chapter fifteen of 'make a promise not to break,' 'THROUGH THE COLD' sees Jaskier’s brother arriving in Kaer Morhen, Jaskier and Johanna's displacement from home, and the reappearance of some unfortunate places and people from Jaskier’s past.
here is my piece for the jaskier mini bang! thank you @jaskierminibang mods for putting this together!
and a huge thank you to @spielzeugkaiser for your lovely lovely art, check it out on ao3!!! <3
read on ao3
the five times geralt didn't understand jaskier's relationships, and the one time he did.
1.
Jaskier was a sparkling gem, dancing across the marbled floor. He shone brightly, nearly blinding every person who dared to look at him in the face. At the same time, he was magnetic, attracting crowds of smiling people who he doted on as if he knew them all personally.
He also had the annoying trait of making Geralt get poetic, whenever he was near. Not that Geralt would even indulge and reveal his thoughts to the bard (that might make him unbearable), but it was an unfortunate byproduct of spending too much time with him.
Jaskier finished his last song, graciously bowing out of the crowd before bounding over to where Geralt was waiting on the outskirts of the ballroom.
“Like my show?” Jaskier asked, snatching Geralt’s wine glass from him and taking a sip. “Damn, this is good. I need to get invited to more of these, they don’t skimp out here.”
“You finished earlier than I thought,” Geralt commented. He held out his plate full of finger foods for Jaskier to pick through. “They asked you to cut your set?”
“Yes,” Jaskier said, crinkling his nose. He picked up a chunk of cheese and took a bite, continuing to talk. “They hired multiple bards, so the guests don’t get tired. I told them that I once successfully entertained a crowd for two entire days back in Oxenfurt, but they didn’t believe me.”
“Their loss,” Geralt said.
“So, they hired a up-comer from Cintra, she’s alright, I’ve heard her before. Nothing to write home about.”
“Mm.”
“I’ve seen this sort of thing happen at festivals, or competitions, but never like this, at a banquet. Even if they do bring out quite good wine-” another sip of Geralt’s glass to accentuate his point, “I must say I’m not a fan.”
As if on a cue, the hall broke out into music once again, a young black haired woman in a colorful dress belting out.
“They are lucky I didn’t stretch out The Fishmonger’s Daughter any longer than I did.”
“We are all lucky,” Geralt remarked, stealing back his wine glass to take the last sip. Jaskier glared at him, but it seemed to be more directed at the comment than the wine being gone.
“We will have to stay for the rest of the night, though. I refuse to allow for any missed opportunities to hop back into the fray.”
Geralt just grunted, and waved down a servant holding a tray of wine glasses.
“But now is the time that I need you to be on your guard. I caught wind that they also hired my greatest enemy to perform tonight.” Geralt tilted the wine glass all the way back before responding.
“Miriam Wintersons?”
“No!” Jaskier sputtered. “Good lord man, how many years have we known each other? My arch nemesis-”
“The alderman from Lyria, the one who you swore you would-”
“Wish death upon at every sunrise? Well, yes, but not him,” Jaskier tried to cut in.
“What was it that he did to anger you so?” Geralt couldn’t resist asking. Jaskier, to Geralt’s surprise, broke Geralt’s gaze for a moment, looking to the side.
“If you must know,” Jaskier eventually said, chest puffing up. “He tried to short you. You were stabling Roach, and I went ahead to get you your coin, and I overheard him speaking about not paying you all that was promised on account of your-” Jaskier waved his hand at Geralt’s chest.
That was not the answer that Geralt had anticipated, but thankfully Jaskier didn’t give him the chance to blunder.
“My arch nemesis-” Jaskier lowered his voice and leaned in, regardless of the fact that they were tucked away in an isolated corner in an already noisy hall. “ Valdo Marx. ”
“Valdo Marx?” Geralt repeated, frowning. “I thought he wasn’t real.” Jaskier reared back, sputtering once again.
“Of course he is real! Why would you think that?”
