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pillage-and-lute · 3 years

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Thicker Than Water (Part 4)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (here) Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Ao3 link HERE

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He awoke sore and badly rested, tears dried on his face.

Jaskier made it through the next day. He ate a little of the food Ciri offered him, only because when he tried to decline the first time her eyes got large and her bottom lip showed just the barest hint of a tremble. He couldn’t bear it. The dry horse bread that was usual for traveling rations crumbled in his mouth. He was so hungry, it was one of the best things he’d ever tasted.

Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to even unsling his lute from his shoulder during their trek. His fingers itched to play, of course. He continued his story for Ciri and in his mind he played music for the background, he just couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t sell his lute in this next town, but before they reached Kaer Morhen he would have to. It would give them money, and he wouldn’t be a burden. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and continued telling Ciri the story.

He noticed a bit before mid day that Geralt was watching him. That wasn’t out of sorts, of course. Yennefer and Ciri were watching him too, he was an excellent storyteller and the tale was enthralling. Geralt didn’t seem to be paying attention to the story though. He was staring-- glowering--brow low and furrowed, at Jaskier.

Jaskier felt hurt lance through him and he almost staggered, avoiding Geralt’s gaze. He knew Geralt didn’t want him along, didn’t want him at all, but he couldn’t even pretend? He couldn’t go back to their relationship before? Not the warm, almost companionable silences that had been nurtured between them, but the grunts and stone faced silence of the beginning of their acquaintance.

Jaskier breathed through the pain in his chest. Twenty years of silences, all kinds of them, stony and friendly and sleepy and painful and quietly nice. But they were back to the beginning, or worse, Geralt angry and Jaskier’s voice filling in places it didn’t belong.

“Jaskier?”

That was Ciri, and Jaskier realized that he’d actually trailed off mid-sentence.

“Sorry little highness,” he smiled and gave a funny little bow. “I’m but a simple entertainer, a poet and a fool, sometimes my mind runs away from me.”

“Fool is right,” Yennefer snorted. It wasn’t totally unkind, but it still stung. It stung even more when Geralt, so taciturn all day, snorted with laughter at her comment. Jaskier felt his ears burn and his chest ache.

“Now, where was I?”

“The king’s son met the North Wind,” Ciri said, matching Jaskier’s steps. “And he has to beat him in a game of wit to gain knowledge of where the sorcerer’s daughter was taken, that’s what you said, but you didn’t tell us what game yet.”

At least someone treasured his words, Jaskier thought. Although they weren’t worth much, he threw one out after the other.

Like garbage, whispered the back of his mind.

“Ah yes,” he said instead. “the North Wind sat before the king’s son, and laid out a chess set made of ice and wind.”

“How can chess pieces be made of wind?”

Jaskier smiled, Ciri asked questions at all the right places. “The North Wind wanders, he goes everywhere, blowing cold breath across The Continent. When the North Wind is present and we breath our breath can be seen.” Jaskier smiled here and added an aside, “My little sister used to call it dragon smoke. But by the same magic that gives the North Wind a body to walk the world, he can take our frozen breath and turn it cold and solid as glass.”

Jaskier let himself tell the story on autopilot. His feet ached. He’d been darning the socks he was wearing for a year or more, but he wasn’t good at it and the lumps were rubbing his toes raw. Worse than that, the soles of his boots were almost worn through. Just one more thing he’d have to buy.

He felt ashamed of himself. His boots had been going thin for a while, and instead of saving his coin and getting them repaired or just buying new ones, he’d drowned himself in drink, feeling sorry. Oh, he hadn’t known he would be making a trip up a mountain, but he needed boots regardless. No wonder Geralt had always been upset with him, he always put pleasure over sense, couldn’t even spend coin sensibly.

Couldn’t darn socks, couldn’t budget his coin, couldn’t shut up. A fool.

He stumbled on a tree root and nearly swore. Couldn’t even walk right. One of the blisters building on his foot had burst, he was sure. It was easy to tell, the pain had gone from a rubbing ache to stinging and warm. Only years of practice and performance kept him from interrupting the story.

Something must have shown on his face though, or his scent changed or whatever because Geralt was staring at him intently. That face, always so unreadable.

Jaskier wasn’t going to give him anything else to scowl about. He kept walking, keeping the story rolling and his voice light. His bones ached. He had to stop for just a moment when a button, long past hanging loosely on his doublet, finally pulled free. He picked it up and the head rush nearly took him to the ground. He’d eaten little, slept poorly, and the only food he’d had in a long time before this was ale. He blinked the grey from his vision, trying not to let the panic show when it didn’t go away as quickly as he’d have liked.

It was okay. It was all going to be okay. They’d make it to the village by nightfall. They wouldn’t sleep there of course but he could get proper food. Maybe even slip away and catch a quick nap in a stable or hayloft or something. His whole body was buzzing with a sort of exhausted energy and his heart was pounding.

Jaskier reflected that he hadn’t been well before meeting up with Geralt and his little family. He’d been sick with drink and heartache and had not enough food then too.

Smile through the pain.

This wasn’t even bad as performances could go. Once he’d actually broken a finger just before a set at Oxenfurt. Simple clumsiness, he’d closed his index finger in a door, but he’d played his whole set, with a perfect score from his professor.

It grew darker, the sun just setting when they reached a field at the edge of the town. It was a large open field and, in warmer months, it was likely home to fairs and large market days. Probably in these rural areas people traveled for a week to bring their goods and livestock to this town. It didn’t matter now, mid autumn settling into late autumn. To Jaskier the town was nameless.

They set up camp in the field. It left them exposed to being seen, but they hid themselves behind a small rise on the edge of the field, blocking them mostly from sight. Still, Geralt seemed on edge. Jaskier wasn’t sure it was about the camp. Geralt kept looking over at him with his eyebrows pressed together. Whenever he did that it formed this little crease right between his brows that Jaskier wanted to kiss away.

Jaskier bit his lip, hard, to focus on anything other than that.

The three of them sat, too tired to talk much more. Jaskier had finished most of the story and decided to leave the rest for the next day they were traveling a lot, to give Ciri something else to think about. She was definitely Calanthe’s blood. They traveled all day and she never complained, but also told them when she needed to stop, advocating for herself in no uncertain terms. It was the princess herself who interrupted his thoughts.

“You said you had a sister, do you have lots of siblings?”

“Not really,” Jaskier said, settling down on the ground and feeling his bones pop. His blisters were definitely bleeding inside his boots too. “Two older brothers, Henrik and Teodor, and I had a younger sister, Lotte.”

“Had?”

“She was sickly, always too small for her age,” Jaskier said quietly. “I learned the lute for her, at first. She liked music and was often bedridden. A fever took her when she was about your age.” Jaskier looked down at his battered boots.

“I’m sorry,” Ciri whispered.

“It’s allright little highness, it’s been almost thirty years now. Time flies.”

“I didn’t know you had siblings,” Geralt said. It was growly, but Geralt always used that tone.

“You never really asked.”

Dinner was a quiet affair. Jaskier ate the last of the rations in his pack, waving away Ciri’s offerings and showing her his food as proof that he had some. It didn’t really settle the hunger that had been eating him from the inside out all day, but at this point he figured he could eat a mountain and still have room for dessert.

“Tomorrow,” Geralt said gruffly once dinner was cleared away. “We don’t all enter the town as a group. Yen and Ciri go together. I go alone. Jaskier goes alone.”

Jaskier nodded, so did Ciri and Yennefer.

“If we see eachother, act as though we don’t know eachother,” Geralt said, then he turned his gaze on Jaskier. “Don’t attract too much attention.”

Jaskier bristled at getting his own private reprimand. “I’m a bard, Geralt,” he said. “How am I supposed to earn coin if I don’t play.”

Geralt grunted. “I didn’t say don’t play just no... don’t do the whole...” he gestured a vauge hand.

“The whole...me?” Jaskier said sarcastically. He was pulling at the lion’s tail he knew, but he was in pain and tired and hungry and Geralt had no right to be so cruel.

“The whole bright colors, loud and annoying thing. Country bard, not court bard, got it?”

Loud and annoying.

“Got it,” Jaskier said, looking back down at his boots. He didn’t say that none of his clothes could have passed for courtly anymore anyway.

They set about getting ready for bed. Ciri gave him a quick hug before she and Yennefer disappeared into their magical tent. Jaskier sat and pulled off his boots, not letting a single flicker of pain show on his face. He knew Geralt would be able to smell blood, but Geralt had gone to get water from the nearby river. He had to peel his socks off and yes, there was blood there, by now stuck into the threadbare fabric. He let himself wince then. He rinsed off the wounds but he was without bandages, so he just dried off the area and put his other pair of socks on. He only had the two pairs anyway, but at least the blisters would stay dry.

He rolled himself into his bedroll and thought of tomorrow. At least there were no tree roots here.

The next day dawned slowly, instead of bright pinks and oranges it was a kind of runny yellow that just leeched into the sky before fading into early morning blue. Jaskier watched in admiration as Yennefer changed Geralt’s hair to short and dark, and then gave herself brown eyes and a slightly different bone structure. To look at both of them was odd, because Jaskier could see the similarities. Yennefer’s nose was changed and her cheekbones were a little different, but it was still her, and Geralt just looked like a different, although quite handsome, version of himself. Ciri was simply given mousy brown hair and some extra freckles.

Just like that, the perfect and all powerful family looked like two normal people and one witcher who was still clearly a witcher but not the white wolf. Jaskier shouldered his lute. He’d cleaned up the scruff he’d been growing into a more respectable look and with his longer hair and tatty cloak he looked like any poor traveling musician. If he’d traded the lute for a shortbow he could have looked like a woodsman, totally nondescript.

