Bolted up in bed to type this out in the middle of the night before I forget lol
Cinderella au where Geralt is still a witcher but for one night his want for rest and a taste of what being a "normal" human is like is satiated by getting transformed for a night into a human to go to the nearest kingdoms ball, thrown for the eventual betrothal of prince Julian.
There he sticks to the edge of the crowds, enjoying the luxurious food and sight of so many decedent people not being afraid of him, until he, perhaps quite literally, runs into a bard that's playing for the entertainment of a portion of the crowd
He makes his apologies and makes to move away, but it's too late
Summary: This story is about the dangers of an ancient winter magic, and how the sides find each other after getting lost in the woods.
Relationship: established Virgil/Roman/Patton/Logan
Warning: there’s a brief description of kidnapping, and a brief allusion to death (not to major characters)
Word count: 1,200 words exactly
Virgil was many things, and a fool wasn’t one of them. Even if he was in the forest alone, walking along the winding path as the sky darkened.
The wind had been strong enough to knock off his hood, whipping through his hair. It was still now.
He was no fool.
When the last thing he’d seen was a pair of blue smiling lips and freshly falling snow swirling around him, there was only one thought he could muster before the darkness set in,
“Thank gods it was me-”
~•~•~
The villagers were quick to forget about his presence. It was easier to turn a blind eye in the winter, easier to pretend that the people who disappeared and didn’t return each year, did of their own free will.
Easier for most. Not for all.
When Logan, Roman, and Patton asked searched, travelling from house to house, the villagers were quick to anger as well.
“It’s the icy season boys, go home if you know what’s good for you.”
That’s what Virgil had been doing.
“Stop nosing your way around the village so close to nightfall, you know how dangerous it is.”
Virgil knew the dangers.
“If you really want to find that man, you’ll have to go to the woods. You know you might not return if you do… I hope he’s worth it.”
Virgil was.
~•~•~
Roman was the first off of his horse, patting it’s flank to send it back home. The trees were far to dense for anything but traveling on foot.
The other two quickly followed suit, coming forward to stand beside him, torches in hand. The path was dark. The falling night would only make it darker.
“I shouldn’t have left him alone.”
Patton sighed, moving to pull Roman closer, “I could say the same thing you know…”, he gives a weak smile when Logan joins the hug (it wasn’t complete- it would never be until a fourth set of arms could encircle them).
“He wouldn’t blame us, and when we find him, we’ll never make the same mistake again.”
~•~•~
Scanning through the trees, Roman tenses in surprise at the distinct feeling of a snowball hitting him on the back of the neck.
It was so foggy all of a sudden.
Another snowball, and suddenly it doesn’t matter because a familiar laugh guides him through the forest.
“Virgil?”
A relieved smile and a burst of speed sends him off the path. The world grows hazy, even the light of his torch growing fuzzy, but everything was alright. They’d found him.
Freshly falling snow began to swirl around him.
“Virgil!”
~•~•~
Patton trudged forward, slowly swinging his torch back and forth and back and forth and-
The distinct taste of something sweet settles on his tongue, giving him pause. Was that… ice cream?
He shakes his head, squinting at a familiar shape in the woods. A person.
It was so foggy all of a sudden.
It waves around what he recognises to be the frozen dessert, but none of that matters half so much as the figure holding it.
Tears sprang to his eyes as he beamed, stepping closer and closer, following where he lead him, straying from the path. He always seemed just a step away.
“Virgil?”
The answering laugh made him rush to get closer, joy filling his heart. He’s dropped his torch, the hazy light of the stars his only guide in the dark, fresh snow beginning to swirl around him.
He can hardly bring himself to care about any of that, he was so close.
“Virgil!”
~•~•~
Suddenly aware of the singular sound of his footsteps along the path, Logan casts a weary glance around.
The howling wind only serving to heighten his awareness of the heavy beating of his heart.
“Roman? Patton?”
He takes a step forward.
“…Virgil?”
It’s his final call when he realises he’s not truly alone, three separate figures heading away from him, all in the same direction.
Three.
It was so foggy all of a sudden.
At the edge of the path, he pauses. He shouldn’t do this. Looking up again, (impossibly) he can still see them jogging in the same direction. If he squints, perhaps he imagined one of them turning back to beckon him along.
“Virgil?”
Without them, he was alone.
He jumps from the path, running after them. No more thought left for the fading light of the torch in his hand, or the freshly falling snow beginning to swirl around him.
Running after them, he could allow himself to believe that they’d done it, they’d found him.
“Virgil!”
~•~•~
Her marks run out onto the frozen water, each caught in whatever dream had fallen over them.
She never did bother to check and see what they could, but that didn’t matter these days. What mattered was that they kept her alive and warm in the cold.
Virgil was it? He went wrong. Something in him wouldn’t let her steal his soul. Inconsequential. She’d left him to simmer in her magic. He would make a good puppet one day. It was just her luck that his spirit had unwittingly called out to these three individuals. Imagine what he could do with her guiding hand.