“You once told me that he as the Devil’s Apprentice, and that flowers died in the place he stepped.”
“That was just a metaphor!” Jaskier insisted, as if that was obvious. “No, he’s quite real, and the bane of my existence. He stole the Bardic Inspiration award from me two years ago, and still hasn’t let me forget it. Not to mention the atrocities to this world that he claims is his music.”
“Hm.”
“And do not forget!” Jaskier stuck his finger in the air pointedly. “He called Toss A Coin fictionalized. Can you believe that? Fictionalized! As a bard, it is my purpose to enlighten the masses of the true stories of the world, as unbelievable as they might seem.”
“That song is fictionalized. All of your songs are, in fact.” Geralt countered. Jaskier gasped, a hand flying to his chest, as if Geralt had just admitted to burning down a library instead of stating a fact that he had reminded Jaskier of multiple times over the years they had known each other.
“Why you-” Jaskier quickly cut himself off, shaking his head. “No matter- the only thing you need to understand is that this man is no friend of ours, as charismatic as he may seem.”
“Want me to chase him off for you?”
Jaskier looked almost touched for a moment before shaking his head. “I appreciate the offer dear heart, but no. This is a battle that I must fight on my own- no, a battle that I want to, I need to fight on my own!” Jaskier stole Geralt’s new glass of wine.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: Geralt just wants to do his job and go home. Jaskier has other plans.
Or: The monster-hunting AU no one asked for.
Jaskier/Geralt | Rated: T | WC: 3k | CW: mention of carcasses
------
Geralt was not having a very good time.
This godsforsaken trip had started with Vesemir giving him a tip. Apparently, there were rumors a leviathan had been spotted in the area (“I have it on very good authority, honestly, wolf,”) and Vesemir’s very-good-authority had traced the beast to the coastal city of Novigrad. Geralt wasn’t particularly thrilled to be sent out to do the dirty work that was bestiary expansion, but was reminded quite smugly of the favor he’d owed the old man (“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that time with the selkimore guts and Ciri’s prom dress, Geralt, I swear to god I’ll tell her that it wasn’t Lambert’s doing,”), and so here he was.
The perils of being a modern day witcher were many, not the least of which included this new wave of humans who seemed to think witchers were Fascinating™ and that monsters were something akin to animals in a zoo, harmless and cute. In truth, the creatures which previously skulked on the fringes of civilization had only become more dangerous over the years as they’d learned to camouflage themselves to survive. Humans, simultaneously, had become more bold and less afraid with the invention of smartphones and the internet; they often moved right into the metaphorical backyards of monsters in search of adventure and likes on their posts, or whatever the fuck. Which, ultimately, meant more danger for them as they proved the reason behind their short lifespans, but also more tolerance for the witchers who dealt with their almost entirely self-imposed problems.
Fortunately for Geralt, it meant he and his brothers had consistent business at Wolfe Brothers Extermination Co. He, Eskel, and Lambert were typically sent out to complete the contracts, although they all dabbled in one specialty or another in addition to doing the grunt work. Lambert, an expert alchemist and professional pain in the ass, brewed all of their potions. Eskel, with the strongest chaos of all of them, created sign-specific training to strengthen their magic. Geralt, for his part, was the best fighter, and designed grueling personal training routines to keep them fit. Vesemir, although semi-retired in his advanced age, was instrumental in keeping them sharp on the battlefield, forcing them to train with various weapons, along with usually being in charge of all field research. That being one of the reasons Geralt was so grumpy to be out here at all, as it was not his fucking job.
Internally rolling his eyes, he returned his focus to his work. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could get the fuck out of here. He crouched to inspect the rocky shore beneath the cliff he was standing on, witcher-sharp eyes keen on his surroundings. Scanning the embankment, he found a promising clue below the bluffs of what looked to be the skeletal remains of a large sea creature. He was just about to climb down to investigate further when the damning sound of human voices drifted to his ears. Dammit all.