He was entering from a different direction, so as not to arouse suspicion, and so was Geralt. Jaskier began walking around, so that he could enter from the east. Yen and Ciri would walk into town the closest direction, and Geralt was entering from the west. This early, it was unlikely they would have been seen all together.

Jaskier made his way to the eastern edge of the town and walked in, scanning the streets. If this were a farm people would be up and awake long before now, farmers wake well before dawn, but this was a town, and so few people wandered the streets. Shop keepers were just beginning to open up. Jaskier bought a couple pears, slightly overripe but cheaper because of it, off of a fruit seller and had breakfast. He tried to lock into his mind all the shops around so he could find his supplies easiest later.

His mind was resisting him though. In spite of the softer ground, Jaskier had still slept badly last night. His body ached and he wished he could find somewhere warm to lay for an hour or two. Instead he found the well.

As wells should be, this one was right in the center of town. He set down his lute case beside it, tuned his lovely lady, and began to play.

In his very first few months after leaving Oxenfurt he had learned this trick, and used it often. If you get into a town early, play at the well. People get their water first thing in the morning and there you are.

A few young women with yokes and buckets smiled at him and he nodded in return. The day brightened a little further as the sun crept above the buildings and more people came to gather in the town square. They weren’t there to hear Jaskier, not at first, most of them came for water, or to chat with neighbors, or discuss business. Many of them gathered around him though.

Coins clattered into the case. Mostly coppers, but in a little town like this that was quite normal.

“As sweet Polly Oliver lay musing in bed, A sudden strange fancy came into her head. "Nor father nor mother shall make me false prove, I'll 'list as a soldier, and follow my love,” he sang.

“So early next morning she softly arose, And dressed herself up in her dead brother's clothes. She cut her hair close, and she stained her face brown, And went for a soldier to fair Rinde Town.”

Sweet Polly Oliver was one of his favorites, a simple country song about a girl and her lover in wartime. This town was far enough north that with luck Nilfgaard wouldn’t attack, but the anxiety threatened.

Jaskier gave a good performance, perhaps not his best, but he was tired and cold and the flagstones beneath his feet were very hard. He danced about, playing sweet folk songs and jigs and reels, delighting in the people who swept up and danced along. Still, though, he felt his feet bleeding inside his boots. He played from just after dawn until perhaps an hour after noon before bowing away and taking his coin.

He’d done better than he’d expected, but there wasn’t nearly enough coin for all the things he’d need for Kaer Morhen, and extra food to help Geralt and Ciri. He’d buy what he needed now, and they’d stop again in Ard Carraigh before the keep. He’d sell his lute there, it was a large city, and he’d get a good price. The thought still made him ache, though.

It wasn’t just his emotions causing him pain, he realised. The aches he’d been experiencing were in his chest lately, and both physical and emotional. He just needed more rest.

Jaskier slipped through back alleys and bent streets. He’d seen a stable on his way into town. He stepped in quietly, startling a stable hand, no more than a boy, who’d been quietly talking to a horse.

“You’re the bard,” he said. “Saw you in the square jus’ this morning.”

“That’s right,” Jaskier said, bowing a little. “I’m afraid I’ll be moving on this evening and--”

“And you want to have a kip in the stables,” said the boy. “Yeah lots o’ musicians and peddlers do that. Rule is though, I got to get a coin off ‘em first as payment. I’m sorry, but I get a beating if’n I don’t.”

“No worries,” Jaskier said, he’d expected as much. He handed the boy two copper coins. “There’s pay, won’t have you getting beaten for my sake, the second coin is to wake me in two hours.”

The boy gave him a lopsided grin. “You got it sir, thanks.”

Jaskier snuggled up in the hay loft. He’d often done it, it was pretty common, if you couldn’t buy a stay at an inn or especially if you just needed a ‘kip’ as the boy had said, during the day. He’d slept in haystacks once in a while on the road too. They were sort of comfortable and surprisingly warm and, best of all, robbers didn’t get you if you kept yourself mostly under the hay.

The scent of hay and oats and horses lulled him to sleep.

He dreamed about haystacks. For some reason Roach was in the haystack with him. Geralt and Ciri too, even Yennefer. It was a crowded haystack indeed, and it grew smaller and smaller until Jaskier had to leave it and sleep on the ground so that the others weren’t squished.

He awoke to the stable boy nudging him.

“Pardon me mister,” he said. “But it’s been two hours.”

Jaskier thanked him and brushed off his clothes.

The shops were doing a good trade this afternoon and he’d be sure to be a face in the crowd. He bought a small cooking pot and plenty of ground oats and barley for porridge at one shop. They were light to carry and owner packaged them nicely, first in one cheap, cloth drawstring bag, and then in another such bag, but with the drawstring on a different side, so he was unlikely to lose food.

In another stall he bought plenty of nuts, walnuts were cheap here and would keep well. Good for traveling and they had protein. Some dried jerky, dried peas, and dried lentils finished his food shopping, and also most of his coin.

It was three days to Ard Carraigh, another week to trek up to the keep. The food would sustain him for that long, and they’d probably just pool their food to make sure everyone was fed. Still, he wasn’t being a burden, not too much.

He couldn’t afford new boots, gloves, or a cloak right now, but with the last of his coin he bought a new pair of thick, warm socks, a small roll of bandages, and a couple pieces of candied ginger in a little paper twist. He tucked them all away and left the town, disappearing back to the field and their little camp well before the sun set.

Jaskier’s heart sunk to see that he was the last to arrive. Everything was packed up, they couldn’t risk staying in the same place two nights in a row. Geralt grunted at him, but didn’t unleash any thoughts on Jaskier being a burden, so he counted himself lucky.

He hung his head a little at having delayed their parting and trekked after the perfect little family, his pack much heavier than it had been. Ciri slid her hand into his and they walked on in silence. The hand was nice though.

In an odd way, it hurt, too. He wasn’t part of the family, so he didn’t really deserve this, but it was painfully good to have just a taste of being wanted.

What would happen, he wondered, when the winter was over. He was a danger to Geralt and Ciri if Nilfgaard found him. He wasn’t wanted by Geralt at all. Jaskier was reminded once again that it would be so much easier for Geralt to kill him, or for Yennefer to wipe his memory. Maybe he could fake his death to get Nilfgaard of his trail.

“Jaskier?” Ciri asked. “How did you become a bard?”

Jaskier looked down at her, maudlin thoughts interuppted. “Oh, well, it’s not as though you have to register, you just become one. Walking into an inn and saying ‘let me play for you pretty please I need food’ is a good start.”

“No,” Ciri giggled. “I meant, you said you learned the lute for your sister, but you write your own music and stuff too.”

“Oh, well, anyone can write music if they have an instrument and a good enough memory,” Jaskier said. “Indeed, many of the greatest bards had little education at all, I, however, studied at Oxenfurt.”

“Did you like it?”

“Sometimes. It was school, and some parts were dull but I learned much.”

“I heard some of the maids giggling once about a young scholar who’d come to stay with us,” Ciri said, matter of factly. “He was always in the library and was kind of snooty with me when I asked questions, but the maids were saying he certainly had a lot of ‘carnal knowledge’. Did you study that too?”

Jaskier was choking on thin air.

“I, um, no it was more of a hobby,” Jaskier said before his head could catch up with his mouth. “Little Highness, I suspect you weren’t supposed to hear that conversation, and no, I studied the seven liberal arts.”

“So it was about sex, I was never sure,” Ciri said.

Jaskier coughed awkwardly. “Yes, princess.”

“It’s okay, I know about that stuff, Grandmother explained it.”

Jaskier let out a breath, at least he wouldn’t have to be the one to explain anything to her.

“When you went to school were you scared to leave your family?” Ciri asked.

“No, pet, I was excited to go,” he wasn’t about to get into all his trauma with her, she had enough of her own, poor thing. “I couldn’t wait to learn about music and poetry.”

“Grandmother said all poets were silly romantics and dreamers, but I think that sounds nice. Do you have a moose?”

“A what?”

“I read it in a book, a moose, somebody you love and you write about it.”

“Oh, that’s one of the trickier words Ciri, it’s said ‘muse’, and yes, I had one or two.”

“Only one or two? In the book the poet had hundreds,” Ciri sounded almost disappointed.

“I only ever needed one,” Jaskier said quietly. “One that mattered anyway.”

“And your Countess still left you,” Geralt said, rather coldly. He was doing his annoyed face and Jaskier could have kicked himself. He’d been talking too much. The reminder that the Countess de Stael had left him too hurt, but Jaskier wasn’t going to risk Geralt’s ire to say that she wasn’t the muse he was talking about. That was maybe something he should keep to himself.

“Do muses often leave?” Ciri asked, wide eyed. “If somebody was writing me poetry I wouldn’t want to.”

“No, usually the poet does the leaving,” Jaskier said. “After his muse asks him to go. There’s a shelf life on a bard, you know. We only have so many stories and songs before we’re used up and no one wants us around anymore. That’s when we move along.”

“I’ll hear your stories again and again,” Ciri said. “I won’t ask you to go.”

Jaskier’s heart curled up and whimpered inside his chest. He’d have to go sooner or later, he’d have to leave her. Geralt would get sick of him, too sick to bear even for Ciri’s sake. Or Jaskier would just have to leave of his own volition, lest he shovel shit into her life too.

If he could give her life one blessing...

“This’ll do for a campsite,” Geralt said. It was a tiny, clear area. Jaskier almost groaned. It was surrounded by oak trees, with dropped acorns that would dig into his bedroll and mottle his back with bruises come morning. He’d had a good rest in town, though, so another bad night of sleep wouldn’t be too bad, he told himself.

The others had eaten in town. Jaskier said he had too, so he wouldn’t waste rations. He had plenty, but strangely, he wasn’t so hungry lately. Anyway, always best to save.

