"What?"
Geralt asks, frowning, a furrow in his brow.
"I turn into a wolf every full moon." Jaskier repeats.
"How-"
"You were always away on a hunt. You'd just meet me back in the morning."
"...You were a werewolf this whole time?"
"..Yes. I- I'm sorry, Darling. I never wanted to lie."
"Why didn't you trust me with this? Did you think I would hurt you?"
"No! I thought I would hurt you. I'm not myself on full moons, Geralt. I can't even remember them. All I know is that the moon raises, i feel this ache in my bones, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up the next morning, nude, with a full stomach of what is HOPEFULLY nothing gross."
"...You've not transformed in towns, have you?"
"No! Of course not! I'm terrified of hurting someone, Geralt! That's the only reason I'm telling you now! I got the charts mixed up, I thought the moon was still a week away, but it isn't, and we're near a town, and I need you to keep me restrained."
A long pause settles between them.
"You want me to guard you?"
"Guard them. From me. Keep me trapped in a shack and- And lock it up tight. Chain me, hurt me, knock me out, whatever you must do. Keep me from being a danger. I never wanted to be a terrifying beast, Geralt."
Jaskier says, with those damned wet doe eyes of his. Geralt agrees. Because he doesn't know a world where he wouldn't.
Mere hours later, Jaskier is sat against a beam in an old rundown barn. He's tied up with rope, and chained on top of that. There are no windows in the barn, the door is fully barricaded and locked, and Geralt guards it.
"You really should guard it from outside" Jaskier had said. "I'm not leaving you to do this alone. You never should have had to." Geralt replied.
Thus, Geralt stands and watches as Jaskier pales and starts twitching. The moon is rising.
"It's coming- I'm going to be a beast."
Jaskier says with fear, before the transformation takes the air out of his lungs. Geralt watches in horror and awe as Jaskier's body changes, changes, changes....
In...
Into a songbird?
sitting on the ground is a fat little songbird. It easily hops over the ropes and chains, now much too lose to hold it.
Him.
Oh my gods.
Jaskier's not a werewolf.
He's a... were.... werebird...
And not even a scary one.
Jaskier starts pecking the barn floor and Geralt rubs a hand over his face in exhaustion. He prepared for the worst, and instead is treated to watching Jaskier struggle to bathe in a trough.
"Jaskier, it's too deep."
He tells the bird, as it fluffs up it's wings.
"Jaskier, you're going to-"
Jaskier tries to take a step into the birdbath, only to fall, dunking his whole fat little body into the depths of the trough. He flails about in the water, chirping panickedly. Geralt rushes to his aid, gently lifting him out of the water with gentle hands.
Perhaps guarding over Jaskier will still be a challenge after all.
Standing in Kear Morhen was something that Jaskier had longed for. He would hear stories about the keep from Geralt, but the village at the base of the mountain was as far as ever got. Geralt would usually leave him alone, sometimes even in the middle of the night
Now, in Kear Morhen, he sees Geralt, Yennefer and Ciri, along with the rest of the witcher, as one big happy family that Jaskier feels that he can never be a part of.
Jaskier has never felt more alone in his whole life.
Trying to make himself as scarce as possible as Jaskier knew the possibility of them tiring of him and kicking him could happen any day. Jaskier mostly kept to himself in the library, where one day, he found something strange.
Jaskier is cursed to be invisible, where no one can hear him speak.
Meanwhile, Geralt is panicked when, after days, no one has seen Jaskier, and the Bards stuff is still here. With each passing day, Geralt fears that Jaskier may have wandered off and is either freezing to death somewhere or already dead.
The others are also noticing that Kear Morhen seems to have a new ghost that seems musically inclined
(This fic was written in honor of this embroidery piece made by the talented @flowercrown-bard. Hope you like it my dear! <3)
Read on AO3
The mouse keeps following Geralt.
It’s a tiny little thing with brown hair and round eyes, squeaking like any other mouse slithering in and out of roadside bushes, and it keeps following Geralt.
