. “And it’s really…” he let himself trail off.
“An elf, yes,” the baron assured him.
“Huh!” Jaskier squinted through the dim light of the lantern on the wall. “And they’re… still alive?”
“Of course! Last I checked, anyways. Rather pathetic creature. I hope it at least lasts until the party.”
“Right! Of course. Rather a waste if it didn’t!”
The person was leaning against the wall and facing away from them, and hadn’t so much as twitched since they had entered. He could see one pointed ear poking out of their hair, but there was no way for Jaskier to get a look at their face. He clenched his teeth in frustration.
“Well, thank you ever so much for showing me! I think I’ve had enough of the chill air, however, so if we can go back up…”
Jaskier followed the baron out of the tiny dungeon, then drank tea with him in the drawing room until he was able to politely excuse himself.
When he made his way around the corner of the outside wall, he came upon Geralt who was kneeling in a light meditation. Jaskier squeezed his shoulder, rousing him, and hissed into his ear.
“I feel dirty, Geralt. The kind you can’t wash away with soap. Let’s get out of here and I’ll tell you everything I saw.”
Geralt grunted in agreement and they hurried away from the estate.
Back in their room at the inn, Jaskier described the buildings, guards and dungeon as best he could while Geralt listened intently. He drew a map in his notebook as he talked.
“I couldn’t get a good look at them, they were slumped into the corner, and I know it couldn’t be Ani, but they had the same hair, Geralt, like golden honey. It gave me an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. And they don’t seem well at all. We must get them out of there!”
Geralt sighed. “Alright. I’ll watch the guard’s movements until I can catch a break in their rotation, then head through the kitchens here, and go down to the dungeon when the coast is clear.” He pointed out his path on the map as he planned and explained. “You said there’s only one guard for the dungeons?”
“Yes, this isn’t a proper jail, just one kidnapped person in a holding cell. He’s likely set the guard just so that no-one tampers with his curiosity before he can show it off.” Jaskier’s face wrinkled in disgust.
“Alright. I’ll set off just before midnight.”
“We’ll set off just before midnight.”
“No.”
“Yes! I thought I broke you of your ‘I need no-one’ nonsense ages ago, Geralt! What if you need a distraction? What if something goes wrong?”
“What if you get us caught? What if you get hurt?”
“I’ll have you know that I can be very sneaky, Geralt. Do you know how many bedrooms—”
“You were murderously chased out of?”
“Those were the ones where I was caught! Do you know how many—”
“Alright,” Geralt cut him off, closing his eyes, brow furrowed as if in pain. “If you get us caught or get hurt, I will make you sorry myself.”
“Ooo, is that a promise?” Jaskier cooed, gaining a glare in response.
Eskel and his elven lover Aniela have been together for some years when an accident occurs…
See the Masterpost for more info, ch. 1 link & content/warnings. Masterpost here.
Ch. 2: Aniela has some dark thoughts, runs into a familiar face, and then an unfamiliar one…
-
Aniela awoke the next morning still exhausted. She lay in the bed, staring at the bare wooden ceiling, contemplating what to do. Part of her mind was screaming at herself that this was madness, to turn and run back to Eskel. But then what? If he still didn’t know her, what was she supposed to do? She’d never felt she deserved him. The last thing she was about to do was try to convince him to care for her, that she belonged at his side. She’d been overwhelmingly happy that he had felt that way, but part of her had always wondered when it would end, as surely it couldn’t last forever. It was too good to be true. And here she was, because it had been. So no, she couldn’t go back. She didn’t wish to die, but sometimes your fate was out of your hands. People died every day, she reasoned. Her day was coming. She could accept that. She remembered a beautiful forest they had stopped in in Lyria. Perhaps she could head towards it. It would be a peaceful place to rest until… well.
Her coin was low, and the thought of having to approach strangers to beg odd jobs in order to make more made her skin crawl. Besides, she would only have use for coin for a couple more days, she thought darkly. She could make what she had left stretch until then. She resolved herself to sleeping where she could, barns or meadows. The following night she crept into a barn after nightfall, making a bed in the hay. She was sore, and drained, but sleep wouldn’t come. She missed Eskel fiercely: it ached, like a hole in her heart, a pit in her stomach. But she had no way of finding him again, no idea how she would explain herself to him at this point if he still didn’t remember her, and no energy to figure it out. She was weak, and shaking, alone and painfully lonely. She wished for it to end. Not long now, she figured. She sobbed until it petered out to silent tears, eventually crying herself to sleep.
She travelled south for two more days, until she ran into Lambert when she was bartering for food in a market.
“Ani!” Lambert called happily, smiling at her through the crowd. She froze. She liked Eskel’s brother well enough. They had spent a few winters together at Kaer Morhen, and though he was loud and brash and foul-mouthed, he was kind and caring underneath it all, and quite funny, she’d found. But he would ask after Eskel, and she wouldn’t know what to say. She started to panic, her body gearing into fight or flight mode.
Lambert made his way quickly through the throng of people, coming up alongside his brother’s partner.
“Ani! A sight for sore eyes. What are you doing at this stall, looks like shit, you must feed my brother better than this? You certainly deserve better. Come on, let’s find something else.” He put his hand on her elbow to steer her, and she pulled away. He furrowed his brow at her. “Where is the fucker, anyways? He on a hunt?”
“I - I don’t know,” she stuttered out. “I’m sorry,” she murmured quietly, then darted away into the crowd.
“What? Hey, Ani!” He started after her. “Aniela!” As he was getting closer to catching up, a man ran straight into him and dropped his basket of produce, potatoes and onions rolling this way and that. Lambert tried to dash around him, but the man pulled at his clothing.
“Hey! Help me gather these up, would you?”
“Not my problem!” Lambert snarled. “I’m busy!” He pushed his way around the man, eyes scanning the crowd for Aniela’s bright hair. “Fuck! Where did she get to?”
He continued through the crowd, trying to catch sight or scent of her, but she seemed to have disappeared. Lambert cursed again under his breath. What the fuck was that about? Aniela had looked haunted, with dark crescents under her eyes. It reminded him of when he had first met her, when she had first started travelling with Eskel. She had been so tentative, curling in on herself like she was trying to disappear from view, her eyes looking sad and full of shadows, hardly saying a word to anyone. Over the years she’d spent at his brother’s side, Lambert had watched her slowly bloom. She’d stood up straighter, become livelier. The first time he’d heard her laugh he’d almost called a celebration in the keep, but knew the attention would have the opposite effect desired.
Her company seemed to have a similar effect on Eskel. He seemed to brighten and be more at ease, especially when the wolves ran into each-other out on the path. The pair were good for each-other. Aniela had become a part of their patchwork family, and as such was important to Lambert and the others. They enjoyed her company, and their wardrobes were better off for her care.
What had she meant, she didn’t know where Eskel was? Was she unsure about the hunt he was on? Lambert had a bad feeling in his gut, but he didn’t run into Aniela again, or see Eskel, before it was time to leave the town. He asked around about a broad, scarred witcher, but no-one seemed to have seen him, nor his bright-haired companion. Lambert didn’t know what else to do but to move on, hoping he would see them both soon at Kaer Morhen, if not on the way there.
-
Eskel continued on the path, making his way towards Kaer Morhen. His memory hadn’t returned to him. What he originally thought to be a lost day or two was starting to seem to be much more. Things seemed…different. Off. Styles of clothing didn’t seem quite the same as what he remembered. People seemed friendlier towards him than he remembered. How much had he forgotten? What was he missing?
Two nights after the first one he could remember, he had vivid dreams. He dreamt of gentle fingertips tracing his eyebrows, lashes, nose, scars, lips. Of gentle whispers in his ear. He woke feeling confused and muddled, with the unshakeable feeling that he’d lost something.
-
Five days after she left Eskel, Aniela was crossing through another town. She was worn out and quite weak, having been away from Eskel for so long. She guessed she had only two or three days left, if that, before Yennefer’s magical tether snapped, and her life was extinguished.
She’d spent some of her remaining meager coin on bread and was leaving the market when she stumbled on the uneven ground, losing her balance and falling to her hands and knees. A stranger reached out to try to help, grabbing her wrist, as well as her glamour bracelet by accident. When she tried to jerk away, her bracelet broke off in his hand, and she gasped. The stranger looked at the bracelet in his hand, then back to Aniela, his eyes widening when he saw her ears.
“An elf?!” he exclaimed.
She started to panic, trying to scramble up to her feet to run. The stranger grabbed her wrist again.
“Where you off to in such a rush? The baron would love to meet you!” His eyes glinted wickedly.
“Please, just let me go,” she begged.
He ignored her and pulled her to her feet.
“Please.” It came out a whisper. She pulled back against his grip, but she had no strength left to resist. He dragged her after him as he marched away from the market and towards the baron’s estate.
a/n: This fic was inspired by this creator’s drawing. I thought the idea was really adorable and the plot just kinda came together in my mind. So I hope you like it!!
word count: 2.1k
The breeze pushed against your face, causing the smell of wildflowers to surround you, lightening your heart after a heavy morning.
