Jan 18, 2025
Missing scene from Baptism of Fire
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Missing scene from Baptism of Fire
Alchemy
Book Gerlion, enby/trans masc Dandelion.
Written for @jaskierswolf. I hope you like it.
-
“What are you reading?”
The sound of Geralt’s voice made Dandelion start, snap shut the booklet he was reading and tug it down between his thigh and arm of the armchair he was sitting in. The inn room was empty except for a pair of late stragglers still sitting at the bar and Dandelion had curled up in the chair next to the roaring fire to ward off the spring night’s chill.
“Nothing. Nothing important,” he said hurriedly.
“Dandelion.”
Geralt folded his arms and gave him a look that was equal parts exasperation, questioning and amusement.
“I don’t have to tell you,” Dandelion said, immediately realizing how childish that sounded.
“No,” Geralt replied, sinking into the armchair opposite Dandelion. “But I admit I’m curious now.”
Dandelion ran his fingers along the spine of the booklet as he licked his lips.
It was foolishness he knew. Geralt wouldn’t condemn him for it, he never had and he knew in his heart that the witcher never would. But too many bad encounters in the past have made him apprehensive of discussing the topic. On the other hand Geralt might not be an alchemist but he was the person Dandelion knew and trusted who knew most about the topic.
Slowly Dandelion pulled the booklet out and handed it over to Geralt who had been patiently waiting for Dandelion to make his choice.
Accepting it Geralt flipped it open and frowned at the title.
“'Corpus mutat per alchemis'? Dandelion when did you develop an interest in alchemy?”
“I saw the book and the topic interested me.”
“Why?”
Dandelion bit his lip.
“Can we speak in private?”
This wasn’t something he’d like strangers to overhear.
“Lead the way,” Geralt said as he stood.
Dandelion could feel his tension rise as they walked up the stairs and down the hallway to their room.
“I want to be able to grow a beard,” he said the moment he had closed the door, the words rushing out of him.
“And you thought this would help?” Geralt said holding up the booklet.
“It claims one of the recipes can do that.”
“Dandelion, half of this book is nonsense and the other half is dangerous. You won’t get what you seek from this.”
Deeply dejected Dandelion slumped down on the bed, head hanging.
Why had he been so foolish as to think he could get this? Magic and alchemy could do many things but even they had their limits.
The mattress shifted as Geralt sat down beside him and put one hand on his shoulder.
“Dandelion, I didn’t mean that it is impossible. Only that this book doesn’t contain what you’re looking for.”
He felt a tiny, treacherous flicker of hope at Geralt’s words and dared look up at him.
“You think it can be done?”
“It’s somewhat outside my usual area of use, I’d have to do some research, talk to some people.”
“But you could, do it?” Dandelion pressed.
“I think so. Or I could find someone who could.”
Dandelion threw his arms around Geralt’s neck and buried his face in his shoulder.
“Thank you,” he muttered.
“I should warn you; it might take a while.”
“It’s okay, I can be patient.”
Geralt gave him a doubting look.
“Sometimes,” Dandelion amended.
Smiling, Geralt shook his head.
“I love you,” Dandelion told him, happily nestling in against Geralt’s side.
book jaskier:
I cant explain but this is Jaskier and Geralt for me somehow. Like the dynamic and the way this deer is so pure and inocente, where right behind her is so ahhhhh . I cant stop thinking about this and them.
I cant get over this gay men
Thats what Jaskier could say to Geralt, like all the time.
For me it's crazy that in the books Geralt is a dramatic insulting diva but we love him anyway
(Song- Mad by Renee Rapp)
Disharmonious Heart
Summary: A run-in with Dandelion's mother has a fallout.
Book canon Gerlion, trans!Dandelion. CW: Transphobia and misgendering.
Can also be read on AO3.
-
Geralt winds his way through the crowd on Tretogore’s biggest marked square, scouting for Dandelion as he goes. Trust the poet to set up their rendezvous spot in the busiest place in town.
He walks past booths and stalls, filled with every imaginable ware and a few unimaginable ones with no sign of Dandelion. Only when he’s near to giving up and has resolved to find a place to get a cool drink and escape the heat of the summer afternoon does he spot the bard’s mop of blond curls and the back of his bright blue doublet in a sudden parting in the throng.
Oddly Dandelion is standing between an empty stall and the wall of a building and as Geralt gets closer, he can see that he’s arguing with a woman who is dressed in a noble's attire. She has long, blonde hair and a haughty mien. Though Geralt can only see Dandelion’s back every line of his body screams fury and indignation.
Who is this woman who can inspire such anger in his friend?
Then he is near enough to discern their words.
“Enough of you galivanting around the Continent, dressed in entirely inappropriate attire for a young lady,” the noble lady says.
“Inappropriate? Darling mother,” Dandelion spits. “I know you’re buried in the countryside but I’ll have you know this is the latest fashion here in the capital.”
Mother?
He’s never considered what Dandelion’s family is like or that he has one, though logically Geralt knows he must have. The poet has always seemed an entity onto himself, as solitary as he is bright.
