Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme, Jaskier and the Beast...
sorry, couldn’t help myself. Anyway!
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Jaskier looked himself over in the mirror one final time for good measure. He was rather pretty; as he deserved to be on his wedding day. He was a bride, after all, and most brides were far more temperamental than he had been. All things considered, the wedding ensemble gifted to him by the crotchety village elder was actually rather stunning. As he turned back and forth before his silver looking-glass he felt happy and excited.
He was also very sure that Essi, the only person in the village he had managed to befriend before his sudden and unexpected arranged engagement, had made sure to equip him with some lace and fine fabrics.
“Oh, sweetest Miss Essi,” he smiled, fastening the last mother-of-pearl button on his cuff and straightening out the doublet a final time. “You have done a wondrous thing for me; I will not forget you.”
With the entire outfit put together and the details attended to, Jaskier looked every part the blushing bride in a fairy tale story. A pair of white satin trousers fit snugly around his calves and thighs and tied closed at the small of his back. He’d done them up with a series of complicated bows. His doublet, embroidered around the hem with soft yellow buttercups and made of heavy white satin brocade, was tailored in the ribbon-heavy Redanian style.
There was a short, knee-length cape of matching white velvet, held closed with a rose-shaped clasp over his left collarbone. The elders had even provided Jaskier with a lovely gossamer veil, trimmed with a border of hand-made lace and attached to a flower crown of interwoven buttercup and dandelion blossoms. The yellow really brought out the blue of his eyes; the villagers had done him yet another accidental favor.
Jaskier felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and wiped them hurriedly away. He’d put on a little kohl for this and he didn’t want to ruin the effect by smudging it too early. “Damnit it all, Geralt. Why can’t you be here for this part?”
“Are you ready?” the guard outside his door asked, peeking his helmeted head inside the doorframe politely (it seemed silly to put a guard there to keep Jaskier from running away when he’d been living willingly with Geralt for several months at this point, but oh well).
“Almost!” Jaskier replied. He tied Geralt’s engagement dagger around his waist and cinched the leather belt tightly. The thin line of black and the softly glinting scabbard added just enough Beast to his bridal ensemble to make this all feel real. It was finally Candlemas Eve. They were to be wed, fully and legally husbands for the rest of Jaskier’s mortal life. The glowing peasant boy pulled the veil down over his face and smiled at his reflection.
“Now I’m ready,” he announced, stepping out of his private chamber. He had no bouquet, so his hands began to tap little calming rhythms against his legs. “Shall we go?”
“Lord Weatherby will be walking you down the aisle,” the guard explained. They started off down the hallway towards the Great Hall.
“Lovely,” Jaskier rolled his eyes. It was Lord Weatherby who had chosen him to play sacrificial lamb in the first place, and while Jaskier secretly owed the man his entire happiness, volunteering an unwilling victim to the Beast had been less than considerate. Geralt wasn’t exactly happy with the whole situation, either, but he’d agreed to let the old man play his part as intended (on the condition that he and Jaskier be left totally alone after the ceremony ended...forever).
The guard stopped outside the huge oak doors that shut the Great Hall off from the rest of the keep and told Jaskier to wait. The excited bride tapped his foot impatiently and nibbled furiously at his bottom lip. He knew that Geralt was just inside, down a short red carpet, standing beneath the huge carving of a great white wolf. Jaskier was practically vibrating out of his skin. He wanted to be married now. He wanted these people to go away and leave him and his Beast in their keep all alone.
Just the two of them.
Jaskier and his husband.
The ancient Lord Weatherby appeared at his side and took his arm with practiced grace. “Thank you for your sacrifice,” the old man intoned.
“Couldn’t be happier,” the peasant boy glared. “Though it would have been nice for you to ask for volunteers, first. Very rude of you to do to Geralt. Lucky for you, we’re happy together.”
The old man grimaced and gestured for the doors to be opened. He pulled Jaskier forward with urgent distaste, tugging the boy down the aisle as quickly as possible. He deposited the blushing brunette in front of Geralt and took a seat beside the other uninvited guests, wiping his hands on his jacket as if disgusted. Jaskier was too enraptured by his Beast to care.
“We are gathered here, in the halls of Kaer Morhen…” the priest gave a short and very boring speech but all Jaskier could focus on was how handsome and wonderful his Beast truly was. Tall and broad, with long white hair that felt so good to run between his fingers and eyes that put polished topaz to shame. He was decked out in his own wedding finery; a long-sleeved silk tunic in navy blue, high-waisted leather pants that hadn’t seen battle recently, and knee-high black boots shined just this morning. His hair had been braided out of his eyes and a silver circlet had been fastened atop his head. Jaskier found it thrillingly gorgeous but he was sure his Witcher hated it.