You awoke to the sound of pounding on your door and a bloody Geralt on your step, leaning against the doorway as he could barely stand. You had ushered him in quickly, stumbling under his weight. Tucking him into your bed, you had to work fast on healing his wounds. Afterwards he had fallen right to sleep and has rested ever since.
Feeling secure he would be alright, you headed out to gather more ingredients from your garden as healing him had used up an abundance of your readied stock.
Opening the door to your cottage, you keep your eye on Geralt’s sleeping form as you place down your baskets on the table. Crossing into your bedroom area, you seat yourself on the edge of the bed, looking over Geralt and the perspiration coating his face. You urge your heart to slow down as you watch him. He was alright. He was safe. You had saved him in time.
Geralt began to twitch and jerk, his brows furrowing deeply. You move closer to him in concern.
“Geralt?” You call out, your concern clouding all rational thought. And that’s what caused you to reach your hand out, preparing to move some hair out of his face. But Geralt’s eyes snapped open to see your hand darting out towards him and he reacted instinctively.
One hand clasped around your wrist and the other jerked out to wrap around your neck. Your eyes widened and you let out a yelp as Geralt lifted you and brought you down on the other side of the bed. His hand on your neck kept you from bouncing and his body was quick to hover over yours.
His eyes frantically moved around your face and they almost immediately calmed when he noticed it was you. But they soon widened again as he realized his hold on you and his hands loosened. You let out a few heavy pants.
“Good afternoon,” you greeted breathlessly. Geralt looked into your eyes and your heart picked up as his pupils dilated. Then he furrowed his brows into their usual position and let his forehead drop into your neck.
“Ugh, I’m sorry,” he said gruffly, his voice partially muffled by your skin. You smiled softly, your hand coming up to run your fingers through his hair. A guttural rumble sounds from his throat.
“It’s alright, I’m used to it,” you try to assure him. Geralt was usually sleeping outside, not having enough coin to rent a room. He had to be vigilant. You couldn’t expect him to let down all his defenses when he was with you. You had learned not to startle him and an incident like that hadn’t happened in a long time. But your concern for him outweighed your own self preservation. Geralt shakes his head against your neck.
“You shouldn’t have to be used to it,” he argues, guilt and a fierce protectiveness seeping through his tone.
“I want to be,” you argue back, a little more sternly. Geralt was stubborn. You knew if he got any solid ideas about leaving you for your own protection, it would take a lot to convince him you wanted to be his. It took a strong voice to be heard over the raging thoughts in his head. Geralt went silent and you knew you had settled any thoughts.
“I’m sorry,” Geralt said again, his body sagging into you more deeply. He was cold. You squeezed your eyes tightly as you tried not to think how close he had come to death.
“As you’ve said,” you state curtly. Geralt sighs and his hot breath contrasts greatly to his cold body, causing you to inhale shakily.
“For coming here. I shouldn’t have.” His words shake you out of your own dreadful thoughts as you process them. Your head rears back as you try and cast him an incredulous look.
“And why not? You were hurt,” you explain, your voice showing how ridiculous you thought he was currently being. His hand leaves your neck to dig deeply in your hair, clutching the strands close to your scalp as his other hand threads your fingers together, squeezing them tightly.
“I don’t wish to only come to you when I’m hurt,” he expresses lowly. You knew how vulnerable that one sentence made him feel as he was not used to such proclamations so you squeeze his hand back in return and press a kiss to his temple.
“Then you should stop by more often,” you say softly, a light smile on your face. Geralt grunts.
“I can’t. There are monsters to kill,” he says shortly. You click your tongue, rolling your eyes at his words.
“And they’ll still be there after spending a few days with me,” you explain the obvious. There would always be more monsters. But you would only have so much time with Geralt…
“Speaking of monsters…” Geralt began. His hands slipped out of your hair and your grasp before he started swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Loud and painful grunts sounded throughout your cottage as he tried to sit up straight. Your eyes widened.
“Oh no. No, Geralt. You are not leaving,” you say forcefully, getting up on your knees and shuffling around him and off the bed.
“I have work to do,” he says simply in return, bracing his hands on the edge. He hesitates to push. You’re swift to tug him back down, forcing a grunt out of him.
“Yes. You do. Healing, that is all the work you’re going to be doing today,” you order brutally. His eyes flicker up to meet your own as he sends you a look, silently questioning if he heard your tone correctly. When you remain staring at him, he cocks his head.
“I’ll heal fine on the ride,” he challenges. You raise a brow in return, your hands rising to sit on your hips.
“With all your wounds stretching and pulling as you ride roach? No way. You’re staying here,” you challenge back, back ridged in fear of him leaving and getting hurt again. You don’t think you could handle it if he went out there again so soon and got hurt.
“I can’t,” he resists again forcefully. You let out a desperate whimper and you step forward, sliding your hands up his arms, across his shoulders, and around his neck.
“Just for today, Geralt. Please, stay and let your wounds seal. At the very least. Stay with me, Geralt. Just stay,” you say, practically begging him at this point. Geralt gazes up into your eyes as if trying to read them. He looks over you for a few long moments before he lets out a long sigh. His hand reaches out to cup your cheek, his fingertips tickling your hairline.
“Alright. For you and you only. Know that I don’t give a damn about my wounds. I do this for you,” he says sternly, finishing off the statement with a firm nod. Your lips curl into a beautiful smile as you let your cheek fall into his hand.
“I know,” you breathe out, your heart fluttering as Geralt sends you a rare smile of his own.
“So… what is your post healing treatment plan?” He asks, removing his hand from your cheek to palm your hips and tug you towards him till you’re standing between his thighs. Your brows furrow.
“My what?” You ask, not understanding what he’s talking about. Geralt quirks up a brow at your confusion and he squeezes your waist with widening eyes.
“What are we going to do all day? Because if I’m going to remain a prisoner here, I will not be resting,” he states matter of factly. You let out a sharp laugh at the comparison.
“Prisoner, huh?” You ask, your voice teasing. Your hands reach out to hold his jaw and he responds by sending you what’s considered by Geralt to be a cheeky grin.
“Indeed. But the warden is quite agreeable,” he adds, pinching your leg. You yelp, jumping a little before narrowing your eyes and scrunching your nose at him.
You go to shoot back with a quip of your own when the perfect idea strikes you. A smirk is slow to form on your face. Geralt will hate it. But it will probably be the best thing you have ever done. With his white hair and sharp features, it will be marvelous.
“You know what, I think I have the perfect idea…” you say, trailing off. Geralt raises a brow but doesn’t say anything as you help him up from the bed and bring him out deeper in the meadow. It is there you suggest him letting you braid flowers into his hair as he soaks up the sun.
“No.” Is his immediate response. Your lip juts out, your hands threading together as you knee-walk closer to where he’s sitting.
“Oh, come on, Geralt, please,” you beg, hoping the look in your eyes is enough to convince him. He shakes his head, refusing to look at you and instead, looking down to fiddle with a flower next to him.
“I will not fight monsters with flowers in my hair,” he explains, his voice rougher than before as he refuses. You drop the look and the begging to send him a much more serious look.
“Well then luckily there will be none of that today!” You say strongly. Geralt pauses in playing with the flower. He looks up, meeting the hard expression you send him. You two are motionless as you stare off. You notice his jaw clenching the longer you meet his intimidating gaze. Eventually he loses, not being able to resist you.
“Fine,” he grits out. Your features immediately brighten, your eyes sparkling and your smile wide. You clap lightly as you move to sit behind him.
“You’re going to look dashing, my love,” you express dramatically, leaning over to kiss him soundly on the cheek. You feel his cheek warm under your lips but no color surfaces.
“I have no doubt…” he says, leaning back and relaxing enough for you to be able to work.
And work you do. You work silently and diligently, picking the perfect flowers from the ones surrounding you both. You twist and braid the flower stems, hiding them within his hair so only the petals are visible. With selected flower colors and a pattern, you make quick work of filling his hair with flowers in a way that was more than tasteful, it was beautiful.
You look between your work and Geralt as you braid. You notice the way his body relaxes further and further the longer your hands thread through his hair, occasionally massaging his scalp. You see the way his eyes are closed as he enjoys the quietness between you and the warmth of the sun on his skin. No lines between his brows and no natural frown on his lips.
He appeared to be in peace, more so than you had ever seen him. You couldn’t help but add a few extra flowers, if only to prolong the process for him. You didn’t want to disrupt the divine moment of serenity between you.
But eventually, you had to finish, braiding in the final flower. You breathe in deeply before moving to stand in front of him. You hear Geralt mumble a ‘huh’ and you feel bad for a moment as you realize he was close to falling asleep.
“Okay, I have finished! Come, come, look and see,” you urge, holding his hand and tugging on it lightly. Geralt stands, with your help, and the two of you make your way to a pond a few feet over. You both lean over, looking into the water. “What do you think?” You ask, looking at his reflection. Geralt remains silent as he stares at himself. You bite your lip in anticipation.