“---And these cliffs are the exact site a leviathan was recently spotted! Now, for those of you fine folk who don’t know, a leviathan is a sea serpent resembling a crocodile who lurks deep beneath the waves you see far below us.”
Geralt glanced up, put out at being distracted, at the animated voice of a man leading a group of starry-eyed humans closer to the cliffs. He was around Geralt’s height if he had to guess, with soft, chocolate brown locks falling just past his ears. He carried himself confidently, leading the fawning group around as he regaled them with tales Geralt would bet his best sword were entirely false. He was of a leaner build, although with a sturdy layer of muscle hiding underneath his foppish clothing. Clothing that, now that Geralt paid attention to it, resembled a peacock. A very handsome peacock. The unbidden thought was shoved down with the strength of the leviathan he was hunting. What the fuck.
The other man’s melodious voice filtered into his awareness again as several members of the tour group paused to snap pictures on their cell phones. “Leviathans are quite rare these days, most of them having been killed off centuries ago. Although, my dear friends, it’s possible we might encounter one on this very day! My colleague, Valdo, is the one who spotted the beast just the other day and–”
“You’re wrong, you know.”
Geralt hadn’t realized he’d spoken or walked a few paces closer to the group until a dozen pairs of eyes were staring right at him. Fuck. He usually kept far away from people unless it was for a contract, preferring the company of himself, his family, and his truck, Roach (lovingly named after his childhood pet fish, although he would never share that damning bit of information with a soul, so help him gods).
“Excuse me?” The singsong voice from earlier directed its singular fury at him, now all wound up in indignant righteousness. “I’ll have you know we’re the most reputable monster tour company this side of the Blue Mountains, so you can take your feedback and shove it, you--you–whoever you are!”
Geralt noticed, belatedly, that the man’s eyes were the same blue as the water crashing onto the shore below them, stormy like the Skelligan sea with annoyance. He wondered absently if they were the clear blue of a summer sky when the man was in better spirits. Shut the fuck up, Geralt, you absolute dumbass.
He cleared his throat. “Name’s Geralt. I’m, uh, I’m a witcher.”
The tour group erupted in a cacophony of gasps, the cameras of the dozen or so cell phones now aimed directly at him. They fired off questions rapidly about his job, the leviathan, hunting monsters, and a number of other things he couldn’t be bothered to parse from the general noise of it all.
“Oh? And Mr. Witcher, surely you’ve encountered a leviathan, then, and can tell these lovely people more about them than I can?” The other man looked affronted, crossing his arms petulantly.
“Uh. It’s just– leviathans weren’t all killed off, like you said. It’s more likely they went into hiding. They have natural thermal resistance and can adapt to a variety of environments. They’re also, uh, kind of immortal. So it’s more likely we’re all too stupid to find them than that they’re dead.”
There was dissatisfied murmuring amongst the other man’s group, one of the women in it turning her nose up at their tour guide as she remarked in a snotty voice, “Well, Jaskier, sounds like the witcher here might be a more useful tour guide. At least he has experience. Perhaps you should talk to your company about taking him on in your stead.” She tittered with laughter at her own insult.
And at that, the man spluttered, seemingly at a loss for words. Not wanting to lose the attention of the rest of his audience, however, he turned the charm back on like a lightswitch. “Now, my dear audience, although our good witcher here–Geralt, excuse me–most likely has plenty of experience, it doesn’t sound like he's had any luck spotting the leviathan today either. If I could reclaim your attention, I can show you exactly where a nest of drowners was slaughtered just last week. If we’re lucky, the bones will still be there!”
And like children flocking to a shiny, new toy, Geralt’s unwittingly captive audience began to wander off in the direction the other man–Jaskier–directed them. Jaskier, for his part, aimed one more fuming, aquamarine glare at Geralt before veritably stomping off after his group.
Geralt was left on the cliffs, feeling vaguely uncomfortable and slightly–guilty, was that the feeling?-- as he stared after the other man.
Well, shit.