He pulled off his boots and his freshly bloodied socks. Ew. Ciri retired to the magic tent early, exhausted from their long days of walking. Jaskier listened to Yennefer and Geralt talk.

“We’ll need lots of supplies in Ard Carraigh,” Geralt was saying.

“We don’t have any money,” Yennefer replied.

Jaskier had his back to them as he cleaned the wounds on his feet, but he could picture grave expressions.

“We’ll get some, I’ll do a quick contract there, something. We’ll need a cart and pony to get Ciri up The Killer, it’s too much for her, it’s too hard for some witchers even.”

“That’ll cost,” Yennefer said. “But you’re right. I wish I could portal us but--”

“Tracking, exactly. There’s always plenty of contracts in cities, it’ll be fine.”

Jaskier looked at the blisters on his foot, they’d opened more with his long performance that day. It was no matter, he wound the bandages around them and put on his new, thick socks. At least his feet would be warm.

Not too warm, though. He spotted a hole in the bottom of his boot that he hadn’t noticed before.

And they needed lots of money for Ard Carraigh. No matter. He knew how to get some.

He pretended his eyes filled with tears from the pain of blisters, not from heartache, as he pushed his feet back into his boots and opened the lute case. He pulled out his beautiful girl. He wouldn’t play her, it would annoy Geralt. He’d always hated Jaskier’s music, although he hated to hear Jaskier sing even more.

Pie with no filling.

Jaskier wished he could play her, though. It was going to break his heart to part with her, and he didn’t think he’d ever played another instrument as fine. If he could, he’d play her every second until he had to sell her.

Probably for the best, though, if he was going to fake his death. She was distinctive.

He brushed a hand over the beautiful wood work on her front. There was a little bit of linseed oil left, and he poured it on the rag he kept in the case and began to work over his girl lovingly. His eyes teared up again, but he fought it back. He would have smashed his lute if it meant helping Ciri. And Geralt.

Jaskier longed for Geralt to forgive him, to take him back and let him stay by his side, but he’d meant what he’d said, bards have a shelf life, and Jaskier’s time was up.

He wished Geralt would at least speak with him, though. His heart was aching. In a completely different sense, so was his chest.

“Play us a tune, bard,” Yennefer said.

Jaskier turned around. Yen and Geralt were sitting beside eachother, close together. She looked so beautiful in her fine cloak that Jaskier wondered how he ever thought he could catch Geralt’s eye when beings like her existed.

“You know,” he said. “It’s late and I wouldn’t want to bother Ciri.”

“Tent’s soundproof,” Yennefer said, waving her hand.

“I mean, really,” Jaskier protested weakly. Disobeying Yennefer’s request/command was like bathing your brain in lava, but Geralt was looking angry again. Some would say there wasn’t much change from Geralt’s normal expression, but Jaskier knew his face better than he knew his own. Something had made Geralt angry or upset. The only possible answer was Jaskier. It was always Jaskier.

“Play us a song, bard,” Yennefer said. “You’ve been so quiet other than stories, I’d almost think you were a doppler, Melitele knows no one could have taught you to shut up.”

Jaskier swallowed the lump in his throat.

He began, slowly, to pick out a gently tune on his lute. It was a song about winter and home, and he knew the lyrics well. Yennefer had only asked him to play, so he would. His music was at least less offensive than his voice.

He reveled in the feel of his lute beneath his fingers, letting the feeling wash over him, committing it to memory.

When he was finished Yennefer said, “I suppose your voice was tired from your performance, I heard in the town how the bard had played such a long set.”

Jaskier smiled grimly back at her. “Just earning my keep.”

He went to bed, feeling the cold seep into his bones.

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Tag List!

@frywen-babbles @mordoriscalling @thedarkestangel1 @kerfufflezz @live-long-and-trek-on @holymotherwolf @gryffinqueen

@samukai @charlies-dragon I can’t seem to tag, but they’re on the list

#geraksier #adhd Jaskier #the witcher #angst #jaskier #geralt #yennefer #ciri #platonic yennalt #yennefer is a good mom #and deserves nice things #kaer morhen #soon but not yet #emotional hurt/comfort #just hurt now #the comfort is yet to come

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years

Text

Shelter

A/N: Needed some soft Yennefer because I love her.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warning: none :) this is pure fluff

Thunder rumbled in the clouds above the mountains that rested behind the witcher, the mage, the bard, and the source. Cirilla jumped at the clap of thunder. Yennefer, who rested on the same horse as her, offered a comforting hand to Ciri’s side. The young ashen haired girl was nearly falling asleep, struggling to keep her eyes open.

“I’m tired.” Ciri rubbed her eyes and leaned back into Yennefer, who gladly provided support.

“We are almost there.” She assured Ciri, kissing the top of her head.

“You said that an hour ago.” Jaskier muttered. His horse was just behind Yennefer and Ciri’s. Yennfer shot him a brief glare over her shoulder. Her violet eyes flickered back to Geralt. The witcher carried up the rear.

“We are nearly there.”

The White Wolf nodded once but said nothing.

“You’ve never actually told us where it is we are going.” Ciri said.

“Somewhere safe that we can rest.” Yennefer answered softly. “A trusted friend that can offer us shelter.”

“Huh. I didn’t think you had any friends.” Jaskier stated, nearly chuckling at himself.

Yennefer chose to ignore him.

The path began to grow more and more narrow. The trees provided a thick, dense canopy, hiding the forest floor from the dwindling light given by the evening sun. The darkness gave everyone an uneasy feeling. Geralt kept his eyes peeled and listened carefully to ever little sound, wanting to know if there was anything dangerous lurking in the woods.

As the forest came to an end, a little hilltop meadow came into view. At the base of the hill was a wooden gate attached to a fence. The fence disappeared in a thick bush on one side and traveled around the hill on the other side.

Using her magic, Yennefer pulled the gate open without getting off of her horse. Just as she was closing the gate behind Geralt, a dark brown donkey with white legs made itself known, braying and its ears pressed flat to its skull.

“Easy, Gus.” Yennefer put her hand up, ushering a wave of serenity to the animal.

Once Gus was calm, Yennefer continued up the path surrounded by undergrowth and bushes.

Around the little hill was a stone cottage. Lavender hydrangea bushes rested in the flower bed just outside of the house. Pink and purple bougainvilleas covered one side of the cottage and green ivy littered the roof.

You were underneath the tree near the house with a book in hand and a lamb across your lap. A calf rested next to you, resting its head on your thigh. When they heard Gus’s alarm, they lifted their heads up.

The lamb bleated and hurried to greet the uninvited guest. The calf was slower to get up but followed its friend. You remained under the tree, smoothing out your skirt as you looked at the group.

When you realized it was Yennefer, you were on your feet and running to her. The book that had once been in your hand was left in the grass. Excitement and happiness filled your veins at the sight of the mage.

You collided into her with such force that she nearly fell backwards. She had to step back to keep from falling to the ground. Your arms wrapped around her neck and your lips met hers. She tasted just as sweet and intoxicating as you remembered.

Her arms slipped around your waist, holding you close to her. She pulled away first, smiling at you. You couldn’t help getting lost in her violet gaze.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’ve brought a few guests.”

The mage’s words reminded you that the two of you weren’t alone. Your arms retracted from her and you stepped back to look at who all she had brought. You immediately recognized Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, from not only the ballads but also from what Yennefer told you. Cirilla was easy to recognize too with her ashen hair and bright blue eyes. That left the brunet man to be Jaskier, the bard.

“Where are my manners?” You laughed softly, brushing your hair behind your ears. “You look like you’ve been traveling for ages. I’ve got warm soup and extra beds. Let’s go put the horses in the stable around back.”

“How did you know I’d be coming with them?” Yennefer asked as she began to lead her horse with Ciri still on top of it.

“I didn’t.” You looked over to her. “I had enough ingredients so I made extra and I was going to take it into town to give to the beggars in town.”

Yennefer’s chest tightened at your words. You were a soul too pure for her. She was unworthy of your kindness and generosity.

She reached up to brush her fingers over your hair, smiling gently at you.

“Am I the only one who did not see that coming?” Jaskier whispered to Geralt. The witcher glanced at him but said nothing, following silently behind Yennefer.

***

Once the horses were in stables and had been given chunks of hay for the night, you ushered everyone into the house, making sure that they washed their hands at the well just outside of your home.

You went inside ahead of everyone else and began to slice a fresh loaf of bread just pulled from the stone oven.

“I’m terribly sorry. Yennefer is such a rude person.” Jaskier swatted his hand in Yennefer’s direction. “She didn’t properly introduce us. I’m Jaskier, this lovely lady is Ciri, and that’s Geralt.”

“I know who you all are.” You told Jaskier, moving to gather enough bowls for everyone. “Geralt is easy to tell because of the ballads - your ballads. And Yennefer has mentioned Cirilla quite a few times.”

“She’s never mentioned you.” Ciri frowned, brows drawing together.

You placed a bowl of hot soup down in front of her, offering her a gentle smile.

“Yen doesn’t tell anyone about me.” You glanced over to the mage who stood at the end of the table, refusing to sit. You winked at her, letting her know you were just messing with her. “She prefers to keep me a secret.”

“If you tell the world of the fortune you managed to stumble upon, then everyone will rush to steal it from you.” She said, tapping her fingertips against the table.

You could sense something was wrong with her. Something bothered her. She was tense.

You finished dipping out bowls for the two men and wiped your hands on your skirt, your eyes finding Yennefer.

“Don’t mind us.” You told the three at the table, giving them little smiles. “We just have to step outside for a moment. Do help yourself to bread and more soup. There’s plenty to go around.”

You moved past Yennefer, hooking your hand around her arm and tugging her outside. The door to the cottage closed behind her.

