View My Stats I'm finally writing fanfic. At unpredictable intervals with varying results. Probably lots of The Witcher (Netflix) and various LOTR and Hobbit stuff.
I’ve gotten a lot of people asking lately, and I know that it’s easy to miss pinned blog posts (especially on mobile) and I do have an AO3, it’s pillage_and_lute or follow this link.
I’ve been updating it pretty regularly, so I think the only stuff not on there yet is some of my ask answers
Long time no see! Life has been crazy as life often is, and since The Witcher 3's third dlc was announced I had been itching to replay... so I did! And it made me want to make myself a new phone background. I love Geralt to death.
"witcher fell off when hcav left" "witcher fell off when s2 was dogshit" "witcher fell off when (insert racist bullshit about yen and triss' casting)" WRONG. real witcherheads know netflix witcher was never that good it was just one of the few shows that had dropped right before covid halted every other show from being made for over a year and a lot of very very depressed people saw a funny bard that sings nice and clung to that with a vice grip. even if it meant watching a mid gritty game of thrones baby where he was only in half the episodes of the first season. core part of my personality btw
Geralt's a fake ass homosexual if I had Joey Batey trailing after me for 20 years singing ballads about how amazing I was and tenderly stitching up my wounds after I got my ass kicked and gently washing my hair and was so devoted to me that everyone called him my bard I would've fucked him so hard that his vertebrae would be shooting out of his mouth like a pez dispenser but maybe that's just me.
(For next time you’re looking for prompts) I really like your writing, and when I thought of this I wondered what you’d do with it: Geralt and Jaskier are together, but agree to pretend not to be for their next stop. Maybe one of them wants to win an old bet, or Jaskier’s not 100% sure his betrothal to a local noble has been officially dissolved, whatever, (not homophobia), fluff and high jinx ensue. Anyway I hope something unexpectedly nice happens to you today.
Hi Dahliavandare! Thanks for the blessing in my inbox 🥰
This ran away from me, tons of backstory about Jaskier’s family. Just, way too much.
“Geralt, darling,” Jaskier said hesitantly. “I have an errand we need to run, and I’m not sure you’ll like it.”
Geralt hummed noncommittally. They were resting at their camp outside of Hagge and the warm summer air and the feeling of Jaskier curled against him had lulled him into a warm, fuzzy stupor.
“You see,” Jaskier continued, fiddling with the buttons at his cuffs. “I’m a noble, and you know that of course.” He laughed awkwardly. “And I’ve been lucky enough to pawn most of those responsibilities off onto my much savvier sister, but there are certain niceties that landed families observe that--”
“Spit it out,” Geralt grumbled, although not bad naturedly.
“I’m betrothed,” Jaskier said. “And we need to go to Gwendeith to break it off.”
Geralt turned to look at his beloved. “You’re engaged?”
“Betrothed!” Jaskier yelped, then saw Geralt’s expression. “Oh, dear heart, there’s a slight difference in meaning, especially to nobles. Engaged implies an intent to marry--”
“And betrothed doesn’t?”
“Well, sort of, but I’ve been betrothed practically since I was born, engaged would imply I’m sort of planning the wedding. It’s a contract, a social contract. My family and my betrothed’s are pretty minor nobles, so really it’s just a way of saying ‘maybe someday our kids could marry’. It isn’t the hard and fast marriage it might be if I were, say, a prince.”
“Then why do it?” Geralt asked. Most of the time he was happy to understand as little of the lives of the gentry as possible, but Jaskier was important.
“Honestly,” Jaskier sighed. “I think Papa arranged it because he cared for me, Mama too.”
“It takes away your choice,” Geralt began.
“It doesn’t. A betrothal like mine and... Iliana, that’s her name, only met her twice, it’s sort of social insurance. Especially for her, but for me as well. Nobles are supposed to marry, so, if at some point neither of us had found love we could marry one another. For Iliana there’s the security of having a husband, although from what I’ve heard she can handle herself fine, and for me its assurance of heirs if that sort of thing concerned me, and companionship for us both.”
It sounded...mostly sort of logical to Geralt.