“I think monsters will quiver in fear at the sight of me,” he says with a small grin. He leans up and you follow, looking at his eyes and waiting for them to meet yours.
“That good, huh?” You ask with excitement in your voice as you bite down harder on your lip. Geralt’s grin widens as he watches you. He reaches out and pulls your lip away from the confines of your teeth.
“Certainly, darling. It’s wonderful,” he says fondly, looking entirely ethereal with the sun behind him, hitting his hair just right. You squeal, jumping out and curling your arms around his neck as you hug him as tightly as possible without hurting him.
“Oh, I knew you’d like it!” You exclaim, knowing that he may have hated the idea but he couldn’t deny the result was nice. Geralt’s arms encase you, holding you firmly against him and ignoring the sting of pain he felt while doing so. Because you were worth it.
“Yes, that’s it,” he replied knowing he would do anything just to make you smile at him.
Geralt pulls over to help a man whose car has broken down and finds that he has accidentally rescued his daughter’s favorite musician. A few days later, Ciri gets a wonderful birthday surprise.
There was not much else to do as he drove down the highway; the trip to pick his daughter up from her friend’s house was long and dull. At the moment, Geralt had an excellent reason to think about Ciri even more than he usually did. Her birthday approaching at a terrifyingly fast pace. It was the first birthday she would have as Geralt’s adopted daughter, and he desperately wanted it to be as happy as possible.
Ciri had already lost so much in her short almost-fourteen years of life. Geralt knew she loved him, but he couldn’t help but feel that he was not doing enough for her. He did not know if he could ever be an adequate parent for a such bright and lively young girl. He knew, though, that he would do almost anything to make her happy. The realization thrilled him as much as it terrified him.
Ciri often spoke with fond longing of the extravagant birthday celebrations her grandmother had thrown for her, so Geralt wanted her to experience joy like that again. He had to figure out how to give her the best birthday he could.
Geralt thought the best way to achieve this would be to ask what his daughter wanted. Unfortunately, it seemed that his question had been far too open-ended.
“What do you want to do for your birthday?” he had asked.
“Can it be anything?” she said, eyes widening in that way Geralt could never resist.
“Anything.”
“I want to meet Dandelion!” she said with a grin. Geralt suppressed a groan.
Dandelion was her favorite musician. She listened to him constantly, while doing everything from reading to homework to drawing to staring out the window. She asked to play his songs nearly every time she was in the car with Geralt. Hardly a day went by without one of his songs getting stuck in Geralt’s head.
Geralt would go to the ends of the earth for his daughter, but he didn’t think any amount of dedication could get Ciri a private meeting with a quickly-rising pop star.
He tried his very best but had no luck. All of Dandelion’s concert cost so much more than Geralt could afford that it was ridiculous to even contemplate going, in addition to at least being several days’ drive away. Geralt went as far as finding Dandelion’s manager’s Twitter account in the hopes he could somehow ask for the singer to call her briefly, but nothing looked promising. None of Dandleion’s PR team seemed like they would respond to a message from a single father who couldn’t pay them. After a long evening’s research, he was forced to give up the idea.
So now Geralt was here, whiling away the long drive to pick Ciri up from her friend’s house by trying to think of anything he could do for her birthday that might live up to both her hopes and his ideals of parenthood. He was so distracted, in fact, that he nearly didn’t notice the man waving his arms on the side of the road.
The man was standing beside a car that was pulled over. His colorful, once-neat outfit was thoroughly disheveled, and he looked desperate as he shouted something Geralt couldn’t hear.
Geralt slowed, pulled over, and rolled down his window. “What’s wrong?”
“Thank you so much,” the man said the moment Geralt’s window opened. “Nobody else would stop for me. I just fought with my best friend and my phone is dead and my car broke down and I’m running late to an important appointment and I would really, really appreciate it if you could give me a lift? It can just be to the next town, or maybe until my phone is charged if you have something I can use?”
Geralt thought about refusing. It was probably unwise to let a total stranger into his car, and he was already almost late to pick Ciri up. On the other hand, the man looked so desperate and sad and earnest that it seemed cruel to even think about turning him away.
After so many months of raising a thirteen-year-old girl, Geralt should have been immune to the power of enormous, pleading eyes. He was not.
He opened his car door. “Get in.”
The stranger blinked. “Wait, really?”
Geralt huffed. “Do you want me to change my mind?”
“Please don’t!” The man darted back to his own car for a moment to grab a backpack and presumably dead phone from the passengers’ seat.
“Don’t worry,” said Geralt, somewhat amused at the way the colorful man nearly tripped over himself in his haste to get his things. He clambered in next to Geralt and pulled the door shut quickly, as though afraid Geralt might actually change his mind and throw him bodily out of the car.
“Thank you so, so much,” gushed Geralt’s new companion. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t stopped. This means the world.”
Geralt grunted. The praise made him feel strangely uncomfortable. “It’s fine.”
He pulled back onto the highway and continued driving.
“What’s your name, by the way?” said his passenger. “It’s fine if you’d rather I didn’t know. I understand. I’m just curious about the man who completely saved my day, is all.”
Geralt frowned a little. The man’s voice sounded oddly familiar when he spoke like this. He was sure he’d never seen his face before, though, so Geralt put the thought out of his mind.
“Geralt,” he said after a moment, answering the question.
“Ah, perfect! A wonderfully heroic name for my wonderful hero.” The man was grinning now, looking frankly too happy for someone who was recently stranded on the side of the road. “I’m Jaskier!”
Geralt grunted, unable to figure out how to respond, grunted. He didn’t think he’d ever received so many compliments per minute in his life.
“Where were you going?” he asked, trying to change the subject.
The man — Jaskier — replied with the name of a town. Geralt frowned. Taking Jaskier there would add half an hour to Geralt’s drive, but based on the state Jaskier had managed to end up in earlier, Geralt had a feeling he might somehow get himself killed on the way if Geralt simply left him at a bus station. He sighed. He didn’t particularly want murder on his conscience, nor did he want to worry about this strange man any more than he had to.
“I’ll drop you off there,” he said before he could change his mind.
Jaskier’s grin widened. He looked genuinely delighted. “Oh my god, you really are a superhero in disguise, aren’t you?”
“No,” said Geralt, feeling oddly defensive. “Just a decent human being.”
“Tell that to all the people who drove right past me without stopping,” said Jaskier. “I was there for nearly half an hour.”
Geralt didn’t know what to say to that. True to form, he therefore said nothing.
“I should call a tow truck for you,” he said after a moment.
“Oh, yes. That would probably be wise.”
Eventually, Geralt arranged everything so that Jaskier’s car would be repaired. He sighed in relief. The two of them sat in silence for a few moments before Jaskier cleared his throat and spoke up.
“So, what is a handsome fellow like you doing out here?”
Geralt held back a sigh. He hated small talk. He couldn’t bring himself to ignore Jaskier after the day he must have had, though, so he forced himself to answer the question.
“I’m going to pick up my daughter. She’s at a friend’s house.”
“Oh god, you have a daughter? I was just thinking you couldn’t get any more perfect. It seems I was wrong. How old is she?”
Geralt was suddenly grateful that he was driving and had an excuse not to meet Jaskier’s eyes. Such enthusiastic praise made him feel wrong-footed.
“Almost fourteen,” he grunted, ignoring the rest of Jaskier’s words.
“Oh, a teenager! What fun. I hope she’s more well-behaved than I was at that age,” Jaskier said with a laugh.
“She’s much better than I was,” said Geralt. He couldn’t help but sound fond; Ciri was the brightest part of his life, after all. “I’m very lucky to have her.”
“I’m sure she thinks the same,” said Jaskier. “You seem like an excellent father.”
“Hmm. Thank you.” Geralt winced internally at his own awkwardness. Why did one person being nice to him throw him so off-balance?
Jaskier seemed to notice something of Geralt’s discomfort, because the car descended into slightly awkward, silence for the next several minutes. Geralt kept his eyes on the road, trying to recenter himself after this whole exchange.
Once again, Jaskier spoke first.
“You’re doing me a huge favor, you know,” he said earnestly. “Let me repay you for this.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“I insist.”
“No.”
“You just took hours out of your day to help some random stranger you found on the side of the road. The least I can do is give you something in return.”
“I don’t want your money. What else could you give me?”
“I’ll think of something.”
Silence fell again. Jaskier leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes with a small sigh. When Geralt glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, he looked so tired and worn all of a sudden that Geralt felt a little ache in his chest. He spoke before he had time to think it through.
“You fought with a friend?”
Jaskier’s eyes opened.
“Yeah,” he said, and Geralt discovered that he did not like hearing sadness in this man’s voice.
“Do you… want to talk about it?” Geralt held back a grimace at his own awkwardness.
Jaskier sighed again. For a moment, Geralt thought he was going to ignore the question, but Jaskier took a deep breath and started to speak.