“I don’t care about how fashionable it is. No proper lady would show off her legs in this way, you look like a whore.”
“Well as that is what you and father think I am, I don’t see why I shouldn’t dress like one.”
The noble lady rears back, an outraged blush spreading down her neck.
“No daughter of mine-”
“Seeing as you don’t have a daughter, that’s hardly a problem,” Dandelion sneers.
“Not this nonsense again Amelia, claiming that you’re not a girl. You’re getting far too old for this and we have indulged you for too long. Entirely your father’s fault in my opinion. You will return home with me and assume your duties as befits the daughter of a count.”
The way Dandelion recoils Geralt finds it a small wonder he isn't hissing in indignation. Perhaps he had better step in before things escalate further. Dandelion isn't normally given to violence but for once he looks a heartbeat away from snapping.
Geralt loudly clears his throat making both of them start, Dandelion spinning on his heel to face him.
“There you are, I've been looking all over for you,” Geralt says to him.
Dandelion gives him a very strained smile.
“Here I am indeed. Let's go.” He grabs Geralt's elbow and drags him along.
“So long mother dearest. Places to be. Decent people to see,” he calls back over his shoulder.
“Amelia! Will you come back here! Do not dare-"
The noblewoman's loud voice is slowly drowned out by the noise of the crowd.
They are several streets along before Dandelion lets go of him, though the bard does not slow down his rushed pace.
“Was that-" Geralt begins to ask, but Dandelion interrupts him with an uncharacteristic snarl.
“Do not speak to me right now, I beg you. Though, yes it was. I know we had planned on staying here for a few days but with-" He breaks off and gestures back towards the marketplace. “I find Tretogore unwelcoming. You can stay if you wish but I think I will move on to greener pastures.”
“If you get the horses I can pack. We can be gone in an hour,” Geralt replies.
Dandelion nods and offers a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
---
It does indeed take an hour before he and Geralt are riding out the southern gate of Tretogore. Pegasus is trotting along as placidly as ever, ignoring the sour mood of its rider. Geralt thankfully has taken Dandelion's warning about not speaking to him to heart and remains blissfully silent on top of Roach.
The sun is sinking slowly towards the horizon as the walls of the Redanian capital disappear from view and Dandelion breathes a little easier, though his mood does not lighten. He does not seem to be able to push aside the self-recrimination of letting his mother corner him like that, nor the frustration mixed into despair and yearning he always feels when he has to interact with his parents.
By the time they make camp his mood has not changed one iota and after their meal of cold ham, bread, honey, and apples, all eaten in silence, he settles down with his lute, hoping to find solace in his music. But tonight there is no comfort for him among the notes, he finds only dissonance and discordant tunes.
With a frustrated sigh, he surrenders to the inevitable, gives up the futile endeavor, and replaces his lute inside its case. With another heavy sigh, he sits back down and stares into the fire. Dusk has become proper night and the moon has not yet risen; the leaping flames are the only light in the murk.
“Do you want to talk?” Geralt asks him.
“What is there to say? Every time my mother and I cross paths she insists on forcing me to “see the errors of my ways and come back home”. Every time I refuse her. Nothing will ever change either, any more than objects will start falling upwards. It isn’t even about the line of inheritance. Gods I've got enough siblings and cousins that the line is very secure. Not to mention every possible marital alliance covered. Yet she insists.”
“Why?”
“A good question. I think she can’t handle that I’m not who she thinks I am. That she can’t let go of who she believes me to be and see who is there.”
“What about your father?”
“He pretends I don’t exist. Which may not seem like much of an improvement but at least he leaves me in peace.”
He sighs, looking up at the night sky, and tears suddenly gather in his eyes. He bites the inside of his cheek. He’s not going to cry, not over this.
There’s a soft rustle as Geralt moves and then he’s sitting next to him, pulling Dandelion into a tight embrace.
“I just wish, that things were different. That they could accept who I am,” Dandelion says, his voice muffled against Geralt’s chest. “I know it is pointless, that they won’t ever change. But I can’t help it.”
“I know,” Geralt replies. “We all want the approval of the people who matter to us. But sometimes, sometimes that isn’t possible.”
Dandelion pulls out of Geralt’s grip, straightens up, and clears his throat.
“Yes, I know. It is just a foolish impulse,” he says haughtily.
Geralt cups his cheek.
“Nothing foolish about it, however in vain it might be. And you’ve found those who do accept you.”
You’ve found me.
Geralt doesn’t say it, but Dandelion still hears the unspoken words and he smiles, a little bit sad. He leans in against Geralt again, resting his head against his shoulder.
“Sit with me here for a little bit?”
“Of course,” Geralt replies, pulling him close.
After that, there is only the sound of nighttime wildlife and the rustle of leaves in the wind as the fire burns low and dies out, neither of them saying anything more.
So I finished reading The Lady Of The Lake and I immediately write fanfic with my ending.
⬇️Spoiler for people who don't wanna know how the witcher saga ends!⬇️