With Roach tired from a full day’s travel, they only walk slowly side by side, with Geralt holding her reins. The sun hangs low above the horizon, lazily casting warmth on Geralt’s skin.
The tiny mouse stays by his feet, running on his little paws to keep up his long strides. Geralt could speed up the pace and make it so much more difficult for the creature, but his mood is too good when the sun is kissing his eyelids.
“That your friend, Roach?” Geralt asks absently.
The mare snickers, and Geralt chuckles to himself.
“Of course not. You’d never befriend someone so stubborn.”
The mouse squeaks as if offended.
“Don’t take offense, little guy. It’s not a bad thing to be.” Geralt muses to himself, slowing to look at the mouse who, somehow, looks confused. Maybe it’s because his face is covered in mud.
The mouse follows him until the night sets in, refusing to be left behind. The sense of déjà vu makes Geralt’s chest swell with something inexplicably warm.
“I have a friend who would have liked you,” he says. “He can teach you a trick or two about following a witcher.”
~~
The mouse is still there when Geralt makes camp. He starts the fire with Igni and realizes that his spot on the log is rudely overtaken.
“Not giving up, huh?” Geralt spreads his palm and leaves a few berries next to the mouse, who looks down at them and then up at him again. “It wasn’t a small feat, keeping up this far. I thought you’d be gone at the first chance.” He pauses. “Hmm. You truly remind me of him.”
The mouse makes another tiny noise, before picking up a smaller berry and biting into it. For a mouse, he looks too careful with his food.
“Eat well, then. We have a lot of miles to cover tomorrow, don’t we, Roach?”
The mare has wandered too far into the woods to hear him, and Geralt shakes his head in amusement. Gods know why he expects the tiny mouse to be there tomorrow. He’s fed now; he should disappear in no time.
It’s good, Geralt thinks, he can’t keep them as pets. Unlike a certain someone, he will never try to sing harmonies with small rodents.
“Good luck, little guy, wherever you may end up,” he says to the log where the mouse perches quietly. “And good night.”
Only silence answers him.
~~
The next morning, Geralt wakes up with dew in his hair. He packs away the equipment and runs a hand down Roach’s mane. The mare greets him but remains still.
On top of her head is the tiny mouse. He’s curled into himself and buried into Roach’s hair, and he’s sleeping soundly.
Geralt takes the horse’s rein and begins his journey with a smile.
~~
They pass a stretch of meadow by midday. The ground is peppered with wildflowers, and Geralt inhales the fresh smell of early spring.
“Don’t you want to go?” he says to the mouse, who has now woken up and sitting on Roache’s head. “You should. You belong in the wild. Life on the path is not for a fragile thing such as yourself.”
The mouse turns to the sunlit meadow and jumps right off Roach’s head. He runs straight into it, and Geralt only catches sight of a tail before he disappears into the grass.
“Oh,” Geralt says, blinking. “Alright.”
It’s only natural. Wild animals are no travel companions. Geralt has been saying it all day.
It’s just that he wasn’t expecting the mouse to actually leave. He curses himself silently, feeling ridiculous about the emptiness inside his chest.
“It’s just us now, Roach.”
Geralt takes a step forward, and then another.
The meadow is almost out of sight when the little guy catches up with them, with a broken stem of buttercup in his mouth.
Geralt laughs and picks up the mouse in his hand, catching the flower in his palm. The little guy stares at him as if anticipating something.
“Why thank you,” Geralt answers gently.
The mouse keeps staring.
“I said thank you.” Geralt frowns, confused. “Do you understand me?”
The little guy lowers his head. Geralt would say he’s disappointed if a witcher is one to believe mice could have emotions. He places the mouse on Roach’s saddle and journeys on.
~~
“What’s with all the flowers?” Geralt takes the half-bloomed dandelion from the little guy’s tiny paws, and adds it to his collection of six buttercups and three cornflowers. “A romantic, are we?”