—
It was a while later that Geralt meandered back towards his truck, slightly muddy from his stumbling trip down the cliffs to investigate the carcass he’d seen earlier, but no closer to validating the tip off Vesemir had given him. The bones had belonged to some sort of marine animal, yes, but it was impossible to tell if it was killed by a leviathan or simply a shark. So much for very good authority…
Geralt was still internally grumbling about the waste of time as he reached the car park. He startled in surprise when he heard the same musical voice from earlier and looked up to see Jaskier wrapping up for the day.
“Alright, lovely people, please remember to give us a good review if you liked the tour today! We at Oxenfurt Oddities would be happy to host you again anytime!”
That slightly-guilty feeling crept back up his throat at the sight of the other man, and Geralt felt like he should– say something. Apologize, maybe. He hadn’t meant to mess with the other man’s work, he’d just meant to–well, he wasn’t quite sure, honestly. But either way, apologizing was the right thing to do. At that thought, he straightened his spine and hung back a few paces from the group as he waited for them to disperse.
The moment the last person had shuffled off to their car, Jaskier’s shoulders slumped slightly and he let out a heavy sigh, moving to card a hand through his hair in a seemingly frustrated gesture.
Geralt stepped closer, not wanting to startle the other man, and gently cleared his throat.
Jaskier jumped anyway, turning to Geralt with wild eyes which soon narrowed when he recognized who was behind him.
“You! And just what, pray tell, can I do for you, oh witcher-who-can’t-mind-his-own-business? You almost ruined my tour today and my boss would have truly had my head if those people wanted a refund!”
“Uh… Sorry–about that, earlier. I didn’t mean to… mess things up for you. Was just trying to be, uh… factual, I guess?” Geralt cringed at his own stilted apology, not knowing what marbles he must have lost in deciding it was a good idea to approach Jaskier again.
There was silence as the other man stared at him, still with suspicion in his eyes, before he turned his nose up with a huff.
“Well. I appreciated the information, nevertheless. Will give me more material to work with in the future. But you, Geralt… owe me, I think.” Jaskier’s eyes twinkled with a mischievous light as he turned his face back towards Geralt.
Geralt realized with a not-quite-minuscule amount of relief that the unintentional slight must have been forgiven if the other man felt like teasing. He still wasn’t sure why it mattered to him.
In response, Geralt grunted, feeling he’d done his part and mostly ready to get away from this conversation and his confusing feelings. “Not much to pay you back with.”
Jaskier, eyes twinkling even brighter, now as midnight blue as the darkening sky above them and shining like stars plucked from within it, gave a pleased chuckle. “Do you like fries?”
Geralt felt the non-sequitur like a punch in the gut, his eyebrows furrowing. “Do I… like fries? Like… potatoes?”
At that, Jaskier gave a genuine belly laugh, throwing his head back in glee. Geralt swallowed thickly, enjoying the sight of the smile on the other man’s face more than he’d care to admit, feeling the pleasant flutter of butterflies in his belly. He gave himself a mental shake. What is wrong with me?
“Yes, Geralt, fries. There’s a diner about a half mile down the road, I am dying of hunger, and I think you can repay your debt to me with some more factual witcher stories,” he teased again, and with a grin on his lips, Jaskier started off, presumably in the direction of his vehicle. He turned back to look over his shoulder when he realized Geralt wasn’t following. “Are you coming or not?”
Geralt shrugged, wordlessly, before moving in the direction of his own truck. There were worse ways to spend an evening, he supposed.
—
The diner was empty, save for the waitress who kept staring at him–in either awe or terror, he couldn’t really tell. She hadn’t bothered them other than to take their orders, which Geralt supposed he should count as a blessing.
Jaskier sat across from him quite contently with a plate of fries as promised, along with a large chocolate milkshake. The other man was even prettier up close, with an aristocratic nose, strong jaw, and long-fingered, elegant hands. His apparent attraction to the other man was distracting, so Geralt unceremoniously turned his attention back to his burger.