“But I love you,” Jaskier said. “And I don’t want to be betrothed to anyone because I love you and, someday, whenever you get over you allergy to the concept of commitment, I’m going to put a ring on you.”
Geralt hummed gruffly but said nothing. There was a slim golden band hidden away in his bags and he be damned if Jaskier got to propose first.
“I will. Anyway, I need to tell Iliana. I’m sure she won’t mind. I met her once when I was seven and again when I was nineteen.”
“Nineteen, when?” Geralt asked. Most of Jaskier’s nineteenth year had been spent at Geralt’s side. Most of every year after that too.
“Just before I met you. I had travelled east to meet her originally, and was going back west when we met.”
“Tell me about her?”
“Illiana? Oh, well, she told me that she was fine leaving the betrothal in place because it’s standard, but that she doesn’t care for men in that way so she’d never give me heirs and would have my balls nailed above her door if I ever told her she had to.”
“Sounds like she’d get along with Yen.”
“I fear they’d take over the world,” Jaskier said. “Anyway, I told her no worries since, honestly, heirs just aren’t important to me. Then we agreed that when either of us found love we’d break the betrothal and that would be that.”
“Hmmm.”
“No, Geralt, tell me what that means. Is that a ‘okay, let’s go to Gwendeith’ hum? A ‘I’m angry that you’re betrothed’ hum?”
Geralt shifted to poke the fire. “It’s a ‘I think there’s more you need to tell me’ hum.”
“Ah,” Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s the thing. We have to go in person because a letter would be rude, but also...we have to pretend not to be together, while we’re in Gwedeith.”
“Why?”
“It’s politics, dear heart. It would be shaming to Iliana, socially. Personally, I don’t think she’d care, but it’s a courtesy thing.”
“I don’t do a lot of lovey stuff anyway,” Geralt said.
“You think you don’t,” Jaskier said. He began to unroll their bedroll.
“What do you mean, Jaskier?”
Jaskier turned to him, smiling indulgently and gilded in the firelight. “Our lives have molded around one another, my love. When I stand beside you your hand goes to my back or my shoulder. You order dinner for me because you know just what food I like. When I’m tired you don’t have to ask what’s wrong, you just lift me onto Roach behind you.”
Geralt hadn’t even realized he did, but he knew it was true. Jaskier leaned over and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s slightly furrowed brow.
“When my boots are wearing thin you buy me new ones before I even notice. When I’m cold you give me your cloak. If I fall asleep with my head on your shoulder you’d rather sit like that all night than disturb me.”
Geralt shrugged awkwardly. “You buy me beeswax,” he said. It seemed a fair retort. Jaskier bought him beeswax to put in his ears when cities or sometimes monsters were too loud for Geralt’s senses. “You only buy light scents, even though I know you like bolder perfumes.”
“Yes,” Jaskier said, taking one of Geralt’s large, scarred hands. “We love eachother very much, and it’s obvious to people who care to look.”
“That could be dangerous,” Geralt began, his head spiralling towards worry for Jaskier’s safety, but Jaskier cut him off.
“No, dear heart. It’s obvious to those who care to look. The sort of people who would hurt me for loving you, well, most of them think you can’t love, so they don’t look for love, and they don’t see.”
Geralt sat back. People saw what they expected to see, it was true.
“We’ll travel to Gwendeith,” he said. “And unbetroth you.”
Jaskier kissed him and his lips tasted like the jerky they’d eaten for supper.
-- -- -- -- -- --
The trip to Gwendeith was long. It was at the very edge of any map, past Posada to the east, tucked into the Blue mountains. They traveled along the Dyfne river, taking the occasional contract but making good time. This far from anything, there were few people to be troubled by monsters.
They stopped in Posada one night, eating dinner in the corner of a familiar tavern. This time, however, Jaskier was much better received and the bread ended up on the table rather than down his trousers.
Past Posada, and almost to the end of the Dyfne river, Geralt asked, “Why did your parents pick Iliana? How did they know of her?” Lettenhove was entirely the other side of the continent, a tiny island off the coast of Poviss with two villages and a couple flocks of sheep.