The little guy squeals, jumping up and down before Geralt begins putting away all the flowers in his pack. There’s dandelion fluff sticking to his back.
“What?” Geralt raises an eyebrow. “Would you rather I held them all day? I need my hands, little guy.”
The mouse dives into the bush and, within a few heartbeats, emerges with another buttercup petal.
“More buttercup?”
The little guy squeaks, his round eyes fixing on Geralt expectantly.
Geralt pauses, before breaking out into laughter.
“Oh, that is a good one,” he says, cheeks sore from smiling. “I’d name you buttercup, little guy, but he isn’t here to appreciate the joke.”
The mouse squeaks sharply all of a sudden before running away from Geralt to sit on top of a rock. With his back turned to Geralt, it almost looks like he’s sulking.
“Hmm, I was right.”
Geralt wipes the grin off his face. Thankfully he’s alone; no one should know he just considered naming a mouse after Jaskier and the thought of it made himself giggle like a young maiden. What would it do to his reputation?
“Jaskier would like you,” he adds. “He’d make something for you with all these flowers, and he’d give you all these sweet names. Shame I can’t do either.”
When Geralt walks away, he peers over his shoulder to watch the mouse, who follows after a beat, although he now seems slower, somehow dejected.
Geralt slows down a little, just enough for the little guy to keep pace.
~~
“I do miss him,” Geralt brushes down Roach’s coat and turns to the mouse at his feet. “It’s been a while since we parted, so he must be in some trouble again. No, I don’t know how he does it either.”
The little guy chirps.
“He fills the silence.” Geralt takes in a deep breath. “He talks on and on so I don’t have to, and I…I just got used to it.”
He crouches down and lays his palm flat on the ground so the mouse can perch on his gloved hand.
“Too used to it. Now the silence is lacking.”
The little guy makes a sad little noise in response, and Geralt feels the corners of his lips tug upward.
“Thank you. You help, you know? Never thought I’d be so alone I’d start talking to a mouse.” Roach snorts in protest, but Geralt goes on. “But I am alone. Didn’t know that until he swooped into my life with his lute and songs and incessant chatter. Not having him hurts now, but he doesn’t know. I’ve never told him this.”
The mouse squeaks, grabbing at the laces on Geralt’s glove.
“You think I should?” he asks softly. “Perhaps. There are too many things I should have told Jaskier, things that he deserves to hear. You are right. I just wish he was here with me. It’s spring, after all.”
He lets the mouse rest his tiny head on his thumb and makes sure not to squish him.
“Guess we know where to next. Have you seen Oxenfurt? It’s a nice place. I’ll even introduce you after I tell him all these important things.”
Geralt thinks about the way Jaskier’s eyes light up at the sight of him and feels his cheeks heat up. He places an arm around his middle, imagining the hugs Jaskier gives him at every reunion, those strong arms squeezing tightly and lifting his feet off the ground.
“Maybe not all the important things,” he says wistfully. “Just that I missed him. If I told him the other ones, I think… I think he might leave. I shouldn’t risk it, right?”
The mouse stays still.
“Yeah, I agree. If he knew, I’d lose him, and I can’t. I don’t know what I’d do.” Geralt swallows, his lips pursing. “I’ve never said it out loud, so you’re lucky, little guy. You are the first to know that I…” he sucks in a shuddering breath. “I love Jaskier. I love him so much that I lose all the words when I look into his eyes. I love him, because he’s my best friend. Because he sees me, and I wish I could see him.”
Geralt’s heart aches for the briefest moment before his medallion begins buzzing against his chest.
His turns around in alert, holding the mouse closer to his chest. His senses sharpen immediately, but there are no threats near them, no monsters, no beasts.
Only the tiny mouse in Geralt’s hand vibrates with magic.
“Little guy?” he asks, eyes round.
The mouse lets out one last squeal, and a puff of smoke blinds Geralt, making his eyes water before it recedes.
Suddenly, Geralt finds himself with an armful of bard, the newly transformed human weighing heavily in his embrace. Messy brown hair sticks into Geralt’s nose, almost choking him and knocking him off balance.