“What’s wrong?” You asked her, brows drawing together as you tilted your head to the side a little.

She said nothing at first, violet eyes flickered over the path in front of your home.

“I didn’t want to bring them here.” She admitted quietly, her eyes searching your face but never meeting your eyes. “I would’ve much rather teleported them here, but I’m exhausted and tired and it’s-it’s been such a long day-,”

“Hey.” You cut her off, placing your hand on her arm. “It’s okay that you’ve brought them here. You all needed somewhere to stay, somewhere safe. I’m glad you’ve come home.”

You embraced her in a warm hug, one much gentler than your previous one.

“I just don’t like to risk your safety.”

“I don’t mind providing somewhere for them to go.” You pulled your head back so that you could look into her eyes. “They’re your family. Wherever you are welcomed, so are they.”

Yennefer brought her hand up to trace your jaw with her fingertips.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“You deserve everything.” You pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. “Now come. You need to eat something.”

***

You had just finished giving Ciri enough blankets for the night. She’d be staying on an extra bed in the floor of your room. Jaskier and Geralt would be sleeping in the main room by the fireplace. You had enough blankets for them but the hearth would surely aid in keeping them warm.

Jaskier was sitting on a stool by the fire, quietly playing a song and messing with lyrics. Yennefer was in with Ciri, talking quietly to the young girl.

Geralt sat alone at the kitchen table, staring at his hands.

You moved to sit across from him. He looked up at you and sat straighter. You smiled a little at him.

“I just…. I know how you and Yennefer met.” You told him, keeping your voice low so that only he could hear. “And I want to thank you for saving her.”

“What has she told you?” His voice was deep and gravelly. He didn’t speak much throughout the evening.

“Everything.” You admitted. You turned your head to look down the hallway that your room was down. “Of her destiny…. Of yours…. And of Cirilla’s.”

You did your best not to feel upset about it. You knew the wish Geralt made wasn’t in Yennefer’s control. Her fate was stuck to his forever, sealed after the first time they met. Cirilla’s fate was intertwined with theirs being that she was Geralt’s child surprise. Yennefer thought of her as her own daughter and it warmed your heart to see your mage act to gentle and sweet with her.

“Thank you for saving her.” You looked to Geralt, meeting his gaze. “If there is anything ever that you need, you can come to me. I’m a stranger to your world, to Yennefer’s world, sure. But I can offer a warm bed and fresh food. Somewhere safe should you ever need it.”

Geralt nodded once, a silent thank you to your words.

“Please enlighten me, Y/N.” Jaskier quit playing his lute as he spoke. “How did such a sweet woman like you end up with a hellbeast like Yennefer of Vengerberg?”

Your eyes flickered over to the mage as she closed the door to your room behind herself.

“My mother is an herbalist from Vizima. Yennefer came to her shop in search of an herb. I took one look at her and decided that I wanted her.” You smiled gently.

She held your gaze but said nothing.

“Of course, she didn’t pay any attention to me at first.” You leaned back, motioning for her to sit next to you. She hesitated before doing so. You placed your hand on her knee, offering her comfort. “But eventually, I managed to catch her attention.”

“When you nearly set yourself on fire.” Yennefer sighed.

“It was an accident though.”

***

After a few hours, you and Yennefer retired to your room. You clambered into the bed, settling beneath fine furs and quilts. Yennefer only settled for the best of everything.

“Will you let me braid your hair?” You asked her as she began to get into the bed. She nodded softly and went around to your side of the bed. She climbed up to rest between your legs.

Minutes passed as the two of you enjoyed the peace and quiet. Your fingers were delicate with her thick dark hair.

“Thank you.” She murmured softly, glancing over her shoulder so she could steal a look at you. “For welcoming them the way you did.”

“No need to thank me, love.” You kissed her forehead. “You are all I need as a thanks. Now turn around so I don’t make this crooked.”

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#yennefer #yennefer x reader #yennefer of vengerberg #yennefer of vengerberg x reader #the witcher #the witcher netflix #mage #yennefer fluff #yennefer oneshot #yennefer fic

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marvelousmaize · 4 years

Note

Oooo I'm a sucker for angst and im living for number 19

My dear anon, i know you asked for angst, but i must confess that my brain is not at all in an angsty headspace right now, and i could not produce an angsty fic for this no matter how hard i tried. Please accept some mild confusion, anxiety, found family, and a fluffy/happy ending instead.

If this isn’t to your liking, hit me up again in my ask box, and i’ll try and make it up to you as soon as i’m back in a more angst-writing mood.

19. “don’t say that.”

Geralt is acting strange.

Well.

Stranger than usual.

And Jaskier knows he has a tendency to...embellish, perhaps even exaggerate, but this is not one of those instances. Not by a long shot. Because, see - he has confirmation.

From none other than Yennefer of Vengerberg.

“What the fuck’s the matter with him?” the sorceress asks Jaskier airily, conjuring two glasses of wine and handing one to him. They’re sitting outside, enjoying what is an unusually warm day at Kaer Morhen. Ciri is training with Geralt in the makeshift combat ring just a few meters from where they’re sat. She’s getting good, Jaskier thinks to himself with a surge of pride for the fierce little thing, even as he takes a sip of the wine and faces Yen.

“So you’ve noticed it too,” he remarks.

“A rather difficult thing not to, don’t you think?” Yennefer says, and Jaskier has no choice but to agree.

“Yes, he’s been rather vexing.”

“Maybe he’s cursed.”

“Honestly, Yen -”

“Did you anger him somehow? You do tend to give him conniptions, Jask.”

“You mean to say you don’t? I resent your implication.”

“Then perhaps he’s dying -”

“Melitele’s tits, Yennefer,” Jaskier hisses, even as a wicked grin flourishes on the sorceress’s face. “Don’t say that.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s clearly got to do with you, bard. He seems relatively - well, as normal as Geralt can be with the rest of us,” Yennefer says, as she stands up with a flourish of her skirts. In the distance, it looks like Geralt and Ciri have finished sword training for the day, which means it’s time for her sorcery training to begin. “I suggest you go talk to him.”

Jaskier grimaces. “Fine, fine, fine. You’re no help at all, you know?” But there’s no bite in his tone, only a small, impish smile.

“I’m not the White Wolf’s lover. You are on your own on this one I’m afraid. Do keep me posted, darling.” Yennefer - the utter asshole - sends him a saucy wink and wags her fingers before departing. Jaskier snorts, fond, as she takes Ciri by the hand, trailing fingers through moonlit hair, and walks her back inside. It still sends a shot of unexpected warmth in his chest, to be referred to as Geralt’s lover. This thing between them is no longer new, and yet it still fills Jaskier’s entire body with light. He has Geralt, and Geralt has him.

What a thing of beauty.

His smile widens as he watches Geralt approach him. In the warm light of day, the Witcher’s hair looks almost like it’s glowing, a thing of flame all on its own, and his eyes are more honey than gold. It makes Jaskier’s poor heart flutter helplessly. He stands up, greets his Witcher with a kiss just to the corner of Geralt’s lips; the kind of kiss Jaskier knows makes Geralt rumble low in his throat. Is inwardly pleased when Geralt does just that.

“How did Ciri do today?” Jaskier asks, as Geralt absently twines a hand around a lock of brown hair.

“Good,” the Witcher says. “She’s getting better.” There’s an almost worried look pinching at his brow, and Jaskier steps back a little frowning. There it is again. Geralt is tense - Jaskier can see it, clear as day, in the curve of the Witcher’s jaw - his fingers clenching and unclenching at his side. If Geralt was anyone else, Jaskier would say the Witcher looked nervous, but no, that’s not possible. He’s just being strange, and Jaskier squares his shoulders, having had just about enough of it.

“Alright, out with it Witcher,” Jaskier says, hands resting on his hips. “Talk to me, I know something’s the matter with you. You’re being weird.”

“I’m being weird?” Geralt parrots back with the beginnings of a bemused grin on his face. But Jaskier is determined and decidedly one-track minded today.

“No, no, no, don't think you can distract me with you charm, I don’t care how well it’s worked in the past,” Jaskier counters. Then he reaches a hand to cup Geralt’s jaw; allows his gaze to soften as he looks deeply into eyes that shine like a flame.

He watches, somewhat transfixed, as something like apprehension floods Geralt’s irises, and Jaskier nearly staggers. The Witcher is nervous?

“I haven’t really quite known how to do this,” Geralt admits, rueful, as he leans into Jaskier’s touch.

Jaskier frowns, a little perplexed. “Know how to do...what, exactly, my wolf?” he coaxes gently.

Geralt doesn’t speak for a moment, choosing instead to dig into the pouch at his hip. He opens his hand, and Jaskier lets out a soft gasp. It’s a wolf medallion, exactly like the one Geralt wears, but it looks newly minted. Next to the wolf is one buttercup.

“I’m no good with words, Jaskier,” Geralt says. “But you mean...a great deal to me. You make me happy. My heart is yours and I want you to be mine.” He extends his hand, let’s his voice drop another register as he murmurs, “will you have me?”

Jaskier’s throat is clogged up with so many emotions and his heart is fit to burst. He throws himself in the Witcher’s arms and Geralt catches him, like he always does.

Like he always will.

“You big lummox,” he says into Geralt’s neck. “Of course I’ll have you. Now and always and as long as you’ll have me, darling.”

Jaskier lets Geralt pull him into a truly deep, toe-curling kiss, before they break apart long enough for Geralt to loop the medallion around Jaskier’s neck. The medallion lands just above his heart, the press of it is heavy and reassuring and right.

“Then I’ll have you forever, bard,” Geralt says, and Jaskier smiles as he’s drawn into another kiss.