“I thought we were good,” he murmured. “I thought we were close. I thought we would be friends forever. Then he stopped returning my calls unless I happened to try the exact right time, and before I knew it I hadn’t seen him in person for months. I know he’s busy with his own projects, but he could have at least tried to find time for me. I did it for him.” He huffed in frustration. “So I went to his place to try to talk to him, but he didn’t like me showing up with no warning even though he used to do that to me all the time. He yelled at me. Said some things I don’t know if I can forget.”
Geralt, once again, had no idea what to say. He hoped his silence did not feel insulting. Jaskier didn’t seem to mind.
“I hate this,” Jaskier continued. “I put so much effort into that relationship, and he blew me off like it was nothing. I was still trying to collaborate with him. I have projects that I need to figure out how to do without him now. I tried so hard and it didn’t work. I don’t know why. I don’t know what I did.”
Geralt was very out of his depth. He hummed, hoping it at least sounded sympathetic. Jaskier closed his eyes again.
“I feel so small, sometimes. Like nothing I do will ever matter. The world is big and cruel and I’m so insignificant. All I want to do is make someone happy. Is that too much to ask?” Jaskier’s voice was hardly more than a whisper by the end. Then he seemed to realize what he’d said and he blushed. “But you don’t want to hear a stranger ramble about all his problems. I’ll be quiet now. Better stay out of sight.” He chuckled humorlessly, turning to look out the window.
Something the way Jaskier said those last words snagged Geralt’s memory. Better stay out of sight. Geralt recognized the phrase.
He had heard Ciri hum it while she helped him wash the dishes. He’d heard her shouting it from her bedroom, singing so loud that Geralt could hear perfectly well from across the house. He’d heard it played in the car when Ciri asked to listen to her favorite band, sung by a strong voice full of feeling.
No wonder Jaskier sounded familiar.
“You’re Dandelion,” he said. “The singer.”
Jaskier drew in a surprised breath. “Yes, I am. That’s my stage name.”
“Oh, thank fuck,” said Geralt without thinking, caught off guard by the sudden swell of hope rising in his chest.
Jaskier blinked. “What?”
“I think I know a way you can repay me.”
“That was an ominously sudden change of opinion.”
“Come visit my daughter.”
Whatever Jaskeir had been about to say vanished abruptly. He looked at Geralt with wide eyes.
“She’s… a fan of yours,” said Geralt. “She asked to see you. For her birthday. But I can’t afford to take her to a show, so I told her it wouldn’t work. Didn’t think I’d end up rescuing you off the side of the road.”
“Oh! Really? That’s adorable! Of course I’ll come to visit your daughter! I’m always glad to meet a fan.” Jaskier sounded genuinely delighted.
A small smile spread unbidden across Geralt’s face. “Thank you. She’ll be thrilled.”
“Of course! When do you want to meet? I’ll have to check my schedule and such but I’m sure I can make time for such a sweet request.”
Geralt paused. He could, in theory, suggest bringing Jaskier with him to meet Ciri now, but Jaskier said he had somewhere important to be and Geralt didn’t want to make him any later than he already was. Besides, waiting would give him time to warn Ciri ahead of time. That way, she would have time to plan what she wanted to say.
“How about next week?” Ciri’s birthday was in two weeks. Scheduling their meeting for a week before would give Geralt room to plan if anything went wrong.
“Next week is good!” said Jaskier, and that was that.
They arrived at Jaskier’s destination not long afterward, and Jaskier left after a quick exchange of contact information and a promise to text Geralt soon with scheduling details.
Geralt passed the remaining forty-five minutes of the drive feeling happier than he had in days.
~~~
“Really?” Ciri squealed. The volume and pitch that she managed to achieve was, quite frankly, a show of impressive vocal talent.
“Yeah,” said Geralt, grinning at her. “You get to meet Dandelion.”
“I can’t believe this. You found Dandelion on the side of the road? That’s insane!”
“It was very lucky.”
“That’s the understatement of the century.”
Ciri was grinning so hard that Geralt wondered if it was making her cheeks hurt. Her joy was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in months.
“I’m glad you’re excited,” he said genuinely. Ciri tackled him in a hug.
After some texting back and forth with Jaskier (it made Ciri incredibly excited to discover that Geralt had Jaskier’s contact information), the time was set for the coming Saturday. All that remained was to wait.
~~~
“Geralt! Hello!” said Jaskier as soon as Geralt opened the door. He looked almost nervous, rubbing his thumb against his fingers as he shifted his weight on Geralt’s doorstep.
“Come in,” said Geralt, stepping aside to let the musician enter the house. “Thank you again for doing this.”
“You’re more than welcome!” said Jaskier, looking around Geralt’s house curiously. Geralt did his best not to feel embarrassed. He and Ciri worked hard this morning to make the place look presentable (“It has to be perfect, Dad!”) but nothing they did could hide the fact that the place was small, the furniture was rather mismatched, and the shelves were cluttered in an attempt to fit all their belongings into what space there was.
“So, where is the lovely person I’ve come to meet?” asked Jaskier, shaking Geralt out of his thoughts.
“In her room,” said Geralt. “I’ll go get her.”
Geralt fetched Ciri, watched fondly as she jumped up and down a little in nervous excitement, and accompanied her back to their living room. Jaskier visibly perked up at the sight of her.
“Hello, darling!” he said, bounding forward and holding a hand out for her to shake. “You must be Cirilla.”
“Ciri,” she said shyly, taking the offered hand and shaking it.
“Ciri,” Jaskier repeated, looking for all the world like he was trying to commit it to memory. “It’s a beautiful name!”
Ciri’s small smile grew wider. “Thank you!”
“I’ll leave you two alone,” said Geralt with a small smile. He and Ciri had planned this out beforehand — Geralt would wait in the kitchen while they spoke, letting her and Jaskier have privacy while still being able to hear most of the conversation and come back if necessary. “Would anyone like tea or coffee?”
Jaskier declined, but Ciri requested tea, so Geralt went to prepare it.
For a moment, the other room was silent. Then Jaskier spoke up.
“So, I’m told you’ve heard my caterwauling?”
“I love your music. I listen to it all the time.”
“Thank you so much! I’m honored,” said Jaskier. Geralt could hear his grin even without being able to see his face.
“I wanted to thank you, actually,” said Ciri nervously. Geralt listened closer from the other room, prepared to intervene if necessary. Ciri had been wanting to say this to Jaskier ever since she learned she would get to meet him, and if something went wrong there was potential for an emotional disaster.
“Oh? What for?” said Jaskier.
Ciri took a deep breath. “So, um, my grandmother died a little over a year ago. She raised me. It’s been a rough year. Geralt adopted me, and he’s great! I love him, and he loves me, and I’m really glad I get to have him in my life but things have still been hard. I found your music about a month after my grandmother died and it’s helped me a lot. There’s so much life and hope to it, you know? Even when I was having a really bad day, I could listen to it and feel like maybe things might get better. There are so many bad things in the world, but there is also some good, and you helped me remember that. So. That’s why I wanted to meet you. To say thank you for everything.” She shifted awkwardly. “Um. Sorry if that was weird. You don’t know me and that might have been a lot to dump on a stranger.”
“Ciri, darling,” said Jaskier in a voice that sounded choked with emotion. “May I hug you?”
Geralt peeked into the room just in time to see Ciri nod and Jaskier envelop her in a crushing embrace. Ciri made a startled sound before hugging him back. She was hesitant at first, but her confidence grew quickly. Geralt smiled. Ciri gave good hugs.
“That was… possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Jaskiersaid quietly without breaking the embrace. “I’m so glad I could make a difference in your life. I always hope I might, but I’m never sure I manage. It means the world for you to tell me that. Thank you.” He let out a shaky breath. “And I’m truly sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine how you must feel.”
“Thank you,” said Ciri. “It’s… better, now. Time helps. Geralt helps, too.”
“I get the feeling that he’s a wonderful father,” said Jaskier with a smile.
“He really is,” said Ciri, her voice filled with what sounded like pride. Geralt was suddenly glad that no one could see him, because he was sure that whatever expression he was making was unbearably sappy.
Jaskier and Ciri moved on to talking about less serious matters, making jokes and small talk and discussing Jaskier’s music. Geralt delivered tea to Ciri and settled in the kitchen with a book, only half-listening to them now that the most emotionally difficult moments had passed.
After an hour, Jaskier reluctantly informed them that he had to leave. Ciri was disappointed, of course, but handled it gracefully. Geralt watched her say her goodbyes and walked Jaskier to the door.
“You must be proud to have such a wonderful daughter,” Jaskier said to Geralt as he stepped outside, turning back to smile at him.
Geralt smiled. “I am. Always.”
“Good. It was wonderful to meet her,” said Jaskier. “Would you tell her that? I said so earlier, but I’m not sure if she believed me.”
“I will,” said Geralt. He wondered if Jaskier knew that he was digging further into Geralt’s heart with every kindness he showed Ciri. “Thank you.”