“Hey, there,” Jaskier says after a second of disorientation, his eyes sky blue and full of mischief. His face is impossibly close, and he licks his lips teasingly. “Did you mean it?”
Geralt is still processing the fact that he’s holding Jaskier bridal style in his arms, not his little rodent friend.
Oh.
He’s holding Jaskier in his arms, who is very much naked.
Geralt’s throat dries, and he can only let out one quiet word.
I dunno man!! It got angsty!! Your word is RESTRAIN. Again, this feels more like Geraskier-lite than anything.
~
“Let me go!”
Jaskier thrashes against the ropes that bind him to the tree, eyes wild, hair a tangled mess around his head.
“I can’t,” says Geralt, surprised at how calm he sounds.
Jaskier swears, hurling insults into the air, then resumes wriggling against the ropes. It won’t do any good; Geralt has restrained people twice Jaskier’s size, double his strength. A cursed bard won’t break through those bonds.
He doesn’t even know what the curse is. The forest around them is rich with chaos, and Geralt’s medallion had begun vibrating the moment they stepped in. It had been inevitable, he now knows, that one of them would have walked into a spell. He supposes its luck that it was Jaskier: had it been himself who’d wandered into the trap, Jaskier would have been unable to hold him back.
It’s fuelled by emotion, that much he can tell. Jaskier had flown into a rage the moment the spell had gotten root in his mind, flinging himself forwards until Geralt had managed to grab him and pin him down.
That’s often how these sorts of spells go: low-level magic, no more than a trap designed to lure victims towards a hungry beast lurking deeper within the forest. It could even be a Fiend or some other mind-alterer, waiting for its next meal to willingly walk themselves into its mouth. It'll only last a few hours; but it's torture to wait them out.
“Please.”
Geralt turns. He’d been too lost in thought to pay attention to Jaskier’s futile efforts to escape. He’s stopped moving, slumped forwards, the ropes keeping him from falling. As Geralt watches, his limbs twitch and jerk. His mind is still clearly snagged, but his body is exhausted with the effort.
“Let me go,” he says, voice hoarse. “Let me go, Geralt, you fucking--”
His words crack, slurring into a pained hiss. Geralt cannot stand it. He moves closer. Jaskier’s arms are bound to his sides - it had been necessary with the way Jaskier had clawed at him and attempted to steal his swords, even if it had pained Geralt to do it. He’s harmless, now. Just tired.
Without thinking, Geralt wraps his arms around him as much as he can, taking his weight, guiding Jaskier's head against his shoulder. Jaskier twitches against him, swearing weakly into his tunic.
“Let me go,” he repeats. This time, it’s a sob. “Geralt, please--”
Geralt holds him tighter. Jaskier’s arms jerk, and Geralt can feel hot tears spill against his skin.
I was given the opportunity to collaborate with the marvelous, amazing, talented, fantastic @spielzeugkaiser for this story/piece and it was SO MUCH FUN! Thank you for drawing something so amazing, thank you for sharing it with me, and thank you for this fun collab!
Based on “The Music Box Song” from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
---
The first thing Geralt noticed, as he led Roach down the main road of the little hamlet, was how oddly quiet everything was. There were a few people meandering in the marketplace speaking in low tones, but otherwise the midday streets were empty. It was unusual. Especially for springtime.
He heard the small pocket of villagers speaking as he passed them, their curious and nervous gazes following his every step.
“Do you think that’s the White Wolf?”
“Look at his hair! Who else could it be?”
“Do you think he’ll be able to break the spell?”
He reached the door of the town’s only inn and tied Roach’s reins to the hitching post outside. He gave her an affectionate nuzzle and a few quick pats before ducking through the low wooden door, the villagers’ pointed conversation pushed to the back of his mind for now.
He needed food and lodging, first.