“So,” Jaskier drawled, popping another ketchup-covered fry in his mouth, “Tell me everything.”
Geralt blinked, “About what, specifically?”
Jaskier rolled his eyes. “The leviathan, obviously. Or another monster, I don’t care. I need details, Geralt, and it seems like you’re teeming with them if your show earlier was any indication.”
Geralt rubbed his chin in a thoughtful gesture, thinking of what he could tell him. “Well. Leviathans are… big. Monstrous, even.”
“Yes, Geralt, I gathered that,” Jaskier again rolled his eyes.
“They can crush a man easily in their jaws and have prehensile tails. They can also communicate with other marine animals and bend them to their will.”
Jaskier’s eyes were wide across from him, his mouth gaping open at the new bit of information. He took out a battered-looking notebook from his bag, food forgotten, and began to scribble in it. “See, this is what I’m talking about! You don’t mind if I take notes, do you?”
Geralt wryly observed he was already writing. He gave a soft huff that might have been a chuckle, not feeling the need to respond.
“That’s about it, really. They’re big and powerful and you don’t want to fuck with them, should you ever come across one. Which I highly doubt you will as they are, indeed, quite rare.”
Jaskier stopped writing with a pout, putting his pen down. “Really, that’s all you can tell me? What do they look like, other than vaguely crocodile-ish? Are they intelligent? Do they really do Vulcan mind control on other sea creatures?”
Geralt took a thoughtful bite out of his burger, raising an eyebrow as something occurred to him. “I can answer your questions. But,” he trailed off, taking the time to finish his food. “This is a bit of a one-sided relationship, wouldn’t you say? I can’t give away all our secrets for free.”
Geralt wasn’t sure what had come over him, really, but found himself intrigued by the other man. Absurdly, he found himself wanting to spend more time in his company, not the least reason of which had to do with too blue eyes, a winsome smile, and a mischievous streak. If he gave everything away now, the other man would be gone just as quickly as he’d come. Just the idea of that bothered him.
“Oh!” Jaskier seemed genuinely surprised by his ultimatum. “But what could I offer you? I’m just a tour guide as a day job, really, I don’t have much to offer by way of money.” He tapped his fingers against his glass as he thought.
“I am a musician, so, I could–I could… write you a song? Maybe something about your… roguish good looks? Winning personality?” Jaskier gave a cheeky grin and a wink at that, the bastard.
The suggestion caused Geralt to smirk, thinking of the absolute fresh hell of teasing Lambert would unleash on him if that ever happened. “Melitele’s left tit, you will.”
Jaskier sucked noisily at his milkshake, still pondering, before he suddenly brightened. “Oh! I know! Geralt, how’s business lately?”
Jaskier’s trains of thought were like whiplash, a slap to the face every time. He wasn’t sure how he’d ever keep up. “Uh… fine?”
Jaskier was nodding as he gesticulated wildly, fry in hand, getting dollops of ketchup everywhere. The waitress glared balefully at him but he didn’t seem to notice. “Witchers are hired via contract, yes? Although you’re lovely to look at, I can’t imagine with your surly demeanor you’re any good at advertising–but I am! Imagine all the contracts!”
Geralt and the others did fine for themselves, really. The family business, started by Vesemir, was old school and was still run that way. They didn’t engage on social media or have followers or any of that absolute nonsense, had never seen the need. People knew what witchers were, what they could do–if they needed them, they would find them, right?
But… The shop did need a new roof and some other repairs which the old man had been putting off, stating he couldn’t justify the expenses. And Geralt would always take the opportunity to put away more money for Ciri’s college fund, if ever she decided to go.
Mulling it over but ultimately having already decided, he looked over at Jaskier, catching the other man’s hypnotizing eyes with his own. “What could you do, then? Make a… website for us?”
Jaskier, for his part, snorted quite inelegantly. “No, dear man, I won’t make a website–what you need is social media presence, you need content–you have to engage people and remind them that witchers are out there, ready to help with all their horrific, monster-related problems!” Jaskier was almost feral in his excitement at this point, carried away by the fantasy of it all. “I could easily run accounts for you–”
“It’s a family business.”