At last it came time for the vows. Geralt lifted the veil and gasped so quietly that only Jaskier could have heard it. His honey-gold gaze went soft and loving and something deep in the human’s chest settled into place. This was where he belonged, at his Witcher’s side, keeping him safe from the hurts and the hatred of the world beyond Kaer Morhen. They both needed this peace. They both deserved to be left to their own devices, to be left alone with their love and the warm stone castle, for the rest of their natural days.
The Beast and his bride exchanged pre-written vows quickly, placed the thin silver bands on each other’s appropriate fingers, and kissed.
It was a soft, achingly gentle kiss. Geralt’s hands cupped Jaskier’s face and Jaskier’s hands were grasping gently at the front of his husband’s tunic. The Witcher’s lips moved softly against his newly anointed husband’s, pressing little promises into the soft pink skin. When they parted, the Beast gave Jaskier an additional kiss to the forehead before turning to their ‘guests’.
“You saw what you needed to see. Now get out of Kaer Morhen and never return!”
---
Once the castle had been cleared of intruders and the doors were all locked firmly shut behind them, Geralt gathered his bride into his arms. He removed the delicate veil and set it to the side. “You look so beautiful.”
“You clean up rather nicely yourself, dear husband.”
Geralt blushed sweetly at the honorific and Jaskier grinned.
He threw his slender arms around the Witcher’s broad shoulders and laughed brightly, filling the hall with the sound of joy. “Oh, my husband, my Beast! We are wed at last! We shall never be parted!”
The Witcher swept his new spouse up into his arms and took off towards the kitchen. “I know you thought that we’d be going directly to the bedroom after our little ceremony,” he teased. “But no Witcher wedding is complete without a feast.”
“A feast for just the two of us?” Jaskier asked.
“Yes. I...I followed my adoptive father’s recipe. He only made it once before, and that was so many years ago, but I hope that I have done him proud.”
“You’ve certainly impressed your bride,” Jaskier winked. “We both know I’m a rather hopeless cook.”
“Hmm,” the Beast smiled and nodded. “Aye.”
“And yet you married me.”
Geralt paused their journey to press another series of heated kisses to his little husband’s eager mouth. “Are you still happy to have me, little bird?”
“The only place I’ll ever be happy again is in your arms, my darling, delicate Beast.”
“Then I suppose,” Geralt whispered, setting Jaskier back on his feet and winding his arms around his consort’s waist. He dropped his forehead down until it rested against Jaskier’s and looked into those bright blue eyes with complete and utter confidence, “That I will never let you go.”
“Geralt you absolute COCK!” Jaskier cries, clutching the freshly-ripped jerkin to his chest. The Witcher freezes, realizing his mistake, and turns to face the irate young bard. His blue eyes are wide and watery already, “This was new! This was...this was...”
“I’m sorry, Jaskier. Please don’t cry!”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Jaskier retorts. The tears are already streaming down his cheeks. He wipes at them angrily, smearing them against his naked forearm. He assesses the damage through bleary eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” Geralt insists. His gaze meets with Jaskier’s and the bard notes the anxiety there. The fear. “Please don’t...”
The Witcher trails off and Jaskier waits for him to finish the sentence but he never does. Finally, the bard frowns and crosses his arms, ruined doublet still clutched in one hand.
“Don’t what, Geralt? Please don’t what?”
“Don’t leave. I can replace the doublet; whatever contracts we come across, no matter how bothersome, I’ll take them. Jaskier, I’m-”
“Geralt,” the bard interrupts, dropping the offending item of clothing to the floor entirely and crossing to stand next to his Witcher. “Were you worried that I’d leave because of such a silly accident?”
There’s a pregnant pause before Geralt raises his gaze from the floor and murmurs a soft, questioning, “Yes?”
“Witchers,” Jaskier sighs. “I had momentarily forgotten your whole self-loathing, brooding routine. Geralt, my darling, I would never leave you. And I can fix the rip. Anyway...I didn’t buy it for me.”
---
Geralt wears the soft, calves-leather jerkin to pieces. The dainty, slightly uneven blue stitches across the top of the left sleeve always remind him of the night it was given to him.
The night Jaskier had promised not to leave.
The Witcher glances down where the bubbly brunette is walking at Roach’s side, fingers plucking away at Filavandrel’s gifted lute. So far the promise has held true; Geralt hopes, quietly and fervently, that his personal piece of sunshine will stay at his side forever.