“Afternoon,” the innkeep nodded. Geralt nodded back and took a seat at the bar. The rotund, middle-aged man turned to face him, not a glimmer of fear or apprehension tainted his welcoming expression. “What can I do for ya, traveler?”
“I’ll have a tankard of ale, please; and stew if you have it. I also need a room for the night and a stable for my horse.”
“Two full pieces of silver will get you all of that and a bath to boot,” the man offered. Geralt gave a small, grateful smile and pulled two silvers and a copper from his purse, setting them on the counter directly in front of the beaming innkeep.
“As a thank you for your unexpected but welcome kindness.”
“Appreciated, sir.”
“Hmm.”
Geralt was just bringing the first spoonful of venison stew towards his mouth when his gaze caught on something behind the bar. His eyes narrowed and he looked down at the food suspiciously. Perhaps the man had been a little too kind to a Witcher. Maybe the kindness in his eyes really was just a well-practiced act, after all.
“Where’d you get that lute?” Geralt asked. He’d almost asked - Where’d you get Jaskier’s lute? - but that would have revealed too much.
“Oh, right. I had nearly forgotten about the lute,” the man frowned and shook his head. The Witcher caught a whiff of relief and sadness drifting off the stranger and grew even more confused. “That’s a tragic tale, really. Not good for a traveler’s appetite.”
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m a Witcher. I’ve seen and heard a few unpleasant things in my life.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” the innkeep chuckled. “But that’s just because I’m not a very observant person. If you’re a Witcher you might just be able to help the lad out. Would you care to hear the bard’s tale and see if it’s something your Witcher magic could fix?”
Geralt nodded and took a bite of stew, convinced that the man wasn’t actually trying to rob or kill him (or both). “Go ahead, then. Who is this bard and what horrible fate befell him?”
“A few weeks ago, just after the second thaw, children from the village started going missing at night. They’d come back at midday, their faces pale and their limbs heavy like lead weights. They would sleep for days before they could get out of bed again, and they were incredibly weak. When that bard wandered through on his way to find his friend, he heard of our blight and followed a child into the woods one evening, determined to solve the mystery and stop the madness.”
“Hmm.”
“Turns out it was the Fae -” Geralt’s head snapped up. “- And they were making the children dance all through the night for their entertainment. The faeries would make them dance until the poor little dears were totally exhausted and only had enough strength to wander back home. The bard offered to dance and play for them for two full days in exchange for the childrens’ freedom… and they agreed.”
“Fuck.”
“You sound invested in the lad’s wellbeing,” the innkeep raised an eyebrow. “I can take you to see him, if you’d like.”
“He’s here?”
“Sort of,” the man rubbed his hand up and down the back of his neck and the scent of anxiety spiked through the air. Geralt shook it off, determined to finish his meal before attending to his foolish friend and companion. “The Fae weren’t exactly happy about his interloping, you see. They accepted his terms and let him play for the full two days, and the children have been safe ever since, but they didn’t return him the way he left. Apparently the faeries decided that it would be more fun to curse him a little bit and watch the aftermath play out.”
“What is a little bit, exactly?”
Geralt had never heard of just a little bit of cursing. There were either dire consequences or death on the other end of curses and neither one were fitting ends for Jaskier’s colorful, too-short life.
“It would be best if you finished your food, Sir Witcher. If you’re as close to the bard as I think you are, it’ll spoil your dinner to see him like this.”
---
The alderman ushered his two impromptu visitors inside and closed the door quietly behind them. He gave Geralt a slow, calculating once over. “So I take it you’re a Witcher, eh?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve come to break the fae’s curse on this bard?”
“Depends on the curse.”
“Apparently he knows the lad,” the innkeeper added helpfully. Geralt glowered and pulled his hood back away from his face.
“I haven’t actually seen him yet, but it’s very likely that this bard and I are acquaintances.”
“Right this way, then. I’ve kept him out of the children’s hands. I didn’t know if the singing and dancing routine would still make him tired or not and I wanted to be safe; for all the help he did to rescue them from those dastardly faeries, the villagers certainly seem to enjoy turning the key and making him perform.”