Geralt only knew of it from Jaskier’s descriptions, which were mostly stories of the ice cold sea and rocky cliffs. He tended toward calling it ‘idyllic’ and ‘picturesque’ altough occassionally ‘the arse end of the world’ and ‘colder than an ice giant’s ballsack.’ The first time Geralt had taken Jaskier to Kaer Morhen he’d feared for his bard’s safety in the cold of the mountains, but Jaskier hadn’t even blinked an eye, merely bundling up in a hugely wooly cloak and mittens.
“Ah, well,” Jaskier said. “Long story, but Papa was in Temeria, see, since nothing ever happens in Lettenhove, because we have more people than sheep, he get’s sent on diplomatic missions a lot. He’s good at it, and he can be spared. He loves it too, even though he’s sort of retired he still does them. Takes Ma, calls the trips his little “sunshine vacations”.
“You get your personality from your father, then?” Geralt asked. Jaskier didn’t talk about his family much, and Geralt got the sense that, rather than this being because they were horrible, Jaskier simply missed them too much.
“Definitely. Ma’s lovely, and brilliant with just everything to do with her hands, but she’s not good with people. I got her looks, though.”
“I should thank her, then,” Geralt said, smiling.
Jaskier chuckled. “Yes, she’s the reason for the long lives, too, fantastic story.”
“Finish the one about your father and Gwendeith first.”
“Right, so Papa was in Temeria, and so was Iliana’s father, sort of the mayor of Gwendeith, as I understand, although not back then. He’d gotten robbed, though, and Papa had won a horse and quite a lot of gold in a card game. It might have been Gwent, I can’t remember. If you ever meet Papa you should ask him. Anyway, he gave the extra horse and gold to Iliana’s father.”
“So your betrothal was a debt?”
“Goodness, no. This was years before I was born, Papa hadn’t even met Ma yet. No, they struck up a friendship, because when Iliana’s father got home he had a mage send a message to Papa to thank him and they struck up a friendship.”
“Sending messages by mage? That’s expensive for a penpal.”
“Ah well, that actually ties in to the story about Ma. Ma’s got magic, just a little, she’s a hedge witch of a sort. The issue is, hedge witches mostly use plants, and Ma couldn’t grow grass, so she mostly works with wood. Anyway, she has a friend, her very best friend, is a mage. They grew up together, and my Auntie Szarlotta sent my Papa’s first few messages back to Iliana’s father.”
Geralt smiled atop Roach. Jaskier’s storytelling pace was as familiar as Roach’s saddle, and it was calming in a way.
“So, Auntie was sending Papa’s message when Ma came in to visit. That’s how she met Papa, because she’d only just moved to Lettenhove. Auntie says it was love at first sight, but Papa insists that Ma turned up her nose and ignored him for months.”
“Which one is it?”
“Knowing Ma, probably both. She’s a little like you, so the second she realized she liked Papa she ignored him so she wouldn’t have to deal with it.”
Geralt huffed good-naturedly.
“Anyway, Auntie Szarlotta agreed to send Papa’s messages for free, and she even included a way for Iliana’s father to send them back, so long as he wrote his response on the back of the same paper. She always timed it though, so that Ma was over when Papa was there. And I guess the rest is history.”
“Except the immortality.”
“Right, well, Ma got really sick when she was pregnant with my sister, I was little so I barely remember but Papa was so worried, and Ma looked really pale. Well, Auntie got really worried, freaked out a little, and she found all these old spells to try to make Ma well again. I remeber the light, she was working in a room of the old lighthouse and I could see the light of her spells from my window. Anyway, eventually she tries some on Ma, but they don’t work, and she just keeps trying.”
Geralt had an image of a frantic sorceress being watched by a young Jaskier through a crack in a door.
“But I suppose some of those old spells need a little time to work because nothing at all worked and then they all sort of worked at once. There was this big, bright light and then Ma was well, and she and Papa haven’t aged a day since then.”
Geralt glanced at his lover, who looked the same at fifty as he had at twenty. “And you don’t age? What about your sister?”
“Ksenia hasn’t aged either. She looks like Papa, just so you know, grey eyes, blonde hair. She’s got two kids, now, but I haven’t met them.”