“I’m the one who should be thanking you,” said Jaskier with a smile. “I had an excellent time.”
“I’m glad,” said Geralt. They stood in companionable silence for a moment.
“I should probably get going before someone starts calling me,” said Jaskier with a sigh. “Thank you again for inviting me over.”
“Thank you for coming,” Geralt said. “Ciri and I appreciate it.”
Jaskier grinned. “You’re very welcome, dear heart.”
Then, with a wave and a shouted farewell, he was gone.
~~~
Geralt thought that was the last he would see of Jaskier.
For the next several weeks, the only contact he had with Jaskier was through Ciri playing his music. Geralt found himself oddly disappointed by the idea of not seeing Jaskier again, but told himself to stop being ridiculous. The fact that he was funny and kind and genuinely good with Ciri didn’t necessarily mean they could have been friends, even if the up-and-coming pop star had decided to keep in touch with a single father of limited means and even more limited social skills.
His attempts at putting Jaskier out of his mind were not as successful as he would have liked. He hoped that if he ignored this, it would go away eventually.
Then, over a month later, Geralt woke up to a text from a very familiar number.
Jaskier:hi geralt! so i know this is kind of out of nowhere, but i wrote a thing that may or may not be inspired by you and ciri and i was wondering if the two of you could listen to it and tell me if you’re all right with me showing it to anyone else and maybe putting it out there for the public? Jaskier:it’s totally fine if not, of course. i can absolutely keep it between the three of us indefinitely. Jaskier:believe it or not, i am actually capable of shutting up about some things Jaskier:though i’m not giving you very good evidence of that with all this rambling Jaskier:i’m just gonna send the files now
The next two messages were audio files. Geralt fumbled for his earbuds and started the first track.
Thirty seconds into the song, Geralt already liked it. It was in Jaskier’s normal pop-adjacent style, upbeat and energetic, but the lyrics were more poetic than was usual. It was about unexpected kindness, he thought, and he could easily see the connection to their acquaintance despite the lack of direct reference. The idea of having played a part in inspiring someone to write a song — Ciri’s favorite musician, no less — made something startlingly warm blossom in his chest.
He paused the music, stood, and went to find Ciri. She would certainly want to hear this.
Many delighted exclamations later, Geralt and Ciri sat side by side in front of the speaker Geralt had plugged into his phone. Geralt went back to the beginning of the first song and let it play, this time watching the expression on Ciri’s face as she listened. Her glee was contagious, and Geralt found himself enjoying the song even more than the first time. The song continued in a similar vein to what Geralt had already heard, complete with a cheery chorus that was certainly going to get stuck in Geralt’s head.
“Oh my god,” Ciri squealed when the song was done. “He really wrote a song about you. Dandelion wrote a song about you!”
“It’s not about me,” Geralt protested. “It’s just indirectly inspired by something I did.”
Ciri ignored him. “Can we listen to the next one?”
Geralt wordlessly pulled up the next file and pressed play, smiling at the excited noise Ciri made.
Immediately, Geralt could tell this one was different. It started with strumming on a lone guitar, and Jaskier’s voice was tender and full of emotion when he started to sing. The lyrics, as far as Geralt could make out, told of grief. It was unclear who or what the singer had lost, but the sadness in Jaskier’s voice made whatever it was feel all too real. Ciri’s eyes widened in shock, and Geralt had a feeling that his own expression was similar. This was definitely not what he had expected.
The chorus of the song started, and suddenly Geralt could think of nothing but the music. Other instruments joined the guitar as the tone of the song shifted. Jaskier began to sing of hope.
He sang of starlight shining through clouds on dark nights, of flowers growing through cracks in concrete, of song staving off the silence of hopeless midnight. Jaskier’s voice was filled with emotion, with light and dark and fear and hope.
By the time the song was over, Ciri’s cheeks were stained with tears
“That was beautiful,” she whispered. Geralt couldn’t help but agree.
“He wrote a song for you,” Geralt said in disbelief. “After your conversation when he came over, he wrote a song for you.”
“Fuck,” said Ciri emphatically. Geralt couldn’t find it in himself to chastise her for the language.
Geralt was grateful that this had happened on a Saturday. He and Ciri might need all day to process.
~~~
Geralt did not respond to Jaskier until much later that day, after he and Ciri had time to discuss their thoughts on Jaskier’s question. It wasn’t until after dinner that night that Geralt finally felt ready. He settled in on the sofa with Ciri sitting next to him, gathered his courage, and sent a response before he had time to overthink it.
Geralt:They’re beautiful. Geralt:You made Ciri cry, but she says it was in a good way. Geralt:She also says I shouldn’t have said that, because now you might worry about having made her cry. Geralt:She says not to worry. Geralt:She says thank you. She loved them. Geralt:I liked them too. Thank you. Geralt:You can do what you want with them, as long as there’s no personal information shared about Ciri or me.
Jaskier responded within five minutes of Geralt’s last message.
Jaskier:i’d apologize for having made your daughter cry, but i get the feeling she wouldn’t appreciate that Jaskier:i hope she’s all right, though?
Geralt:She will be. It was just more emotional than we expected.
Jaskier:ah. mission accomplished, maybe?
Geralt:Yes.
Jaskier:thank you for your permission!! I’ll keep you up to date on what’s going on, of course. and yes, definitely no personal information will be shared! Jaskier:by the way, have i thanked you yet? i was having a terrible week plus songwriters’ block and you and ciri were absolute lifesavers. Jaskier:you made me remember why I started doing this in the first place.
Geralt:I’m glad. You made our week better, too. Thank you.
Jaskier:you’re very welcome!
Thinking the conversation over, Ciri grinned up at Geralt.
“That went well!” she said.
“Yes. Do you think you can get ready for bed now?” asked Geralt.
Ciri sighed. “Fine.”
She stood and left the room, and so, fortunately for Geralt, missed the ridiculous expression on his face when he glanced at his phone to see another message waiting for him from Jaskier.
Jaskier:oh, and before i chicken out, i have something i want to ask you
Geralt was undeniably curious.
Geralt:What is it?
Jaskier:do you want to meet for dinner sometime?
Geralt drew in a surprised breath. That was unexpected.
Geralt:To talk about the songs?
Jaskier:yeah
The three dots that indicated whether Jaskier was typing appeared, disappeared, then reappeared again. Geralt was about to stop waiting and come up with his own response when, finally, another message appeared.
Jaskier:and maybe more, if you want?
Geralt’s heart stuttered a little. He sent back a reply before he could second-guess himself, nerves afire.
Geralt:Like what?
Jaskier:whatever you want Jaskier:i’d like to get to know you better if that’s all right Jaskier:i know we haven’t talked for very long but i really like you Jaskier:and ciri. she’s an absolute darling, obviously Jaskier:and so are you Jaskier:obviously Jaskier:feel free to tell me to shut up. i ramble a lot.
Geralt looked at his phone with wide eyes. Was Jaskier — his daughter’s favorite musician, and possibly the kindest and happiest man of his recent acquaintance — really interested in talking to him again? It seemed too good to be true.
Geralt:I don’t mind.
Jaskier:oh, good. Jaskier:the rambling, or the dinner?
Geralt knew he would feel more confident on his home turf.
Geralt:You haven’t met my dog yet.
Jaskier:aslkdjfalsdfj YOU HAVE A DOG?? Jaskier:I MUST SEE THIS Jaskier:WHY DIDN’T I KNOW ABOUT THIS
Geralt:My brother was taking her for a walk last time you were over. We didn’t want her to get in the way.
Jaskier:YOU HAVE A BROTHER?!? Jaskier:that does it. i most certainly must visit and meet your dog. Jaskier:the brother is optional but embarrassing stories are more than welcome Jaskier:sound good?
Geralt chuckled quietly at his phone screen, somehow unable to stop smiling.
Geralt:Sounds good.
They settled on a time and date. Geralt felt warm. Their acquaintance was no longer so temporary — they were, perhaps, friends. Perhaps, if they were lucky, they could become even more.
The thought made Geralt frown a little. What did Jaskier want from this? Would it be worth asking for clarification? It would likely be best to clear up any potential misunderstandings now things went very far.
Geralt hummed nervously to himself before gathering his courage and sending his next question.
Geralt:By the way, is this a date?
For a moment, there was no response. The dots indicating that Jaskier was typing appeared and stayed there for a very, very long moment.
Jaskier:It can be whatever you want it to be.
Geralt stared at the message for a moment. Jaskier was using proper punctuation and capitalization, for once. It seemed he was serious.
Geralt:First dates don’t usually involve someone’s daughter
Jaskier:eh, “usually” is boring anyway Jaskier:Unless her presence would make you or her uncomfortable, of course
Geralt thought for a few moments, then made up his mind.
Geralt:I think it’s fine. She’ll be more than happy to see you again.
Jaskier:so… it’s a date?
Geralt:Yes.