Geralt grew more and more worried with every word that passed through the alderman’s lips. Singing and dancing routine? Turning the key? Making him perform? What had the faeries done to his stupidly caring friend in return for his bravery? What kind of curse had they placed on the silly, fun-loving human?
The three men crossed through the manor’s sitting room and dining room and into a clean, empty storage room that ran against the very back of the building. Positioned in the center of the floor was an enormous, intricate music box. The figure standing up from the top was facing away from them, so Geralt took a moment to inspect the stand itself.
The square box was carved around the bottom edges with buttercup blossoms and had paintings across all four sides, depicting the childish, storybook version of Jaskier approaching the Fae in the woods, his two nights of dancing and singing, his transformation, and, as they came around to the front panel at last, his imprisonment. The doll on top of the stand was Jaskier; or it had been, once upon a time.
The bard looked only slightly different in his current accursed form, but it was enough to unnerve the usually stoic Witcher. The blue of Jaskier’s eyes was misty and glazed over. Glass, Geralt realized. He suppressed a horrified shudder at the thought. His eyes look like they’re made of glass. His skin was pale and when Geralt reached out to caress his arm (bent stiffly at the elbow much like a jointed doll’s would be) it felt waxy and too-smooth. Inhuman.
Jaskier’s body was bent slightly forward at the waist, both arms resting oddly at his sides with the elbows bent at ninety degrees. Two circles of rouge brightened his cheeks and his eyes had been lightly lined to make them seem wider and more doll-like. A wreath of colorful flowers had been pinned into his hair and the blue silk doublet Geralt had last seen the bard wearing was nowhere to be found.
The Fae had clearly taken their time with dressing and decorating him. His waist was cinched into a colorful corset-style vest that tied up the front with little blue silk bows and his legs were outfitted in tight-fitting, navy blue breeches that buckled just below the knee. His hose was off-white and complimented the shapely curve of his calves and ankles. He was wearing the buckled, heeled shoes of a nobleman and they shone with polish. There was nothing holding Jaskier up, which meant that the curse itself was keeping him upright and in place.
The Witcher turned to glare at the alderman, his emotions finally boiling over at the sight of his bard’s transformation. “Did the Fae tell anyone how to break the curse?”
“We think the answer is in the song.”
“The song?”
“When you wind the lad up he sings a little song. He’s standing on a music box, after all.”
“Hmm.”
The alderman approached the side of the box and wound the large key jutting out, twisting until he was red faced and the bronze-painted peg would turn no more. He released the key and stepped back to join Geralt and the innkeeper where they stood with their backs against the far wall.
A few soft, tinkling metallic notes played through the room before the doll came to life. Jaskier’s back straightened and his arms reached out towards his audience in jerky little movements. Every time one of his joints extended or shifted there was a loud wrenching sound as the inner workings of the music box manipulated his limbs in time to the melody.
Jaskier’s bright, lilting tenor flowed forth as he danced mechanically atop his pedestal. He turned in a slow circle, his arms reaching up and around as if seeking an embrace as he sang:
“What do you see,
You people gazing at me?
You see a doll on a music box
That's wound by a key.
“How can you tell
I'm under a spell?
I'm waiting for love's first kiss!”
Geralt blushed as the doll-Jaskier reached directly out towards the space where the Witcher happened to be standing, almost as if he was reaching out for the true love he sought to break his spell. Geralt’s eyes met briefly with the wax figurine’s and he felt his heart skip a beat. Jaskier is so close and yet he still doesn’t see me. The Witcher gave a heavy sigh and shook his head as the bard continued his automatonlike performance.
“You cannot see...
How much I long to be free,
Turning around on this music box
That's wound by a key!
“Yearning, yearning
While I'm turning around and around…”
The tune faded away into nothing again and Jaskier fell silent. His torso drooped forward. His hair fell into his eyes and Geralt reached out to move it away without thinking, letting his fingers brush the bard’s painted cheek as he pulled back. “So do you know anyone who could possibly free him? He only has a few days left.”