“Do the kids age?”
“Right now they’re very young,” Jaskier said. “I didn’t stop aging until nineteen or twenty, so I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”
“How do you know she has kids?”
“Oh, well, Auntie Szarlotta sends letters to me, but we travel and it’s hard to send them right to me, so I just pick them up at Oxenfurt.”
“Hmmm,” Geralt said. He needed to go to Lettenhove. Jaskier had met his sort-of-family, he should meet Jaskier’s.
“I’d love to go see them...” Jaskier said, wistfully.
“Who?”
“My niece and nephew, they’re almost two and three years old now.”
Geralt picked Jaskier up by the collar of his doublet and placed him onto the back of Roach.
“We’ll spend the winter in Lettenhove this year,” he said as Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist.
“Really?”
“Hmmm.”
Geralt needed to ask Jaskier’s father for his hand in marriage, anyway.
-- -- -- -- -- --
They made it to Gwendeith just after mid summer, riding into the little town at noon. Despite the season, the little mountain valley was shaded and cool. Jaskier shivered slightly and Geralt had to resist the urge to pull his cloak from his pack. From that point forth, they weren’t supposed to be in love.
Fuck.
They had to request a meeting with the mayor, which didn’t surprise Geralt. In a town such as this, logging and mining were the main industries. Trading for food to last over the winter began early and was of the utmost importance. That left Geralt and Jaskier, unfortunately, sitting with a man who introduced himself as Sir Boris.
Apparently he was a retired knight who acted as a sort of captain of the guard, except there wasn’t much of a guard. His wife Lady Olenka joined them and the two of them talked about their grandchildren until Geralt could feel his eyes rolling back in his head.
At any other time, Jaskier would have placed one gentle hand on his wrist, which would have fortified Geralt, but they couldn’t.
“But you’re here for Iliana,” Sir Boris was saying. “Dreadfully sorry you can’t see her today, I’m afraid there’s been an issue with the lumber trade to sort out. You’ll just have to have my darling Lenka and I as company until that’s done.”
He sent a huge wink to his wife, a slim, elegant woman, who chuckled and playfully hit him on the shoulder, to which Sir Boris pretended to be wounded before throwing back his head and laughing hugely. Everything the old knight did was huge, he was a large man with a round, red face and large belly and a laugh that could shake walls.
“It’s no trouble,” Jaskier said. “I’m sure preparing for winter is a year round project here.”
“Oh of course,” Lady Olenka said. “But once it’s here we can all relax, and spend time with family.” She leaned forward as if imparting a delightful secret and said in a stage-whisper, “Boris has been our town’s Father Winter for the last four years.”
Jaskier made impressed ‘ooh’ noises and Geralt tried to at least look like he understood that.
Boris laughed again. “It’s this lot,” he said, slapping his round stomach. “Better than some old geezer with a pillow down his shirt, eh?”
Geralt hummed in agreement.
“And you must make a lovely Mother Winter, Lady Olenka,” Jaskier said politely.
She smiled, lines crinkling around her eyes as if drawing a road map. “It’s not as important as Father Winter, of course, but I rather pride myself that I plan a very good Midwinter festival.” Geralt got the sense that behind the modesty she was quite proud, and, he suspected, with good reason.
“But, you must tell me,” she said, modestly changing the subject. “Is there to be a missus Pankratz, now that you’ve come to see Lady Iliana?”
“I am a man in love,” Jaskier said. “And I am hopeful that an engagement will come soon, yes.”
“Oh dearie that’s just lovely,” Lady Olenka said, patting Jaskier’s cheek. “And you’re such a nice boy too, little young looking to be betrothed to our Lady Iliana anyway, although she’s a very dear woman.”
“We just love her,” Sir Boris said. “She’s a great mayor, not keen on marriage, but nobody minds, she just seems to have adopted the whole town as family.”
Lady Olenka patted her husband’s broad shoulder. “It was smart of you not to bring your love here, though. There’s some nobles here from Lyria, that’s who she’s been trading with, and I think they’d like any excuse to disparage here.” She lowered her voice again. “You know how those lot are about having women in charge.”