Jaskier:excellent!! see you then! <3
Geralt stared at the little heart on the screen for a moment with a silly little smile on his face. He was going to see Jaskier again. Jaskier wanted to see him again.
Geralt found himself humming as he went to find Ciri and tell her the good news. After a few moments, he realized that he was humming one of Jaskier’s new songs. His smile widened.
Perhaps that Ciri would not be the only one getting a gift next week.
Summary:“while I bathe in cliffside pools with my calamitous love and insurmountable grief” - your love for him started a war and he’d go to the ends of the earth to protect you from it
A/n: moodboard by @sarahisslytherin, this fic is part of my taylor swift fic series <3
Summary: You were the first and only female Witcher.
You and Geralt had been together since you were teenagers, training and fighting alongside each other for decades. However, when Yennefer of Vengerberg showed up, he chose her.
Now, years later, you go back to Kaer Morhen for the winter and come face to face with Geralt of Rivia, forcing old feelings to resurface once again.
Slowly, you fluttered your eyes open, blinking away the fuzziness as you took in the scene around you.
Coen was sitting on the ground across the room, his head in his hands, the potions that he grabbed broken on the ground beside him. The few remaining Witchers were all standing around the room, their heads lowered.
Ciri was crying in Yennefer’s arms while Lambert paced the cafeteria, kicking any object in his path as he swore every word under the sun.
Then there was Jaskier, who was sitting on the ground beside you, hugging his knees to his chest as he cried softly, his face buried on top of his knees.
Suddenly, realisation hit you; they all thought you had died.
Summary: You were the first and only female Witcher.
You and Geralt had been together since you were teenagers, training and fighting alongside each other for decades. However, when Yennefer of Vengerberg showed up, he chose her.
Now, years later, you go back to Kaer Morhen for the winter and come face to face with Geralt of Rivia, forcing old feelings to resurface once again.
Summary: You were the first and only female Witcher.
You and Geralt had been together since you were teenagers, training and fighting alongside each other for decades. However, when Yennefer of Vengerberg showed up, he chose her.
Now, years later, you go back to Kaer Morhen for the winter and come face to face with Geralt of Rivia, forcing old feelings to resurface once again.
Slowly, you fluttered your eyes open, blinking away the fuzziness as you took in the scene around you.
Coen was sitting on the ground across the room, his head in his hands, the potions that he grabbed broken on the ground beside him. The few remaining Witchers were all standing around the room, their heads lowered.
Ciri was crying in Yennefer’s arms while Lambert paced the cafeteria, kicking any object in his path as he swore every word under the sun.
Then there was Jaskier, who was sitting on the ground beside you, hugging his knees to his chest as he cried softly, his face buried on top of his knees.
Suddenly, realisation hit you; they all thought you had died.
Holy shit, they thought you were dead.
Wait, were you?
You looked down at your body, but frowned in confusion because the stab wound was gone. It was completely gone… what the fuck?
You tried to move, but something was holding you and you quickly realised it was Geralt. His arms were wrapped around you, cradling your body to his chest.
“What-what happened?” You asked, your voice hoarse as you spoke.
Geralts entire body suddenly turned tense before he looked down at you in his arms, those golden eyes filled with so much sorrow and sadness as he blinked away the tears.
“Y/N?” He whispered, looking at you like he was staring at a ghost. “You’re… you’re alive.”
That seemed to catch everyone’s attention as they all looked over at you in shock, but your attention was purely focused on Geralt, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Slowly, he lifted one of his hands, cradling the side of your face gently as he brushed his thumb over your cheek.
“You’re alive.” He whispered again, unable to believe it.
You nodded, resting your hand over his.
“I’m here.” You reassured, trying to ease his pain. “You can’t rid of me that easily.”
Jaskier let out a laugh, but sounded more like a happy sob. You slowly sat up, Geralt helping as you looked around at the others.
“How?” You asked, turning back to Geralt who nodded towards someone across the room.
You followed his line of sight to find Yennefer standing beside Ciri, smiling softly at you.
Wait, she healed you? Yennefer had saved your life?
“You got your powers back.” You said, pointing out the obvious and she nodded, seemingly speechless. “Thank you.”
Ciri began to walk towards you hesitantly with each step, her eyes puffy from crying as she stared at you.
“I-I’m so sorry. This was all my fault-” The girl started to apologise before you cut her off.
“It wasn’t your fault, sweetie.”
You stood up, Geralt quickly standing too, his hands hovering behind you in case you fell, but you were fine. You were completely fine and couldn’t believe it.
“This was out of your control. It’s not on you.” You added, looking at the girl.
Ciri nodded, biting her lip as tears started to rise in her eyes before you took a step towards her, holding your arms out and she rushed forward and hugged you tightly.
“It’s okay.” You whispered, running your fingers through the girls hair. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Geralt stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the two of you, kissing the top of your head while he hugged you both.
Eventually, Ciri stopped crying and you pulled away, giving the girl a gentle smile before you looked around at the others, spotting Lambert standing off to the side, fiercely wiping the tears from his eyes.
“Is that emotion I see, Lambert? I didn’t know you were capable of such thing.” You teased causing him to shake his head as everyone chuckled.
“Fuck off, I just had sweat in my eyes.” He responded with a laugh, but you could see the smile forming on his face as he looked over at you. “It’s good to see you breathing though.”
“And make sure you stay that way, alright? I cannot possible go through something like that again.” Jaskier said dramatically.
“It would’ve made one great song through, right?” You asked, causing Jaskier to laugh despite the tears in his eyes.
“I mean, I may or may not have been working on the lyrics in my head while mourning your very traumatic death, but-”
“Jaskier, shut up.” You chuckled, walking over to him and pulling him into a hug.
“You are okay, though, right?” Jaskier asked, pulling away as he looked you up and down.
You smiled, “I’m perfectly fine. Thanks to Yennefer.” You said, glancing over at the mage with a grateful nod.
Never thought you’d see the day where you would be grateful for Yennefer’s presence, yet here you were. Although, that did not make up for what she did though.
“I’m glad you’re okay, Y/N. We all thought we had lost you too.” Vesemir said, speaking up for the first time.
You looked over at the older man before you glanced around at the carnage left over from the fight. The bodies of your fellow Witchers that didn’t make it, lying dead on the ground.
Geralt walked back over to you as you stared at their bodies before he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his chest.
“We’ll give them a proper send off in the morning. I think we all need some rest.” He said, kissing your forehead as he held you tightly.
-
That night, you laid in bed facing Geralt who was running his fingers through your hair gently as he stared at you, like he was still trying to reassure himself that you were alive.
“I’m okay.” You whispered, lifting your hand and resting it over his bare chest.
“Hmm.”
“Geralt.” You sighed, looking at him, but he refused to look you in the eyes. “It wasn’t your fault, you know that, right?”
“It was.” He muttered softly.
“It wasn’t.”
“It was. You died, Y/N.”
“Yeah, well, death doesn’t stick with me.” You said, trying to lighten the mood, but Geralt just glared at you.
“I’m being serious.”
“Yeah? So am I. It wasn’t your fault and I am not letting you shoulder the blame for this.” You said, causing him to lift his head, those golden eyes locking with yours.
“I nearly lost you.” He whispered, his voice filled with such raw emotion.
“I’m still here.” You reassured, shuffling closer to him as he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into him. “I’m still here and I’m not going anywhere.”
You felt Geralt nod as he held you, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence as you laid in bed listening to the others heartbeat.
“Ciri and I need to keep moving.” He eventually said, breaking the silence. “The demon, the Wild Hunt, she’s marked for something and it doesn’t end there. If mages and royals find out she’s still alive and what she’s capable of… they won’t stop coming for her.”
“Then we leave.” You declared, tilting your head up to look at him. “We keep moving and we keep her safe.”
Geralt nodded, relief washing over him with your answer before the bedroom door suddenly opened and you both looked across the room to find Ciri hesitantly stepping into the room, hugging a pillow to her chest.
“I-I’m sorry. Can… can I sleep here tonight?” She whispered, her trembling voice sounding so scared as she looked between you and Geralt.
“Of course.” Geralt answered without hesitation.
You sat up, shuffling over, making room for her between you and Geralt as you waved her over.
“I’m sorry.” She apologised, looking guilty as she crawled into the gap between the two of you.
“You have nothing to apologise for.” You said gently, laying back down as you looked over at her, smiling softly. “Try and get some sleep.”
Ciri nodded, curling up in a ball and closing her eyes as Geralt looked over at you and mouthed ‘thank you’ while nodding at Ciri.
'Of course.’ You mouthed back, before you blew out the candle and tried to sleep.
-
Trying to sleep turned out to be impossible, but Ciri had managed to fall asleep, so you just laid there, listening to the steady rhythm of her heart.
You knew Geralt was still awake and he probably knew you were still awake too, but neither of you acknowledged that, not wanting to risk waking the girl. She had been through so much, she deserved at least one good nights sleep.
So, the two of you just laid there until the sun started to rise.