“What?!” Geralt snapped. He spun to face the innkeep with a thunderous look on his face. “What do you mean!?”
“The curse has to be broken before the end of the month or he’ll be stuck like this forever.”
“Fuck. Why didn’t you tell me that first?” the Witcher snarled. He gazed hopelessly at his friend and clenched his fists at his sides.
It was so much easier to kill monsters. It was so much easier to break curses when they were placed on princesses or nobles or foolish peasants who had meddled where they shouldn’t. But Jaskier had been doing a good deed without being prompted and he had done it all alone without Geralt there for backup or protection. The stupid bard had rescued an entire village’s children by offering himself to the fae and now… now…
Geralt sighed and shook his head. He needed to think. He needed to breathe.
“I’m going to contact some friends and see what we can do,” he finally said. “But first I need rest. May I return to my room at the inn?”
“Aye. Good luck, Witcher.”
“Hmm.”
---
Geralt tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
Two glassy blue eyes kept following his every move, searching for him in the dark.
He knew he had to rescue Jaskier, the only problem was finding someone who loved him enough to break the curse. The Witcher rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling. Dawn was only a few hours away and he’d failed to get any sleep or meditate deeply enough to rest. He kept hearing those words, high and breathy, echoing through his head over and over:
“You cannot see...
How much I long to be free,
Turning around on this music box
That's wound by a key!”
The thought of anyone else kissing Jaskier sent a tight, angry buzzing sensation flickering beneath his skin. He bristled. He frowned. He… He was jealous. The moment Geralt tried to picture Essi Daven or Priscilla or that one foolish Count with ashy-blonde hair and broad shoulders he’d caught the bard with late one night even coming close to kissing Jaskier, the Witcher felt the urge to growl and bare his teeth. He wanted to curl around the music box and snarl at anyone who came too close for his liking. He wanted to wrap Jaskier in his arms and keep him there forever, where he could hear the bard’s heartbeat and feel his warmth.
An unnerving thought.
He’d always been a very possessive lover.
Fuck.
But what if he tried to kiss the bard and the spell didn’t break? Then he might lose Jaskier regardless of whether or not he woke up. If Jaskier’s curse dissipated at the hands of another and he knew that Geralt had kissed him, had acknowledged his love for the bard and faced it head on and failed, then the Witcher might break down forever. Without Jaskier, what reason was there to return to the inn or the campfire at night? Of course there was Roach, but once she died he didn’t have to seek out another…
He could just disappear like many of his Witcher brethren often did.
Geralt groaned and rose to his feet, slipping on his boots and cloak as quietly as possible. He crept through the sleepy town under the blanket of night and snapped the lock off the alderman’s back window. He gripped the lower sill and took a deep, steadying breath before heaving it open.
He had to try, at least.
He had to know.
The Witcher climbed silently into the storage room and walked in a slow circle around the music box. Jaskier was standing perfectly still, the painted smile on his face and the silk flowers in his hair looking as brilliant as ever, even in the darkness. Geralt stood in front of his cursed friend and sighed quietly.
“I wish you didn’t have to find out just how much I care about you like this, Jaskier. I wish I could have told you about my rather prominent and passionate feelings before any of this nonsense had happened. If I fail you now, if you don’t wake up because this love is one-sided, I’m sorry. I want you to know that I’m so incredibly sorry for not being able to love you enough to save your life.”
With his soul bared and his confession carefully whispered into wooden ears, Geralt reached up and placed his palm against the bard’s waxy cheek. He had to stand on tiptoe in order to reach Jaskier’s mouth with his own and the position made him feel strangely vulnerable. He tried not to think about it as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the smooth, painted wooden mouth of the music box doll that had once been his most faithful friend.
He pulled away after a lingering moment of contact, shaking his white hair out of his eyes. A few terrifying seconds ticked past and nothing happened. The Witcher was about to cry out in frustration and disappear out the window again when he heard a shallow breath being drawn. His worried amber gaze snapped up and met, for the first time in far too long, a pair of bright blue irises that flashed with recognition and confusion.