“I can’t relate,” Sir Boris laughed. “Lenka’s the ruler in our house.” That got a laugh because it had to, and because Sir Boris’s laugh was surprisingly infectious.
“Good on you bringing a bodyguard too,” he said once the laughter had abated. He slapped Geralt companionably on the back, which was like being hit by a friendly battering ram. “Witcher too, don’t get many up here, but I bet you’re the safest man in a hundred miles.”
“Oh, dear, don’t you know?” Lady Olenka said. “Lord Julian here is a bard as well, he goes by Jaskier and sings all about witchers.”
“Really?” Sir Boris said, looking at Jaskier. “Blimey, imagine that. Good on you, finding a niche in the market.”
Geralt’s ears were beginning to ache. Friendly though Sir Boris might be, he didn’t seem to have a volume level below ‘deafening’. He was tired and overwrought and he just wanted to cuddle up with Jaskier in a bed. It wasn’t even suppertime, though.
They sat through another hour of hearing about Boris and Olenka’s eighteen grandchildren.
“And three great-grandchildren,” Boris added proudly.
Geralt was thankful Jaskier could carry the conversation. He longed for a kiss, though. Now that he knew he couldn’t have one, his lips fairly ached for one.
Supper was a large affair, with one of Boris and Olenka’s children’s family over for dinner as well. Geralt was seated across from Jaskier between two small children who, apparently, needed to be separated at dinertimes to prevent bickering. They contented themselves instead by asking Geralt every question they could think of, often making him wrack his brain for child appropriate answers.
It wasn’t just witchering questions, either. He answered such questions as “Why is the sky blue?” (Because it’s Melitele’s favorite color). Immediately before answering “How big are dragon scales?” (The small ones are like pebbles and the big ones are like shields.)
Jaskier smiled at him over his bowl of stew, eyes sparkling. Geralt loved children, and Jaskier loved seeing them adore Geralt.
“So, Lord Julian,” Boris and Olenka’s daughter began. “Your lady love, tell us about her?” She smiled Lady Olenka’s warm smile and Jaskier did a good show of seeming bashful.
“My love is unlike any other,” he began. “And if you’ll pardon my saying so, I’m a poet, and so must wax poetic.”
“Wouldn’t settle for anything less, lad!” Boris bellowed cheefully.
“My darling has fair hair, like moonlight,” Jaskier said, and the table oohed appreciatively. Geralt felt his ears get hot.
“And eyes like summer,” the bard continued. “I could get lost in them. No eyes could compare.” Geralt kicked him under the table, but Olenka was sighing sympathetically.
“But of course,” Jaskier said slyly, my heart is best held by my love’s lips.”
Boris chuckled knowingly. “I’ll bet it is, my boy,” he said, winking. Olenka slapped his arm, but she was smiling. Geralt felt hot.
“I’m afraid, however that my lover is quite modest, and won’t appreciate me extolling too many virtues,” Jaskier finished. “So I must finish with, I love them very much, and it is for them alone that my heart beats.”
Therewith leaving every person at the table (those above the age of twelve, at least) with misty eyes, Jaskier helped Lady Olenka clean up supper. Geralt helped put the dishes away.
After dinner they were led back to the mayor’s house. “I’m afraid the negotiations don’t seem to be finished,” Lady Olenka said. “I had hoped they would be quick, but it seems not. If the issue wasn’t resolved today, I wouldn’t bet on them being resolved too early tomorrow, either. You two don’t have pressing business elsewhere?”
“No, my lady,” Jaskier said, although if they lingered too long they wouldn’t make it to Lettenhove for the winter, as it was, it would be close.
“I’m sure she’ll be able to see you soon,” the lady said. “Here’s your room, and Master Witcher, your room is just at the far end of the hall.”
She said goodnight and Geralt hoped she couldn’t see the slump of his shoulders.
Separate rooms.
Jaskier smiled ruefully at him and they parted for the night. Geralt’s bed was large and comfortable, with clean linens and feather pillows, but he barely got a wink of sleep.