Once the fallen Witchers were laid to rest and the keep was cleaned of most the carnage, it was close to nightfall again. The others all disappeared off to their rooms to try and get some sleep after no doubt getting none last night.
Slowly, you walked down the corridor, but stopped when you heard Geralts voice coming the cafeteria.
“You’re whole again.”
You stepped through the open door to find him and Yennefer standing in the middle of the room together, nobody else inside.
“I felt it come back when I…”
“When you sacrificed yourself for Ciri.” Geralt said, finishing the sentence for her.
“A sacrifice I’d make again. In a heartbeat.” She responded, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.
You sighed, leaning against the doorway, waiting to see how this would play out. Fearing that Geralt was going to choose her, again.
“I don’t forgive you, Yennefer.”
“I know I’ve hurt you. And I hurt, Y/N. And I’m so sorry for it.” She said softly, surprising you a little.
Geralt nodded, “use your knowledge of magic to train the girl. You’re the only person who’s helped her control her powers.”
“As if I’d trust anyone else with her.”
“Villentretenmerth told us we were made for each other. Destined for each other. And that nothing would come of it because destiny alone isn’t sufficient. Something more is needed.” Geralt started to say before he paused, seeming to gather his thoughts.
“But, there is nothing more, is there?” She asked softly, already knowing the answer as Geralt shook his head. “You have Y/N. I don’t want to get in the way of that, not again. If she’s okay with me helping Ciri, I will stay and help.”
“Thank you.” Geralt said sincerely.
He rested his hand on her shoulder as she smiled at him before walking out the building where Ciri was, leaning against the railing outside in the snow.
You didn’t move from where you stood, your arms crossed over your chest.
“You don’t need to hide in the shadows.” Geralt suddenly called out, slowly turning to face you.
Right, he was a Witcher too. He probably knew you were watching the entire time.
“You’re made for each other… destined for each other or whatever. You sure this is what you really want?” You asked, stepping into the room. “I mean, look at me and then look at her and… fuck, Geralt, I know I don’t stand a chance against her and now she has her powers back too and-”
You didn’t get to finish what you were saying before Geralt marched over to you, lifting his hand and cupping the side of your face before pressing his lips to yours, silencing you instantly as he kissed you.
Your lips fitted together perfectly as you melted into his kiss, his other hand shifting to your waist as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss.
“I choose you, Y/N.” He whispered against your lips.
The two of you pulled away as Geralt rested his forehead against yours, brushing his thumb across your cheek gently as he continued to talk.
“It’s always you. I love you, little one. I love you so much.”
You lifted your hand, resting your index finger under his chin, tilting his head up, those beautiful golden eyes locking with yours before you leant forward and kissed him.
“I love you, Geralt."
He looked down at you through the hair covering his face as you brushed it behind his ears. He smiled softly at you before taking your hand with his, lacing your fingers together as the two of you walked outside where Yennefer and Ciri were.
Ciri glanced over at the two of you, giving you a smile from where she was sitting, dangling her legs over the edge of the bridge while Yennefer sat beside her, looking over at you almost nervously.
You gave the mage a reassuring nod, trying to silently tell her that two of you were okay and she seemed to get the message as the tension realised from her shoulders and she smiled gratefully at you.
"I believe I know what Voleth Meir wanted from you.” Geralt suddenly said, leaning against the railing of the bridge as he looked down at Ciri.
“What?”
“She’s been here since the Conjunction. We knew that. We’ve always assumed she was from another sphere.”
“Is that where I portalled us? Another sphere?” She asked.
“Those monoliths that you shatter, the ones that pull new species of monster through every time you scream, those could be gateways to other spheres.” Geralt explained as you leant against the railing beside him, taking in the view of the snowing mountains around the keep.
“My scream woke Voleth Meir.” Ciri said in realisation and Geralt nodded. “That’s why she wanted me.”
“She wanted to go home. You were the key to her future. What I can’t figure out, though, is when did Nilfgaard realise that you were the key to theirs? They knew before anyone else. How do they know the truth about you, Ciri?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“That’s okay. We’ll work it out, right?” You said, looking over at Geralt and Yennefer who both nodded. “We’ll leave here, head out west and see where the Path takes us.”
“I like the sound of that.” Ciri agreed happily causing Geralt to smile with relief as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder.
“Then that is exactly what we’ll do.” Geralt responded.
“Do you guys have room for one more travelling companion? Perhaps a humbled bard?”
You chuckled softly as you looked to you right to find Jaskier walking out the building, holding his arms out, awaiting an answer.
“No.” Geralt responded at the same time you, Yennefer and Ciri all said, “yes.”
“Three against one. Majority rules.” Jaskier quickly said, walking towards the group with a grin. “Sorry Geralt, looks like you’ll have to get used to my singing again.”
“Hmm.” Geralt grunted causing you all to start laughing.
“Oh, and I can now be of more use too. As you’re dear lady had pointed out earlier, I am now a man with muscle. I can lift heavy things… well not too heavy and it depends on what I’m wearing too because-"
"You pointed out his muscles?” Geralt asked, raising his eyebrows at you.
“Oh, please. I was dying, I don’t even remember saying it. But, don’t worry they’re nothing compared to your muscles.” You said, squeezing the bicep of his arm that was still wrapped around your shoulder.
“Okay, rude.” Jaskier responded, pointing at you. “But, he does have fairly bloated biceps though, so I guess that’s fair."
Everyone lost it laughing and nodded in agreement causing Geralt to roll his eyes with a smile.
Life as Witcher was never meant to be good. You were just meant to kill monsters until eventually one killed you. Witchers weren’t meant to have a whole life for themselves, they were meant to feel or have emotions. Their lives weren’t meant to be good. Everyone knew that.
But, as you looked around at the group, watching them all laugh and joke with each other, you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling, because, yeah, this was a good life and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
This story will be put on hold for the time being until Season 3 gets released… which might be a while, but I promise, I will continue y/n and Geralts story in the new season.
I’d just like to quickly thank you all for your continuous support. I was absolutely blown away by the response to this fic, thank you so much!
Until next time, stay safe guys and have a great day xx
Now that I’ve finished Ever After, I’m focussing most of my time and energy on my next big WIP - Domino Theory, the (chronologically) final instalment in the Love and Wine series, a murder-mystery story that will hopefully tie together all the plot threads and loose ends I’ve been weaving through the series so far.
It’s going to be a big undertaking, and I’m determined to have as much written as possible before I start posting it (I don’t think my usual slap-dash, chaotic write-and-post-as-I-go technique is going to fly with this level of plot), so it will likely be a few months at least before I can start to share it - so in the meantime, here’s a snippet in which I’ve started to explore some of the backstory I am building for the Brossard family…
He lifts his head from his pillow as soon as he hears the door open. “Mama?”
“What are you doing still awake, hm?” comes the hushed reply.
“You promised to kiss me goodnight.”
“I did,” she agrees. “And here I am, just as I said.”
He wriggles over to make room for her on his bed. She’s all dressed up for the big party they’re having downstairs; he can hear the rustling of her silk gown, and he can just make out the glitter of gold and jewels at her ears and throat.
“Can I have a story, too?”
“A story? Didn’t Becca tell you a story?”
“She did,” he concedes. “But her stories aren’t as good as your stories, Mama.”
She laughs. “How could I ever refuse you anything, my darling boy?” She climbs into the bed beside him and pulls him close, pressing a kiss into his curls. “What story shall I tell tonight?”
“Our story,” he says immediately.
“Again?” She shakes her head. “Very well…
“Once upon a time, there was a girl born to a noble house, one of th’ highest in the land. Her mother loved her dearly and kept her close, wishing to shield her from all the world. She was always grateful for her mother’s care and tenderness, but oh - it could be lonely sometimes. She spent her days reading and dreaming, of fairy-stories and bards tales, of the wonderful world that lay outside her family’s lands; wondering if someday a handsome prince might sweep her off her feet and carry her away to a life of romance and adventure that she had never known. It seemed like years and years she waited, hoping and longing, until the day finally came when she was to be presented to th’ king and his court. She was as terrified as she was excited, so nervous she could hardly sleep for weeks beforehand. What would they think of her? Would they be kind, would she find herself among friends? Or might she find herself shunned as an outcast? And would she perhaps finally meet the noble adventurer of her dreams?
Th’ day came, and she thought she might faint from fright - so many people, all staring and whispering! She began to wish she’d never come, that she had stayed at home with her books and her dreams. But then she saw a face in the crowd, someone who caught her eye with his beautiful smile, and suddenly she felt less alone, as though she had a friend in the midst of all these strangers. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. He looked just like she’d imagined a noble knight from a ballad would, with eyes so kind she thought she might melt -“
“That was Papa, wasn’t it?” he interjects. He already knows the answer; he has long learnt every word of this story by heart.
“Yes, it was.” He can hear the smile in her voice. “How happy I was when he asked me to dance at my very first ball! I thought I might die of happiness. He told me so many wonderful tales of the places he’d been - Vizima, Oxenfurt, Novigrad -”
“I wish I could go to Novigrad,” he grumbles. “I never get to go anywhere.”