“Yes, of course, alright–for the family business. We’d post a little story about a contract, share some photos of you looking positively menacing (you do a very good job of that, by the way), direct them to the business, and voila! Customers!” Jaskier looked pleased as punch with himself, crossing his arms over his chest triumphantly. “All I ask in return are stories and maybe to tag along on some of your hunts.”
“So? What do you say, Geralt, the almighty witcher? Partners?” Jaskier held out one ring-adorned hand to shake.
Geralt looked down at the offered hand, considering. His family could always use the money, he knew, but that wasn’t really it, was it? Life was… not boring, not really, but routine. He woke up, he went to work, he took contracts, he went home. Ciri didn’t really need him, these days, the almost-adult she was. The monotony of it all was comforting, usually, but Geralt almost longed for the days when going out and hunting monsters felt like an adventure.
As he looked into the crystalline pools of the other man’s eyes, a hopeful smile curving Jaskier’s pretty lips, he thought to himself that this might just be the start of his next one.
He grasped Jaskier’s hand in a firm grip, a half-smile curving his own lips. “Alright. Partners.”
I made a Ko-fi if anyone feels like tossing me a coin or two (do not feel obligated at all but it was suggested to me and I’m a broke grad student so...)
Do you have any fav fic recs for The Witcher (TV)?
Hmmm to be honest I haven't read that many fics in the Witcher fandom. BUT I have read some
Meet Death Sitting (Various couple and rating): an impressive series with nearly 700k words and 28 works (I'm still working my way through this). Crazy world-building skill and Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer endgame
The Ballad of Dandelion and the White Wolf (Geraskier/E): the feeling in this fic is out of this world and the porn is good too
No Filter (Geraskier/NR): another long fic (324146 words) featuring my favorite trope: idiots in love
It had been six years since the mountain, six years since Geralt had severed a friendship he realized, in hindsight, was so important to him. Jaskier always had a way of running into him when they separated in the past; now he knew that it was intentional, because Jaskier was also skilled at avoiding him. So it was a surprise to walk into a random tavern in a small town and find the bard singing a song he’d never heard.
And that’s how they got here, Jaskier sitting across from him gripping a mug of ale so tight his hand was turning white, an awkward silence between them. Geralt had apologized but even to his own ears he knew it wasn’t enough.
“I loved you, did you know?” Jaskier said after a long stretch of silence. No, he hadn’t known, but it seemed obvious now. Who follows a Witcher around the continent, setting his mind on changing his reputation for little in return. Living a life of poverty and constant struggles for what?. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Jaskier evidently didn’t need an answer. “I loved you. I knew you’d never love me back, but that was okay. I didn’t need you to love me back. Being by your side was enough. Being your friend was enough. But...”
Jaskier sucked in a deep breath and took a swig of ale before continuing.
“You were supposed to be my friend. That’s all...that’s all I asked of you. To be my friend. To care. But you never did, did you? I was just a nuisance you couldn’t wait to be rid of.”
“No,” Geralt said, throat tight. “No, you were so much more than that. You always have been. I just- I didn’t know how to show it. But I’ve always cared about you.”
Jaskier snorted. “You said-”
“I know what I said, and it was wrong. A lie born of anger and hurt, and you didn’t deserve it. I wish more than anything that I could go back in time and change that moment, stop the hurt I caused.”
Jaskier sniffed, and Geralt, who’d been afraid to look him in the eyes, noted the tears threatening to spill over. He hesitantly reached out and placed his hand softly over Jaskier’s.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me. I know that’s too much to ask. But please, let me show you how much you mean to me.”
“I suppose,” Jaskier started, “that I have missed you these last few years. Maybe...maybe we can try again. It won’t be the same. It’ll never be the same. But maybe it’ll be better this time.”
Geralt smiled and slowly threaded his fingers through Jaskier’s, not giving a damn who saw them.