-- -- -- -- -- --
The next morning found Jaskier and Geralt breakfasting in the tavern, owned, apparently, by another of Boris and Olenka’s grown children.
“Did you sleep well?” Jaskier whispered over a plate of sausage and eggs.
“Fine,” Geralt grunted.
“I couldn’t sleep a wink,” Jaskier said. “Want my last piece of bacon? I’m stuffed.”
Geralt took it gratefully, slipping Jaskier his fried slice as a trade. No matter how Jaskier protested that he was stuffed, he always had room for a fried slice.”
“Terrible woman,” said a nasal voice at the next table. “Just impossible to do business with.”
“I agree, overemotional, you know how they get,” agreed another voice. Jaskier made eye contact with Geralt. The accent was Lyrian.
“Not even married,” said the first speaker. “What a disgrace. If my daughter got to her age without children I’d just die of shame.”
Geralt pitied his daughter.
“Oh of course,” said the second man. “Attractive, though, for an old maid.”
The first man snickered cruelly. “Thinking a little wooing might soften her up?”
“It always does, women like that, they’re just angry because they haven’t found a man.”
“Won’t your wife mind?”
“Are you going to tell her?” Both men laughed unpleasantly.
A serving girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, came around the tables, presumably one of Sir Boris’ many granddaughters. She took their plates onto a tray and smiled when Jaskier slipped a few coins onto the tray as a tip.
At the next table one of the Lyrian’s snapped their fingers impatiently. The girl rolled her eyes. Geralt was pleased to see that, although she served him professionally, as she walked away she ‘accidentally’ tread on his foot.
“What pathetic pieces of shit, the pair of them,” Jaskier said as they stepped out into the sunlight.
“Hmmm,” Geralt agreed. Then he looked around quickly and pulled Jaskier into an alleyway, urging the bard deeper into the shadows.
“What? Geralt di-”
Geralt smushed his lips gracelessly to Jaskier’s, crowding him up against the wall. Jaskier’s hair between his fingers was so familiar and comforting, as was the little sigh Jaskier let out.
They pulled apart and Geralt rested his forehead against Jaskier’s. “That’ll tide me over for a while,” he whispered. Jaskier smiled.
“Are you master Julian?”
The pair sprang apart, looking in alarm at the red headed boy at the far end of the alley.
“Yes...?” Jaskier said.
“Only, Pa said to come find you, and he said you’d be with a big man dressed all in black.”
“And you found us here?” Jaskier asked.
“Didn’t know you’d be here, did I?” Said the boy, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. “It’s the shortcut through to the tavern, but then, I figured he’s the only big man in black around.”
Geralt inclined his head, feeling his ears go hot.
“Lady Iliana has time to see you now,” the boy continued, oblivious to the awkwardness.
“By all means...lead the way,” said Jaskier.
They were led out of the alley and back to the mayor’s house by the messenger boy.
“Out of curiosity,” Jaskier asked. “Is your grandad Sir Boris?”
“Yeah, that’s him,” said the lad. “He made me a toy sword for my tenth birthday too.” He pointed proudly to the wooden sword tied at his hip with some string.
“It makes you look a proper hero,” Jaskier said. Then he pulled out his coin purse. “A copper for bringing us the message and...another to not tell anyone what you saw.”
The boy looked between the two of them shrewdly.
“Not even my best friend? I tell Mikhail everything.”
“Not until Geralt and I have left.”
“Three coppers total,” the boy said promptly. Jaskier handed them over good naturedly and the boy flashed a gap toothed grin before taking off.
Geralt and Jaskier shrugged at each other, before finding their way to the main room of the mayor’s house. A broad shouldered woman of about fifty poked her head out of a door.
“Julian?”
Geralt and Jaskier went inside.
“You look well,” Iliana said, sitting behind a large desk and gesturing to a couple chairs. “You havent’ aged a day.”
“And you look as lovely as I remember,” Jaskier said.
“Flirt. Come to ask me for heirs?”
Jaskier shuddered. “No, my lady. I remember your threat well. I think you know why I’m here.”
The two Lyrians barged through the door.