“One day, my darling boy, I promise you shall see Novigrad. But are you in such a hurry to grow up and leave home, and break your poor mama’s heart?”
“No!”
“I’m very glad to hear it. Now, are you too tired for the rest of the story?”
“I’m not too tired,” he says indignantly, though his eyelids are growing very heavy.
“Alright, then. Your father and I -”
“Tell it like it’s not you,” he commands sleepily. “It’s better.”
“Very well, my little prince. Where was I? Oh, yes. Th’ girl was delighted every time he sought her out for walks in the gardens, for a dance at the ball, to bestow her favour on him before a joust. And the day he asked her if she would be his wife, she thought she’d never been so happy in her entire life.
But their happiness was short-lived, for their families were opposed to the match. There were tears and arguments, threats of banishment and imprisonment, but th’ young lovers refused to give each other up. Her mother told her to be patient as she cried into her pillow night after night, that all would be well in the end - but she felt as though her heart was breaking; she did not know how she could live without him.
The girl and her love were forbidden to see one another, not allowed even to send each other letters or notes - but still her beloved found his way to her, promised her that they would find a way to be together. And when she told him there was a baby on the way, he promised they would be married as soon as possible, if it was the last thing he did.”
“That’s me!” he cries, delighted.
“It was.” She cuddles him closer. “Even before you were born, your parents loved you so very much. Your father convinced me to run away with him - I was terrified we’d be caught, but I loved him so much I knew it was th’ only way. And he was true to his word - he got us away safely and we were finally married th’ very next day…”
She pauses, and he knows she’s waiting to see if he’s asleep yet. He yawns. “And then?”
“And then we came home…eventually. It wasn’t easy, exactly, but in time, we were forgiven - and then my beautiful son was born and that was th’ happiest day of my life.”
He sighs contentedly. He hardly notices when she kisses his forehead one more time, then silently slips away to leave.
A short prequel to Blood is Thicker Than Wine, taking place a few weeks before the story begins: Meve and Reynard’s notorious argument…
—
“Will you stay?” she murmured sleepily to the man wrapped tightly in her arms.
He shook his head. “No, Meve. I can’t, not tonight, not with th’ guests from Skellige staying in th’ castle…I’d rather not have to creep all th’ way back to my rooms before dawn.”
She yawned, trying to hide her disappointment. It had been weeks since he’d last shared her bed. “You wouldn’t have to, if you’d just move into rooms closer to mine – as I keep saying. Then you wouldn’t have nearly so far to sneak back…though why you insist on slinking out of here like a child who’s been stealing sweets from th’ larder, I don’t know.”
“You know I can’t. People –”
“– will talk, yes, I know.” She rolled her eyes. “Gods forbid, that anyone should ever talk about us.”
He sighed.
“Fine. Marry me, then.”
A deafening silence followed. Eventually, he choked out: “What?”
“Marry me. Then you can take th’ rooms next to mine, and there’ll be no need for sneaking around at all.”
He sat up and stared at her. “Meve. You know I can’t – th’ very idea –”
She folded her arms. “I don’t see why not. You don’t want people to gossip, well – let me make an honest man out of you, and then they’ll have no cause.”
“We’ve spoken about this before,” he began evenly, in that oh-so-very-patient tone that immediately made her scowl. “We agreed –”
“That was six years ago! And every time I’ve tried to raise th’ topic since, you’ve changed th’ subject.”
“Because there’s no point in discussing it further,” he retorted, an edge creeping into his voice. “Meve, what we share is undoubtedly the very best thing in my life, but we can’t let it make us foolish –”
“Foolish? Marrying me would be foolish, would it?”
“Don’t twist my words. You know very well what I mean – th’ difference in our status, for one –”
“I could grant you a new title any time I please; I wanted to, after th’ last war, but you would have none of it.”
“Because I don’t want one! I’m content as I am, I’ve no wish to beg favours from you, I don’t need –”
“You never ask anything of me. You’re too damn proud, Reynard Odo – proud to a fault, you won’t even accept that which you’ve earned half a dozen times over. Most times I admire you for it, but other times it’s absolutely infuriating.”
“Meve,” he sighed. “You know how much I love you. I would lay down my life for you in a heartbeat. But I simply cannot do this. I have thought about it, time and time again, and come to th’ conclusion –”
She pulled away from him. “You think too much. And you care too much what other people think.”
“Better to think too much than too little,” he retorted. “This is not something we can jump into headfirst, without a care for th’ consequences –”
“When have I ever recklessly thrown myself into anything?” she demanded. “Don’t answer that!” she snapped, when he opened his mouth to reply.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?” she said, getting up and beginning to pace the room. “All these years of sneaking around, hardly daring to look at each other in public; trying to snatch moments together here and there, always listening for th’ knock on th’ door, th’ footsteps in th’ hall? That whenever we are invited to feasts and banquets, you get sat half a dozen places away from me? That we can sleep in the same bed perhaps once a month, if we’re lucky? Aren’t you tired of it, Reynard? Gods know I am.”
He stood and joined her, taking her hands. “I know it’s not easy, Meve. But it’s what we must do. We can’t give into…imprudent impulses…”
“No, I don’t see that we must do anything of th’ sort. Fine, don’t marry me, I’d be very happy not to go through that whole bloody rigmarole again. But for gods’ sakes, let’s be done with th’ pretence! I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks about it, Reynard – I’d be happy for th’ whole world to know what you are to me, and hang th’ consequences! How much time have we wasted denying ourselves the simple happiness of truly being together, whenever we like, as much as we like?”
“You might not care,” he said quietly, “but I do. You know it would cause a scandal, and even if it wouldn’t bother you at all, I cannot say th’ same –”
“Do you want to marry me?”
“It’s not a question of want –”
“Do you?” she demanded.
He exhaled. “If things were different…if circumstances were such, that –”
“It’s a simple question!”
“Yes! Of course I would want to marry you, if I could, but –”
She threw her hands up in the air. “Then just marry me, damn it! You think they don’t gossip about us anyway? D’you really think we’ve managed to keep this affair so secret that there’s a single bloody person in this castle that doesn’t know about it already?”
“No,” he snapped. “I will not. It would be a wasted opportunity, Meve –” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth, furious “– it’s plain to see that th’ negotiations between Villem and Cerys are going nowhere fast; we won’t be securing our alliance with Skellige with a wedding anytime soon. We might be at peace now, but our allies are more important than ever – if you were to wed, it ought to be for political advantage –”
She stared at him, open-mouthed. “What? I’m not – I’m not going to marry anyone else, not for any alliance, not even if Emhyr var fucking Emreis himself proposed to make me Empress of Nilfgaard! I’m marrying you or not at all.”
“Then I suppose you won’t be marrying anyone,” he replied, clenching his jaw. “Because you won’t be marrying me.”
“I could command it of you!” she spat out, and instantly regretted it. “Not that I ever would, but –”
“You promised.” Reynard’s voice was beginning to rise. “You promised that you would never command me in this. But as soon as you cannot get your way, you hold your crown over my head and threaten me with an order! When have I ever denied you anything? When have I ever refused to obey you? You have no more loyal subject than I, Meve, but this is too far!”
“Oh, first you claim that you don’t wish me to elevate you or grant you a new title, and now you complain that I hold too much power over you!”
“That is not th’ point and you know it!”
“It is exactly th’ point! I warned you of this from th’ start, and you said that you didn’t care that I outranked you, that loved me as your queen as well as a woman –”
“And I do, but gods, Meve – you make it difficult, sometimes.”
“Imagine how difficult it is for me!” she yelled. “A bloody thankless burden, this crown is, but I bear it, day in, day out – everyone always wanting something of me, a never-ending series of demands and negotiations and prices to pay, and th’ one thing I want for myself –”
“Lower your voice!” he hissed. “Someone will hear –”
She clenched her fists, resisting the temptation to seize something and throw it. “Don’t you dare tell me to be quiet! I am sick to death of this! I can’t do this anymore, Reynard. I can’t.”
He looked at her a long moment. “All right,” he said stiffly. “I can see we are at an impasse. I understand that maintaining our relationship under th’ present terms is no longer acceptable to you. If that’s th’ case, I will burden you with my company no longer.”
She stared at him. “What?”
He picked up his clothes and began to get dressed.
“Reynard, what th’ hell does that mean?”
“If we cannot agree to terms, there is no point continuing this discussion.”
“What th’ devils do you mean? We can’t just leave it there –”
“Good night, Your Grace.” He bowed and turned to the door.
She stood frozen in place for a long moment, before realising he was actually walking out on her. She grabbed her robe and yanked it on, hurrying after him. “You can’t just leave like that!” She followed him out into the passageway, past her startled guards, who looked as though they would rather be anywhere else in the world at that particular moment. “Reynard! Reynard Odo! Come back here at once!”