“Forever it is,” he agrees.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #the witcher fic #jaskier #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #prompt fill #found family #my writing #i couldn’t do angst no matter how much i tried #i’m so sorry anon #i hope this is still to your liking #if not hmu again #and I’ll gladly do a redo

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background-noise-headache · 3 years

Text

Hurt the Bard, but like, Emotionally/Non-lethally

Um, terribly painful Jaskier-whump idea. (This has some Geraskier elements in it, but in a pre-relationship, developing friendship way, featuring a lot of Geralt openly caring for Jaskier because that’s my head canon, Geralt speaks with actions and his eyes, not his words.

I know the fandom likes to play with the idea of Jaskier’s parents being distant or abusive or neglectful. Which I do enjoy, but I vibe more with the idea that Jaskier had very supportive parents and that’s why he’s so confident and open and affectionate.

So, this: The court mage’s apprentice is bitter and angry seeing all this love that annoying brat (only a few years younger than him) gets. The jealousy is eating at him. Jaskier goes to Oxenfurt then sets out on his own to become a bard with the encouragement of his parents even if it’s not what’s expected of a viscount.

Somewhere between when Jaskier meets Geralt to the djinn incident (I imagine after Cintra) Jaskier is home for a while, telling his family about his adventures and being showered in love and sharing that love back with them, he’s missed them so much.

The apprentice is now the court mage and that anger has never gone away, just been buried and smothered because dude does not have the best coping mechanisms, no one ever taught him any. Asshole decides to cast a curse on Jaskier:

“Every kind word will cause you pain and make you rot on the inside, but no one will see the pain they cause you. It won’t kill you physically, but you’ll swear you’re dying. Every kind word, every compliment, will make you rot until the only relief and joy you get is when someone insults you. You’ll beg for them to hate you, beg for them to spit in your face.”

By the next day it’s clear how effective the curse is.

(Okay, trigger warning for body horror, skin issues, medical wounds. This is honestly me coping with a terrible nightmare I had a few years back that I never completely got over and sometimes I need to talk about it. So, bear with me, or skip to my line of astrisks)

(You know what, additional trigger warnings for toxic relationships and emotional abuse between Jaskier an characters only mentioned in the show but never seen. You know the ones)

By rot, I mean that when Jaskier looks at his skin it looks like it’s bruising, and then cracking, bleeding, pealing away. It’s molting and pussy and awful (that is specifically what it looked like in my dream, the skin on my left arm was molting.) But nobody fricken sees it! Jaskier can point to the wounds, groan in pain, nobody sees the cause. It’s not actually there, it’s technically in his head because that’s what the curse does, it won’t kill him, just rot him.

So immediately Jaskier realizes he has to leave home because every time he sees his parents and his siblings and his neices and nephews they’re excited and happy and loving. They’re quick to realize something’s wrong, but Jaskier knows they can’t see the way his skin is turning. He leaves without saying goodbye because he can’t explain.

He travels, avoids his friends and familiar places where he’s known. But when he performs his audience will tell him how wonderful his songs were and patrons will flirt and it’s all pain. It’s less painful to avoid performing, but harder to survive without it. But he can’t always bear the pain, it’s just too much sometimes.

He runs into an old classmate. He and Valdo were never close, several years apart in age. They chat, they flirt, they go to bed together. Valdo is sparing with his compliments, and very observant. Because Jaskier gets irritable with pain and too many nice words makes him lash out, but insults stir a fire in his eyes that Valdo enjoys. He thinks he knows what Jaskier really wants. He’s not sure how he feels about it, but Valdo can’t remember the last time he had a fling so interesting and contradictory.

They travel for a while. Jaskier becomes a backup for Valdo’s performances, getting a share of the coin to get by and minimal attention. It’s better this way, he tells himself.

One drunken night he tells Valdo about the curse. To Valdo it makes too much sense and it’s so tragic and the tragedy makes it more romantic. The relationship is downhill from there as Jaskier realizes the kind of situation he’s gotten himself into and how he’s becoming dependent on Valdo’s cruelty, and how much crueler it feels if Valdo says something nice.

He leaves.

He meets the Countess. She flirts with insults and thrives making people feel lower than her. She pays him a lot of money to play for her and takes him to bed and rarely has a kind word and if he avoids drinking too much he’ll never fall into the same trap he did with Valdo.

And then a song begins circulating about a poor bard cursed to long for pain and cruelty, who will never know love again. Which fucking hurts worse than any of this shit before, the message that he’ll never be loved again burns.

The Countess grows bored and kicks him out. He travels for a few weeks, to tired and burnt out to perform and goes through his money fast. He also had jack-all in the way of travel supplies, not even a bedroll, so it’s a rough few weeks after he can no longer afford a bed under a roof.

And then he meets Geralt on the bank of the Pontar. Gods it’s nice to focus on someone else’s problems for a moment. And then the fillingless pie comment, and it’s the first time in a Gods-know-how-long time that he finds no relief in the insult, only annoyance. And that old habit of bickering with Geralt kicks in because even if it’s been a few years they’re still friends.

(Yes, they’re friends. I head canon that Geralt says they’re not friends 1. because he has obvious abandonment issues and self loathing problems, as the fandom well knows, and 2. every time he says he and Jaskier aren’t friends, Jaskier insists they are with more and more evidence to prove it and it makes Geralt feel warm and fuzzy. Eventually they had that conversation and Jaskier knows what Geralt actually means/wants to hear when he says they’re not friends)

(also Geralt has been plagued with insomnia for weeks or months on end, and I’m telling you, you would be cranky too. Not getting enough sleep gives me migraines, worsens my snow vision, makes my ADHD worse, and makes me irritable. That’s why Geralt is so grumpy on the river bank)

So for a few minutes he forgets about the curse and the festering rot on his skin. And then the djinn, and he’d really like to get back at the two people that have hurt him the most recently, and then break this stupid fucking curse already.

No such luck.

And after all the djinn nonsense, Yen makes the offhanded comment, “Where’s your cursed bard run off to.”

“He shouldn’t be cursed any more.”

“Oh no, he was cursed long before the djinn.”

“Why didn’t you tell me!”

“I didn’t see it until you left.”

“And you didn’t break it?”

“It wasn’t killing him. The djinn was. One problem at a time. The djinn needed to be solved before this curse.”

So, yeah, Yennefer and Geralt find Jaskier outside and they have a long talk about it. Yen needs a day to prepare for breaking the curse because she’s already used a lot of chaos today and she needs rest. (And those two idiots need to talk, she can see it and it’s giving her a migraine she needs to sleep off)

Jaskier tells Geralt about the last year or so of his life. It’s fucking shit.

The curse is broken. There’s no sign of rot on Jaskier’s skin, no pain when anyone says something kind, like “we are friends” and “I missed you” which is a relief.

But the emotional changes won’t go away overnight. Jaskier responds to kindness with hostility and takes insults in silence. And Geralt isn’t doing well watching someone he cares about act... act like Geralt. Self-hating and believing they need cruelty to be normal. And there’s no traveling therapist either. So they’re doing the best they can. But it’s a rough few years as Jaskier unlearns all that shit.

It kind of convinces Geralt to get his head a little more out of his ass and stop hating himself so much, realizing how painful it must be for Jaskier and his brothers and Vesemir and Yennefer to watch.

The mountain is just a really awful few days. Jaskier takes Geralt’s lashing with minimal resistance. A comment that it’s not fair is a vast improvement from 5-6 years ago, but nothing like his younger self would have responded, all puffed up dramatics until Geralt realized how ridiculous he was being.

Geralt and Jaskier have an awkward, stunted few days hiking down the mountain, during which Jaskier decides he needs to go to the coast and sort himself out. He’ll see Geralt next spring.

He goes home and spends that autumn with his family. It’s the most healing three months he’s ever had. The mage has long since left, and Jaskier’s not sure he’ll ever get that closure, but he’ll take what healing he can get now. He’s more like his old self than he’s ever been since the curse broke.

And then Geralt shows up on the edge of winter, limping with an exhausted child surprise and a wounded sorceress by his side. Jaskier gives them shelter for a few nights but they can’t stay, they’ll in danger as long as they’re stuck down south.

The night before they leave, Geralt and Jaskier talk, clear the air. Geralt asks if Jaskier is happy. He is. So Geralt decides not to ask Jaskier to join him. Yennefer is the one to ask, because fuck that idiotic bullshit and Ciri already knows him from a few winters spent at Cintra and adores him, and he’s already great with kids, a skill Yennefer and Geralt can’t claim yet.

Jaskier’s family supports him, of course they do. He promises to return home soon.

* * *

So like, I was going to pose this as a writing prompt and offer it to anyone who wants to write it. I didn’t intend to develop it so much, but getting it out of my system helped a lot. I needed to get all those ideas out.

If it speaks to you, feel free to run with it, but please include a link to this original post or mentioned me. My ao3 is Shadowmightwrite17

(yeah, tbh, that nightmare still haunts me. I told my parents about it immediately, but I didn’t open up about it to anyone until last summer when I told my best friend about it. I was like, “did I ever tell you about that one nightmare I had where my skin was molting off my arm?” and he was like, “no. no you did not. wtf” But there was also a thing last week when I read a vaguely body-horror sentence in a Witcher fanfic about something moving under your skin and I remembered again, so like, I needed to talk about it somehow)

#jaskier #dandelion #geraskier #the witcher #geraskier fanfiction #fanfiction #my fanfic #it's past midnight I should be sleeping #i'm too tired to edit this so sorry for that

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cole-grey-writes · 4 years

Text

Pains & Stains

Universe: The Witcher (Netflix)

Timeline: Post-Season One

Character(s): Ciri, Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier

Pairing(s): Ciri x Trans Male Reader (platonic), Geralt of Rivia x Trans Male Reader (platonic), Jaskier x Trans Male Reader (platonic)

Warning(s): not episode 6: Rare Species compliant, blood, period talk, vomit, swearing, temporary misgendering

Summary: When you wake up one morning in a puddle of blood, you look to Ciri, the only one who knows about you. You’ve kept this part of yourself hidden from your other travel companions, Geralt and Jaskier, for a reason. But, now it looks like you can’t hide anymore.