“Did I ask you to enter?” Iliana said, coldly. Geralt felt an unusual curl of fear set up in his stomach, she was a distinctly fearsome woman.
“Well,” said the first Lyrian.
“You were so beautiful, I couldn’t wait on seeing you again,” said the second, slimily.
“Oh I say!,” Iliana said, standing. She placed her hand over her chest in a delicately offended way, which was ill suited to her. “You sir are too bold, and in front of my betrothed too!”
The Lyrians looked, panicked, at the people sat in the chairs. As Geralt was seated in the chair nearest the door, and therefore nearest them, they came to the wrong conclusion. The blood drained from both their faces.
“What an insult!” Iliana continued. “You should be ashamed! What a lack of diplomacy!”
Beside Geralt, Jaskier snickered. She was laying it on a little thick.
“Why,” she continued. “I ought to write to your king! I’ve never been so insulted. And I’m sure my beloved will want to sort out this insult too.” She fluttered her lashes at Geralt.
Geralt nearly jumped out of his seat, but thankfully his brain caught up. He stood, growling a little theatrically and placed one hand on the hilt of his steel sword.
“Our apologies my lady,” the first man said hurriedly.
“Our mistake, we’ll just--” they dissappeared out the door.
“What a fearsome couple,” Geralt heard whispered as the door swung shut.
Iliana sighed satisfactedly and kicked her feet up on her desk. “It seems I should thank you,” she said. “That is going to make negotiations much easier.”
“I’m sure you always get good deals,” Jaskier said.
“Yes. I get the deals I want.”
“You know why I’m here,” Jaskier said.
“Yes.”
“Do you agree?”
“To disolve the betrothal? Of course. Never found a lover for myself so I never bothered but, well, I just don’t do romance.”
“Some people don’t,” Geralt said, thinking of Eskel.”
“Indeed,” Iliana said, smiling warmly at him. “Not all of us have a soulmate to sing us songs.” She laughed at their surprised faces.
“Oh you fooled them, and you may have fooled Boris and Olenka, but I’ve heard your songs, Julian. It’s written right into everything you do.”
She began rummaging in one of the drawers in the desk. “I don’t mind, of course. So few people know we’re actually betrothed...there it is.” She pulled out an old piece of paper. “I’ll just rip it up if that’s fine by you. You’ll have to do the same to yours of course.”
“We’re going to Lettenhove this winter,” Jaskier said. “I’ll do it as soon as I find it.”
Iliana smiled again. “Father always did say that your dad had a horrible filing system.”
“He filed all his papers on the floor, yes, although I imagine my sister is neater.”
Iliana tore the paper in half without ceremony and placed the contract in the waste paper bin. “Lettenhove is very far away, Julian, will you get there in time?”
Jaskier glanced at Geralt.
“I don’t know,” Geralt said.
“No matter,” said Iliana. She began writing something on a new sheet of paper. “Our logging teams float lumber all down the Dyfne and Pontar rivers. Show this to the dockmaster at the tip of the Dyfne and our riverboat captains can get you to Novigrad.”
She pulled out another sheet of paper. “Once you’re in Novigrad, show this to the harbormaster and he’ll get you to Lettenhove.” She looked at their shocked faces and smiled. “Our lumber is the best, and it’s used in everything, including ships. I’m willing to cash in a favor in order to get rid of a useless betrothal.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Jaskier said bowing deeply. “I’ll have my Aunt Szarlotta send a message once our betrothal is fully extant.”
Iliana stood and shook his hand. “I’d appreciate that.”
“Our fathers were penpals,” Jaskier said. “Perhaps we should keep up the tradition?”
The mayor inclined her head. “I’d like that. I may be too busy to write often.”
Jaskier waved a hand. “I can only pick up messages when I pass through Oxenfurt, but I like to make friends with powerful people.”
The two of them shared a smile.
“Not to rush you out my door,” Iliana said. “But I do have a lot to do, winter comes early up here, and I know it does as well in Lettenhove. even with my help, you two should leave soon.”
Geralt and Jaskier left that afternoon, just after a hearty meal at the tavern.