He lay, drifting in the air, just above the middle of the lake. She circles them all. There was nothing to do but wait, and watch patiently as they scrambled their way closer.
Freshly falling snow began swirling around them, the wind pushing the snowflakes through her hair. She frowns at the white strands, the snowflakes soft and unfamiliar. She didn’t cause this.
Still, an unbidden smile tugs at her lips when she hears the first crack. It was too late. Their souls were hers.
“You’re on thin ice gentlemen,” she coos, voice caught in the wind.
And suddenly they can see clearly, the magic faded from their eyes. There is only Virgil, left floating in front of them, and a towering woman in white, beautiful in every way except for the look in her eyes and the knowing smile she held on her blue lips.
The ice creaks and cracks further under their feet.
~•~•~
Three times.
They call his name three times, and even under this darkness, he will answer them.
Suddenly, it is she who looks afraid.
He is drifting in something powerful. If he took control now, he would be changed forever.
“Virgil! Can you hear me?”
The ice had stopped crumbling beneath them.
“Virgil, sweetheart could you open your eyes?”
The snow still fell.
“Virgil!”
Three calls. He would answer them.
The wind howls louder than ever, the ice groaning under an immense pressure.
But the three are safe.
They watch the witch, there in one moment, closing her eyes. And then she is gone.
The world falls silent and still. Patton turns, gasping as Virgil settles his feet on the ground, solid ice forming.
His eyes glow bright, his hair a pure white, and his lips an icy blue.
When he grants them a hesitant smile, the spell is broken and they rush forward. Four sets of arms around each other.
Geralt will do anything in his power to not let Death take Jaskier away. All he can do is try.
Edit: They live dw
~~~
Sunlight had never looked so beautiful as it did glinting off of the scythe of Death. Jaskier tries to recall if perhaps the soft glow of a nameless glade could compare, or perhaps filtering light between leaves.
But no. It hadn't felt the same then, it hadn't felt like it does now.
He had been cornered and quickly discarded after getting slashed by the latest poisonous beast. Jaskier had made quick work of at least standing slumped against a tree to gather his strength and push Geralt in the right direction, away from himself.
He can't hear them anymore, stood in this small clearing. Himself on one end, and Death on the other. The pain is gone, though his heart still beats and blood still trickles lazily from his side.
It is a distant thing, to note the sound of his own even breathing. To be so aware of his own steady pulse, when he cannot bring himself to look away from sunlight against metal.
Jaskier is rooted to the spot, and Death advances with the slow patience of inevitability. Ratty robes and old ivory bones intent to guide him away.
"No."
It's an insistent growl said with an achingly familiar voice, and Geralt barrels into the clearing to stand between them, sword swinging wide to clang against the scythe as Death moves to deftly defend.
Undeterred, Death steps aside to continue forward, and Geralt glances to Jaskier and starts again.
A wild swing, a steady parry, the continuous movements closer, and still- Geralt always glances back to Jaskier before attacking again and again, some desperate nameless haze having come over him, shining in his eyes.
Jaskier blinks.
Geralt cannot see Death.
Cannot see what is almost upon him, even as he fights with his teeth barred and heart thundering in their small clearing.
Calloused fingers wrap around Geralt's wrist, and he freezes, starring Death down as it too pauses at the movement.
One hand holding him in place, the other makes a path from his lower back, to over his shoulder, and down his arm, stopping at the fingers that hold a white knuckle grip around his only weapon. Only Jaskier could soothe his hold, could map this winding path along his body for the first time and make him relent. And he does, loosening his anguished grip enough for the other to gently pry it from his grasp.
And then he moves, sword dropped to the ground, standing sure and firm between them.
Jaskier let's go of him completely to face Death, does not protest the grip of hands fisted into the back of his doublet, as if that would be enough to keep him here.
He reaches out, one hand to rest gently above Death's own hold on the scythe, the other to cup the face that had not wavered in it's attention from the moment it had arrived.
Geralt steps closer still, head bowed to press against his neck, breath shaky and ragged released against his skin. His warmth a contrast to Death's own cold points of contact.
They three stand in this position, unmoving for a time.
"Please," Jaskier murmurs. "He is not ready."
Wind rustles through the trees. Bird song has returned to the forest. Death leans in to his reverent touch.
When it is just the living who remain, Jaskier gasps for new air, falling to his knees with Geralt following close behind, despair clear in his expression until he can look him in the eyes, feel tender hands guide their foreheads together, to breathe freely, steadily, alive.
Every ounce of aching loneliness with none of the sour bitterness
It's your one and only blessing- if I have anything that's left to give, my singular gift for you to truly live
Loneliness.
All that I am isn't right for you, and if every part of me wants to run from hurting you, then this is all I have left to give, every ounce of my love can surely grant this.