A/n: I had the worst period of my entire life. This is basically a retelling of what happened to me (with some embellishment of course). Sidenote, ciri x reader can actually be read as either romantic or platonic, whichever you prefer (it says platonic only because it’s not explicitly romantic) but since ciri and reader are both teenagers (id say 14-15 ish, give or take a few years) the geralt and jaskier x readers are strictly platonic/familial type relationships. Also, i got another week of spring break so pls send in asks before i have to focus more on school again. But anyway, enjoy °u°

Side Note: in regards to Geralt at the end, I genuinely don’t think he’s being transphobic or misgendering on purpose and that’s not how I meant for it to come off as. In my opinion, I think geralt is just wholely... unaware of the situation. He’s basically been isolated (with the exception of other Witchers) for a vast majority of his life so I think with that comes ignorance to certain things. So, he’s not being malicious, he’s just very uneducated.

You know exactly what wakes you up. You know what the painful cramps and squishy, warm feeling in your pants means, but you don’t want to look down and confirm it.

The sun is slowly rising which means Geralt will be waking up soon and you don’t want him to find you bleeding all over yourself. You wouldn’t be able to explain yourself without having to tell him about you, so you accept your fate begrudgingly.

Sneaking a peak at Geralt and Jaskier, you take note that they’re both still sleeping in their separate bed rolls on the opposite side of the burned out campfire. You roll back over as quietly as you can and reach out to Ciri, who’s sleeping right next to you, and try to get her attention. It takes a few calls of her name and a shove before she finally wakes up confused. All you can do when she looks at you questioningly is ask for help.

Ciri is, rightfully, concerned and immediately up and ready to help. She gets her bag, fishing out the cloth she uses for her menstrations before she gives it to you. You stand to leave when Ciri asks, whispering, “What are you gonna do?”

“Go to a stream close by or something and wash my clothes.”

Ciri nods. “I’ll deal with the blood.”

You eye the small puddle of blood that had dripped down your leg and into the forest floor. You turn away quickly, agreeing. You head off in some random direction and it isn’t long before you come across a stream and begin stripping. It’s awkward being naked out in the open, even worse when the water you’re washing up in only comes up to your waist but you figure it would be even more awkward to explain to your travel companions why you have blood all over your crotch.

You bear the vulnerable feeling and refuse to look down while you allow the flowing water to clean your lower body, simultaneously scrubbing vigorously at your pants and smallclothes. You decide to take longer than necessary to wash. You know it’s gonna be a long day of walking so you wanna make sure you don’t immediately feel gross.

After the washing is finished, you just get your clothes back on, still stained but less so and now damp, when Ciri comes into view.

“I couldn’t get the stain all the way out,” you tell her, feigning nonchalance when all you can feel inside is panic.

Ciri tells you, “It’s fine,” before she’s pulling her cloak off and handing it to you. “You can wear it until we can sneak you some new pants.”

You sigh, relieved and grateful. “Thank you.”

Ciri smiles and you both begin to head back to camp. As you walk, Ciri questions you about the pain. You and Ciri go back a long time, practically grew up with each other. Your parents were soldiers of noble blood who fought alongside Queen Calanthe so you’ve known each other since you were kids. It didn’t take long for you to confess to Ciri about how you felt when people called you by the name your parents gave you or when your dad called you his little baroness or when the peasant boys you and ciri played around with called you little girl. And since you were so close, she knows all about how painful your time can be.

“It's not so bad right now,” you tell her, subconsciously rubbing at your abdomen.

“That's good,” Ciri says. You agree but silently wonder how long it will take before you’re completely consumed by pain.

You’re both silent as you make it the rest of the way back to camp. As you step back into the clearing where you had slept, you note that the camp is completely put away. The only thing left as a sign that anyone had been here is the circle of burnt firewood.

“Ah, there you two are, you little scamps,” Jaskier exclaims upon seeing you walk into the packed up camp, throwing up his hands dramatically. “We were beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”

Beside Jaskier, Geralt doesn’t look all that worried but he does look mad, although he does always look like that. He leans against a tree with his arms crossed, glaring at you as you approach. “Where have you been?”

“I told you I was going to the bathroom,” Ciri explains quickly.

Geralt says, without looking away from you but still gently, “Not you.”

Geralt’s tone doesn’t bother you as much as it used to. He was worse in the beginning actually. You used to think that Geralt hated you for some reason because he wasn’t as distant with Ciri as he was with you and then Jaskier joined Geralt in his travels again. And he treated Jaskier about the same as he treats you. It took a few days of observing interactions between the two men to figure out that Geralt wasn’t being mean or, rather, wasn’t trying to be. He was just reluctantly accepting of the presences of men.

It also crossed your mind more than once that it could be because Ciri was his child surprise, as Jaskier eventually explained. But whatever the reason may be, he acts differently with you and there isn’t much you can do about it so you ignore it as much as you can.

“I was washing up,” you explain lamely.

“We did that last night,” Geralt says through gritted teeth. Which, yeah, they did while Ciri bathes by herself away from sight — still within Geralt’s earshot for safety reasons, obviously —, the men bathe together. And since you haven’t had the courage to tell Geralt and Jaskier your situation, you, in fact, did not bathe last night.

“Oh, hush,” Jaskier says, waving Geralt off. “So he wanted to wash in the morning. I actually do it often when I'm not spreading the tales of your heroics and I find it quite refreshing. You know, some say people that wash in the morning actually-”

“We should’ve left by now,” Geralt huffs. “We’re late.”

You sigh, watching Geralt walk away and start leading Roach down the path.

Jaskier comes to stand beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulders. He playfully tells you, “Don't let Geralt bother you any. He's not a morning person, clearly,” which makes you instantly smile.

“Where are we headed?” Ciri wonders as she comes to stand next to you, too.

“About a day’s north,” Jaskier says.

You groan, throwing your head back. “A day?!”

“Yes, I’m afraid,” Jaskier confirms sympathetically. “Ah! But, if you would like a nice way to pass the time, I am always willing to give a little… sneak peak of my new ballad.”

Ciri gasps, eyes sparkling. “Yes please!”

You hum, “Sure.”

Jaskier begins strumming his lute and you all set after Geralt, doing your best to ignore the increasing pain in your abdomen.

As always, it doesn’t take long at all for the force of the pain you usually feel to hit full throttle and in turn, the nausea sets in.

You wrap your arms around yourself, fingers digging into your sides with all the strength you have, doing your best to ignore it. You had hoped it would even out the pain so it wouldn’t be that bad, maybe distract you for a while, but it doesn’t work even a little bit and it’s downright unbearable.

By mid morning, your muscles are shaking, you’re sure you’ve carved little crescents into your sides even through your shirt, and you're dripping in sweat with the effort to not cry and fall to the floor in blinding pain. You blame the last one on the blistering sun when anyone questions you about it.

Your problem causes you to lag behind everyone else quite often, although Ciri does her best to stay with you and keep you mind off the splintering pain. She talks endlessly about anything and nothing at all but it helps only a little bit.

It’s during a particular lull in the one sided conversation between you and Ciri that you hear Jaskoer badgering Geralt insistently about something. You almost don’t pay any attention to it, it's Jaskier and Geralt so that's how they always are, until you hear him say your name.

“He needs a break, Geralt,” Jaskier says sternly and louder than his previous tone, which catches Ciri’s attention as well. Geralt continues to ignore the bard. “Maybe your witcher eyesight is starting to diminish in old age, so I suppose I'll enlighten you. He is positively sweating rivers, Geralt. He’s soaked through his little-”

Geralt pulls Roach to a sudden halt so he can growl in Jaskier’s face. “Fine, we can take a break if it will get you to shut up!” Then, Geralt ushers Roach forward faster, veering off the path.

Jaskier turns to you and Ciri, smiling a very smug smile. “Well, time for a well deserved break. Hopefully there’s a river nearby, we can fill up our waterskins. Maybe splash about for a while if Geralt doesn’t threaten to leave us behind for taking too long, if we’re lucky, if-“ and you tune him out as he keeps talking on account that a hot spike of pain stabs you directly in the pelvis. You barely manage to swallow a cry, although your face contorts in the effort. It caused Jaskier to pause mid babble. “Are you alright?”

“No, I'm fine,” you say, rather quickly. Too quickly.

“Are you sure? Because you really look very pale. And, actually, your hands are-”

You’re yelling before you can stop yourself. “I said, I’m fine!” Pushing past Jaskier roughly, you rush to catch up to Geralt who’s almost completely immersed in the foliage a little ways away from the path. You prefer, at the moment, to deal with an annoyed Geralt than a chronically curious Jaskier who questions you nonstop about what’s wrong with you until you get so fed up, you spill all your secrets.

There’s no river or stream where Geralt decided to stop and let Roach chew on some grass near his feet, but there is a small sized pond. You don’t wander too close to Geralt, keeping your distance like you always do, instead choosing to sit against a tree while pressing your knees hard against your chest to try and control the pain.

Jaskier and Ciri approach only seconds later. Jaskier immediately walks over to Geralt and starts talking to him about his new ballad, even though they’ve all heard it five times that morning so far, and Ciri comes to sit down next to you.

Ciri leans close to your side, whispering, “How high is the pain so far?”

You show her your hands, shaking visibly, causing Ciri to frown. She grabs one of your hands and holds it in her lap soothingly, rubbing her thumb across the back. “I also feel like throwing up.”