-- -- -- -- -- --
Across the continent and some weeks later, Jaskier and Geralt stepped onto the docks in Novigrad.
“I don’t think Roach liked the river boats,” Jaskier said as Geralt led her off. Roach whinnied and shook her mane emphatically.
“Sorry, girl,” Geralt said. “You’ll have another long boat journey, and this time I doubt we’ll stop so you can run about on land.”
“Nah,” Jaskier said, as they walked toward a tavern for supper. “Boats from Novigrad to Lettenhove stop around the coast on the way, she’ll get plenty of exercise. It’s something to do with the currents.”
He petted Roach’s muzzle softly as they stabled her at the inn beside the tavern and Geralt felt his heart go out to his bard. Jaskier cared so much for Roach. Geralt thought again of the gold band in his pack.
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s eat.”
-- -- -- -- -- --
Slightly more than a month later, after a slow, coastal boat journey, and then another between Inis Porhoest and Lettenhove, Geralt, Jaskier, and their faithful horse, stepped off the final boat.
“Welcome home, Master Julian,” said a fisherman on the dock.
“Does everyone here know you?” Geralt asked.
“Pretty much, there’s only about three hundred people here.”
News spread fast among three hundred people and Jaskier and Geralt were greeted enthusiastically at the door to the very small castle. A blonde woman who could only be Ksenia, Jaskier’s sister, flung her arms around him, and withing a moment Geralt was being gathered into the hug by a slightly older looking couple.
“Julek,” said the blonde man, pulling back. “My boy, you’re home, and you brought this stunning man, wow, what a looker.”
“Papa, don’t be embarrassing,” Jaskier said. Geralt flushed clear to the roots of his hair. Apparently when Jaskier said he had his father’s personality he meant all of his father’s personality.
They had dinner as a family, including Jaskier’s niece and nephew, Cecylia and Prot. They had questions for Geralt, and he was grateful for the practice he’d had in Gwendeith. It was an enjoyable meal over all, and afterward Jaskier was distracted by his Aunt Szarlotta while Geralt slipped away to ask Mr. Pankratz a very important question.
The two of them returned to the main hall to see Jaskier pretending to be a dragon, while Cecylia and Prot bravely fought him with butterknives, but he straightened up when he saw the look on Geralt’s face.
Geralt took his hand and Jaskier squeezed it three times, it was their code, asking if Geralt needed to go somewhere that wasn’t so hard on his senses. Geralt smiled and shook his head, swallowing nervously around the lump in his throat.
He got down on one knee and pulled out the gold band. “I’m...I’m not good with words.” Geralt swallowed again, wishing he could borrow Jaskier’s eloquence for five minutes or so. “Marry me?”
The words were barely out from his mouth before Jaskier was tackling him to the ground, pressing kisses all over his face.
“Oh Geralt!” he said. “Wait--”
Jaskier looked up at his mother, who smiled and was handed a paper by his Aunt Szarlotta. Mrs. Pankratz ripped the betrothal contract in half.
“Yes,” Jaskier said, laughing. “I will marry you!”
Then they kissed on the chilly stone floor.
-- -- -- -- -- --
Dear Lady Iliana, Mayor of Gwendeith
The former contract has been voided.
Szarlotta of Lettenhove
P.S. Geralt and Jaskier are engaged and send their love.
If you do not like the change that was just made. Send a support ticket and comment on the post and then
Crucially
You should log out of tumblr
We all should
Take a break for a couple of days
Make them see a DRASTIC DIP IN ACTIVITY
Because that more than anything else is going to make them realize this is a bad idea.
Edit to note: you can come back to check if they’ve rolled it back of course but I recommend not *doing* anything. Don’t post new art or reblog memes. Make tumblr a ghost town for ~2-3 days
why does this have 32k notes? it’s just a picture of a knife in a ranch bottle, is there some unspoken joke that 32 thousand people share? what is going on here, i dont get it. it’s just a fucking picture of a knife in a ranch bottle. is there some spiritual connection people have to this picture? is there some ominous and mystical reasoning that this has 32 thousand notes? do people reblog this because it makes them look like some indie blogger? or is there just something funny to this? someone please explain