Geralt held out his arms and caught the bard just as he went limp, his body exhausted from being held upright for so many days on end. He felt like a pile of crumpled laundry in the Witcher’s arms, all deadweight and no control over his limbs at all. “Are you alright, Jaskier?”
“Hnn.”
He was still waking up from the spell and likely had no memory of what had happened. Geralt bit back the pang of bitter disappointment that threatened to echo through his heart; he had no real claim over Jaskier and it wasn’t fair to make one now. Not if the bard didn’t remember his declaration.
“Let’s… Let’s get you back to the inn and get you taken care of, Jaskier. I can tell the others about the broken curse in the morning.”
“Do you mean it?” Jaskier rasped. His head lolled against Geralt’s shoulder and he glanced up with tired but frightened eyes, “Do you really love me?”
“Hmm. Yes.”
“Good,” the bard managed to shift closer despite his full-body exhaustion. “I love you, too.”
“No more running off and trying to save people by yourself.”
“Well you aren’t always around to help, Geralt, what am I supposed to do?”
“I’ll be around from now on,” the Witcher asserted. He pressed another quick kiss to the bard’s lips and watched as Jaskier blushed and stuttered in his firm bridal carry. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”
---
“Geralt please stop humming that song.”
“I can’t help it! It’s so catchy, it just keeps getting stuck in my head. Will you sing it for me? Maybe that will help.”
“Fine,” the bard muttered, settling down next to the fire with his lute. “Just once.”
“Thank you.”
Geralt sank into his meditative kneel and closed his eyes. A smile played at the corner of his lips and Jaskier pretended not to see it.
okay so we’ve had djinn Jaskier, but what if Geralt made a badly worded wish - or maybe he still said “i just want some damn peace!” - and the djinn was like “aight. imma head out~”
and just. turns Jaskier into the djinn, and leaves with his newfound freedom
and suddenly Jaskier is a djinn with no idea how to use his powers, and still bound to Geralt with two more wishes to grant, and now they suddenly have a super powerful sorceress (Yennefer) trailing their asses after hearing about a witcher with a djinn and now wants to steal the djinn and wishes for her own agenda, and Geralt needs to get Jaskier to safety before Yennefer and other mages try to use and trap his bard-turned-djinn
just.
think about that
i was hit with this au idea very violently after looking at something completely unrelated and from a completely different fandom, so now you have to hear about it, too
Kuri, my love. You have reminded me that this is a fic I actually do need to write for the amazing and wonderful @thetinymm who had asked for a cursed colorblind Jaskier an age and a half ago and this is totally the perfect title for it.
It would be Jaskier getting hit by a stray spell or potion and slowly losing his color vision, except when he looks at Geralt who is mostly black and white as it is. Except his eyes. Jaskier clings to that color as long as he can and when that too starts to fade... Oh buddy... It’s all pining and slow burn and the breaking of a curse old school style ((they gonna smooch yall))
A bit of this fic:
Jaskier’s heart lept into his throat. It hadn’t been just the fading of the light the day before. He blinked hard, trying to clear what ever it was in his eyes but the longer he looked the more everything around him seemed to fade. They had come this way before in their travels and as he looked out over the field, where the bright orange and red wild flowers used to burn his eyes, there was only muted shades.
He whirled around and saw Roach, her chestnut mane faded and dull now to his eyes. His panic only grew when he looked down at his sleeves. The soft deep blue of his favorite doublet seemed to wash out before his eyes.
“Jaskier?” Geralt stepped back onto the road, the head of some beast already bagged.
Jaskier looked up and felt like all the air was punched from his lungs. Geralt was pale, his armor always so dark. Everything about him was always just a little bit muted. That was, everything save for the molten gold that was his eyes. By some blessing or some curse, Jaskier could make out with perfect clarity the deep color of Geralt’s eyes.