“That might have to do with the fact you didn’t eat dinner,” Ciri tells you as a matter of factly, side eyeing you pointedly. “And breakfast.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say dismissively. You add, in a sad attempt to use comedy to cope with the pain, “I've made mistakes.” In response, Ciri doesn’t laugh but she hums with a small smile.

You sit silently for a few moments before you turn to Ciri and say, “I think, maybe it would be a good idea to throw up a little bit.”

Ciri shakes her head doubtfully. “I don’t know, Y/n.”

“I should at least try it,” you tell her, shrugging. “It might help get rid of the feeling, even for a little bit. Maybe hold me over until Jaskier can convince Geralt to stop for another break.”

Ciri looks like she thinks it over before she nods reluctantly. “I guess that makes sense.”

You and Ciri stand together, seeming to grab Geralt’s attention. When he begins to approach with Jaskier in tow, you turn sharply to give Ciri a questioning look. Ciri nods understandingly, sending you walking away speedily in a random direction, not bothering to spare either man a glance. You can feel the burn of Geralt’s golden eyes on the back of your head as you retreat into the forest, but you don’t slow your gate. You hear Ciri explain that you had to pee and silently thank her for being such a good liar.

You only stop walking when you feel you’re far enough from Geralt’s impressive hearing won’t catch the pitiful noises you’ll inevitably make. You notice that you’re near a fallen tree and you decide you can use it for support. Walking over to it, you drop to your knees and put both hands on the horizontal trunk. Waiting only a few seconds for the nausea to bubble up, but it obviously doesn’t when you want it to and you figure since Geralt’s been in a bad enough mood all morning, it’d be best to make this experience as quick as possible.

Opening your mouth, you stick a single finger to the back of your throat, gagging instantly. Except nothing comes up. Your breathing increases tremendously though and you do feel the sickness set back in quickly after. You gag twice more without any help from your fingers before you feel your stomach finally give a wet gurgle. Gagging once final time, a yellow liquid comes up. It's warm and slippery but there's hardly any of it, barely a handful.

You were right earlier, it seems, because you do feel better, if only a little. Your stomach finally settles and the sickness isn't burning the back of your throat anymore. You kneel on the ground for only a few more moments, making sure you’re done. You stand when you deem yourself stable enough, wiping the slime from your lips. Your turn to make your way back to your companions before you’re left behind, ignoring the quivering that spreads from your hands to your stomachs to your thighs.

As it turns out, you couldn’t quite ignore your trembling libs and apparently, neither could Jaskier. He stopped you multiple times on the long and agonizing walk, asking if you were alright, and every time you told him you were fine every time. Jaskier clearly didn’t believe you if the increasing number of worried glances were anything to go by.

Your condition, as the day drew on, only grew worse and it was getting bad enough to cause a crease to appear on even Geralt’s brow. You barely make it to midday before Geralt is suddenly deverting from the path and leading the group through the woods to a new destination. It confuses you and Ciri, causing you to exchange glances, but you both choose not to say anything.

The new destination, as it turns out, is the nearest civilization that actually only takes a little over ten minutes to get to. It’s a small backwater village with barely ten families, only a single story inn, a quaint little tavern, some food vendors scattered around in the center of town, and, thankfully, a stable for Roach. Surrounding the village is nothing but yellow fields on one side and the blossoming forest on the other side, which is an odd combination in your opinion. Obviously, given it’s miniscule size, there’s nowhere to sightsee — not that you do much of that anyway, thanks to Geralt’s workaholic attitude — so you all immediately head off in the direction of the inn.

Outside, Geralt hands you and Ciri some coin. “Go inside, book a room–”

“–preferably with two beds,” Jaskier jumps in easily.

Geralt, ignoring him, continues, “–while I drop off Roach–”

“–and I look for work at the tavern.”

Ignoring Jaskier even harder, Geralt wonders, “Think you can manage that?” You side eye Geralt at that because you know he’s talking about you, but it doesn’t sound melicious like you would’ve expected from him. In fact, it sounds to you like his tone leans more towards slight concern than anything else.

Shifting around on your feet, you look down and fidget with the sleeves of Ciri’s cloak that is darker now at the ends from you wiping away the sweat from your face all morning.

Ciri takes the coin bag from Geralt. “We will.” When Jaskier and Geralt walk away, you follow Ciri into the inn. She turns to you as soon as you walk in, saying, “It might take a bit to get the room. Do you think you’re able to stand and wait just a little bit long before resting or maybe you should sit down?”

You shrug even though you feel like your limbs are weighing you down. Ciri gives you another doubtful look of the day and tells you to just have a seat while she gets a room. You watch her walk over to the innkeeper before your brain catches up.

You do as Ciri said, walking over to a stool that sits next to an empty table and drop into it, your feet dragging the whole way. Resting your head on the table feels more relieving than it should, but you really don’t have any more strength left to think about it or to keep your eyes open any longer. They droop and fall close.

It feels like only seconds that you sit there before a hand grasps onto your shoulder. Your eyes snap open, vision blurry with rest even though you feel like you got none at all.

“Sorry,” Ciri apologizes. “The innkeeper was trying really hard to negotiate a price.”

You shake your head drowly. “Didn’t really notice.”

“Well, the room is paid for now so we can go settle in,” Ciri seems overly happy about that but maybe it’s just for your sake. “You can change cloths before Geralt and Jaskier get here. Dinner won’t be served for hours so there’s plenty of time for a nap before that.”

You nod, agreeing. It does sound nice and it would be good to change cloths so you don’t leak while you sleep.

You stand to start walking with Ciri to your room, but as soon as you’re upright, a flash of cold air whooshes through your body and you immediately feel light headed. Stumbling, you accidentally knock over your stool and another next to you. Ciri grabs onto your arms to help you stay standing but it’s no use. Your knees buckle anyway, vision going dark just as you feel yourself collapse into Ciri’s arms.

You wake up slowly only because you still feel like absolute shit. Your arms feel stiff and your legs feel as shaky as they have been all day. Your stomach is tying itself in knots and the nausea is back.

Your eyes actually don’t hurt from the dim light at your left, but you close your eyes anyway in hopes of going back to sleep.

“Oh, you’re awake.” You open your eyes at the undeniable sound of Jaskier’s relieved voice. You have to turn your head to actually see him, noticing as you do so that there is a cool damp cloth on your forehead and that you are laid above the covers. Jaskier, when he comes into view, is kneeling in front of the fireplace, setting two more pieces of wood in the dwindling flame. “That’s good. I was getting a bit worried.”

Not wanting to move your head more than you have to, you just look where you can from this certain angle. Thought, to be honest, there’s not much to look at. You are obviously in the room Ciri paid for. It’s small like you expected from a one story inn. There’s a chair in the corner by the fire with Ciri’s cloak thrown over the back of it. The dark blue curtains over the windows are closed and it would be drowning the room in complete darkness if it wasn’t still daytime out. But, given the bright orange light coming seeping through, you suspect it’s not going to be much longer. Also, there’s a small table next to your bed with a lit lantern sitting on it.

“It’s on low,” Jaskier says suddenly. You look at him questioningly. Jaskier smiles softly, saying, “The lantern. I put it on low so it didn’t hurt your eyes.”

You guess he must have seen you eyeing it.

“You’ve spent an awful long time without food,” Jaskier tells you, almost as if you didn’t know that yourself. But, still, you grimace at that thought of food. “Yes, I imagine food really doesn’t sound all that appealing given the nausea and cramps. But, alas, you must eat something.”

You wonder for a moment if Ciri told them about you but you shove the possibility away violently. You know she wouldn’t do that. Ciri had promised when you first started traveling with Geralt that she would never say anything if you didn’t want her to. But, then again, it’s not a real surprise Jaskier knows. You’ve heard many tales of Jaskier’s many sisters while he’s traveled with you. He’s grown up with many women in his life, and while you are no woman, that doesn’t discourage your body from acting like one.

Jaskier walks over to you with a wooden bowl in his hands. Jaskier sets the bowl on the table next to the lantern. He says, jokingly, “It’s no rabbit stew, but it’s good, I suppose. Do you think you can sit up a small bit and have some soup?” You can groan minutely and turn your head away in response. “Come on, cub.”

You pause at the endearment. It's not new but it is surprising in this situation. Jaskier uses it often with you and Ciri given your high status Cintran blood. But, he’s never used it all those times he’s lectured you and Ciri about wandering around towns without supervision or when you swear when he’s around or when you and Ciri sneak away with his lute for some of your own concerts. Which means Jaskier is clearly not mad at you for keeping your secrets or at least he’s really, really worried about you.

“It’s been almost an entire day since your last meal. There’s no way you’re not starving.” Still not willing to force food down right now, you swallow around your dry, swollen feeling tongue. With a scratch to your voice, you ask about Ciri with as little words as possible. “Out. With Geralt, getting some… products.”

You don't miss the obvious way Jaskier stumbles. You have no doubt what word he skipped over in his explanation and it confuses you. Usually everyone just assumes–

Geralt comes clambering into the room with Ciri right behind him. Unlike Geralt, who has that permanent scowl on his face, Ciri is smiling brightly.

Ciri comes over to sit down next to you immediately, setting down the loaded bag on the bed in front of her. “How are you feeling?” She asks. When you hum noncommittally, Ciri hums back empathetically. “Well, we went into town and look!” Ciri exclaims, pulling out some black pants from the bag. “We got you some new pants. They might be a little big but I know you don't mind that,” Ciri tells you, smiling a little too cheerfully for something so simple as a pair of pants, but you smile back anyway.

Ciri goes to say something else, no doubt still praises about the pants, but Geralt interrupts her harshly. “Are you going to explain what happened or not?”

Jaskier’s head whips around from where he’d been looking on at you and Ciri. “Geralt,” he hisses.

Geralt is unbothered and continues despite Jaskier’s warning. “Why were you keeping secrets?”

“Geralt, is this really the time?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Jaskier fully turns towards Geralt, hands resting on his hips. “Oh, I don't know, Geralt, maybe it’s because he’s sick!”

“She lied,” Geralt growls.

You sigh, resigned. You were expecting it but it still makes your belly sink with ice.

Your eyes flash open when the bed shifts violently. When you do, you see that Ciri has jumped up on the bed, towering over Geralt. “She?!” Ciri screeches indignantly, catching everyone off guard. “He is a boy!”

“Ciri,” Jaskier says gently, attempting to calm the obviously furious girl.

From behind her, you, as well, do your best to appease Ciri, even if you would really much rather crawl into the mouth of a Kikimore and never come back out. “Ciri, it’s fine…”

“No, it’s not. Do you even know how hard it is for him to be seen as who he is?” Ciri says, voice still booming. Geralt looks rightfully surprised. “He did not spend years publicly reinventing himself to be mistaken as a she!”

When Geralt tries to speak, Ciri doesn’t let him have the chance. In fact, Ciri raises her fists and starts hitting Geralt, saying multiple explicit ‘fuck you’s. Geralt, in turn, blocks her attacks but doesn’t try to stop her while Jaskier rushes over to calm her down himself.

The fighting only stops when you curl in on yourself from a painful cramp. You barely have enough sense to roll over to your side to vomit over the side of the bed. The puddle is even smaller than the one in the forest.

Ciri breathes heavily, crossing her arms while scowling that rivaled Geralt’s own. “Get out.”

“Ciri,” Jaskier tries, but Ciri moves away from Jaskier and tells them to leave again, more steely. Jaskier sighs. He puts his hand on Geralt's arm and shoves him towards the door. You have no doubt that Geralt allows Jaskier to move him, knowing that there’s no physical way Jaskier is strong enough to move him on his own. Jaskier turns back towards Ciri as he stands in the doorway. “Try to get him to eat, alright?”

Ciri doesn’t give any sign that she’s heard what he’s said or that she’s going to follow his direction. With that, Jaskier leaves and shuts the door behind himself.

You sigh from your fetal position, far more relieved to have them leave than you feel you should be. Actually feeling comfortable in this position, you’re reluctant to move. “You didn’t have to do that,” you tell Ciri, deciding not to face her.

“I did,” is all Ciri says in response. She sits in bed behind you, doing so slowly and softly so as not to jostle you. “You want some sleep?”

You hum, thinking. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Yeah, I suppose it wouldn’t,” Ciri agrees. “You can eat and change your cloth when you wake up.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you joke lightly.

Ciri agrees again, shifting and wrapping her arms around you, curling up behind you. “I’ll be here when you wake up this time.”

You smile, shutting your eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.”

(NOT MY GIF)

Main Blog // Other Side Blog

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#ciri x male reader #ciri x reader #jaskier x male reader #jaskier x reader #geralt of rivia x male reader #geralt of rivia x reader #reader insert #the witcher

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hirikka · 4 years

Text

Virtues in the verse - Chapter 4

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Geralt needs somewhere safe to take Ciri for the winter—it is too late to make it to Kaer Morhen—so they try to seek sanctuary at Oxenfurt. Unfortunately, the chancellor insists they only offer sanctuary to faculty and their families. Jaskier hasn't seen Geralt since the dragon hunt, but perhaps this will be a way to make up for his past failings as a companion. They just need to get married, and Geralt and Ciri will be safe.

Or, Jaskier and Geralt get fake married so that Geralt and Ciri can claim sanctuary at Oxenfurt.

Chapter Four: Plans are made

“Alright. So we need to figure out some rules. Details.” Jaskier sits down at the table across from him, already looking bright eyed and ready to face the day.

“Hm.” Geralt, on the other hand, is finding it hard to focus. His sleep had been restless—still on edge over the frantic journey to get here. The familiar pine and petrichor scent of Jaskier was both a blessing and a curse, the smell at once a familiar comfort and a painful reminder of the mistakes he’s made. He is painfully aware that he has yet to apologize for his actions, for driving the man away. And that his being here is likely an imposition on Jaskier. Admittedly, Geralt is not sure exactly what Jaskier does with his free time in the winter, but a marriage will make any romances more challenging, if nothing else. Geralt can’t bear the thought of causing any more misery in Jaskier’s life.

“See? That.” Jaskier waves a hand. “That is not going to work. If we want this ruse to work, we’re going to need to talk.”

Geralt sighs, but Jaskier—as usual—is right. “Rules?”

Jaskier nods. “You’re a private person, obviously, so we shouldn’t have to be too blatant about our ‘romance,’ but we’ll have to make some show of being married when we are out in public.”

Geralt shifts uncomfortably, unsure of what to say.

“Unfortunately, my colleagues here know me well enough to expect at least some form of public affection from me. I am sorry about that.”

“Don’t apologize,” Geralt growls. He doesn’t know how to admit that the idea of publicly being with Jaskier in this way holds a certain appeal.

Jaskier gives him a rueful smile and drums his fingers on the table. “So, we can probably rule out anything too extreme, but—hand holding?”

“Hm?”

“Would you be alright with that? Hand holding if we are out together? Maybe a hug if we meet up in public at some point?”

Geralt pauses for a moment, not wanting to seem too eager. “Yes. That’s...fine.”

“Alright.” Jaskier sounds faintly amused, but he doesn’t push Geralt. “That’s probably good enough for now. We can always adjust if we need to. Now, we have to decide the details of our deception: how long have we been together, who confessed their affections first—” Jaskier pauses, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “—our sex life.”

“ Jaskier .” Geralt’s voice comes out strangled.

Jaskier snickers. “Yes, well. You know us bards—and scholars. Terribly nosy.”

Geralt tilts his head, considering the last few years prior to the mountain. “Beltane. Two years ago,” he says after a moment. He remembers the day well—an unusually welcoming town, Jaskier with a crown of flowers in his hair, bright and joyful and so happy to be with Geralt. That had been the day when Geralt had finally allowed himself to admit that what he felt for the bard was far beyond friendship. He hadn’t acted on it, of course, and he had sought out Yennefer the next month, desperate for a distraction. “You asked me on a date.”

“I asked you?” Jaskier has an odd expression on his face that Geralt can’t parse.

“Hm,” Geralt agrees. “Makes more sense. You’re more emotional.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Understanding my emotions doesn’t mean I have more of them, you lug.”

Geralt frowns; he hadn’t meant it as an insult—his emotions were muted compared to Jaskier’s. He wasn’t entirely sure whether that was because of the mutations or because he just hadn’t ever learned to really understand what it was that he was feeling. “That’s what I meant,” Geralt grunts. “You would have known.” Would have known if he felt anything for the witcher. Would have known long before Geralt had figured out that he lo—liked the bard. And Jaskier had never given any indication that he felt that way. Which is not the point .

“Fine.” Jaskier taps on the table again, a rhythmic sound that would have once put Geralt on edge but now soothes him. Gives him something to focus on past his swirling thoughts. “As for the engagement—I think you proposed? During midsummer, maybe?”

Geralt nods; it's a reasonable suggestion. The image hits him at once: himself, on one knee, asking Jaskier to marry him. Warm from the summer sun, with the sounds of joy all around them.

“We separated in the fall, so that you could fetch Ciri. We planned to winter together and then have the handfasting ceremony in the spring.”

“On Beltane,” Geralt suggests. It makes Jaskier grin, and Geralt feels warm all over.

“Oh! You are a secret romantic,” Jaskier chirps, looking delighted with the information.

“Hm,” Geralt says, rather than what he wants to say, which is something ridiculous, along the lines of ‘only for you.’

Jaskier is quiet for a moment, and Geralt allows himself to hope that they are finished with this excruciating exercise.

“We should get rings. Soon probably,” Jaskier says. “Or, I don’t know if you would wear one before the handfasting—or after even. But I’d like one.”

“It would be damaged when I fought,” Geralt says. “Could wear it on a chain.”

“That’s good.” Jaskier nods. “We can go to the market this afternoon—there’s a good jeweler in the city; she does excellent work. We can pick up anything you and Ciri need, as well. The only thing left then will be getting some kind of documentation. I’ll need to give the headmaster something because it’s already going to seem odd that I didn’t mention an engagement before now.”

“Hm.”

“Which, unfortunately, means we’ll have to get a marriage license.” Jaskier pauses for a moment. “We could also have the temple call the banns, but that slows things down, and there’s always a chance that someone will come up with a reason why we shouldn’t wed. I can’t imagine any particular canonical impediments, but I’m not sure it's worth the risk.”

“The license then. If you think that’s safer,” Geralt says. He knows very little about any kind of marriage laws—it’s not something he thought he would ever have a reason to care about—so he’s content to trust Jaskier on this.

“I know a priestess of Melitele in the city who will be able to provide the license. ”

Geralt doesn’t respond. He had assumed that they would need to be officially married to secure the sanctuary. He doesn’t love the idea of Jaskier being forced into a binding contract, but Jaskier had offered, and Geralt is done trying to make his choices for him.

“Well, anyway.” Jaskier’s voice is somewhat strained, and Geralt belatedly realizes that his silence might have been seen as unhappiness. “That’s something we can sort out come spring. Unless you want to come up with another plan?”

“No,” Geralt says, possibly too quickly. “No. This— There’s nowhere else we can go and be safe. This is the best plan we have.”

“Alright.” Jaskier stands, knocking his knuckles on the table. “Then I’m off to get ready, and then we’re going shopping.”

Geralt groans—he hates shopping—and Jaskier chuckles as he leaves the room.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt #jaskier #fanfiction #geralt x jaskier #my writing #mine #virtues in the verse fic #txp

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