#non human!jaskier

[katwriteswitcherthings]

Title: Vi Moxt Miirik (Chapter Seven - Also on AO3)

Prompt: Wuv: Getting to Know Each Other

Pairing: Geralt & Jaskier

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Summary:

Our favorite lovable Bard is a little more than he let's Geralt know. Follow them through the years as he learns to let down his walls and show Geralt how beautiful he really is.

Chapter Seven

"Geralt! What am I going to do with you?" Jaskier's voice was melodic as he entered the little room Nenneke had let Geralt stay in while he healed. He was smiling, and had his lute and travel pack slung over his shoulders. Geralt grunted and slowly sat up, careful of his still-healing neck and shoulder.

"How did you even find me?" Geralt asked as Jaskier dropped his pack into the corner next to Geralt's things. The bard looked good. Healthy and vibrant in a light lilac ensemble that he looked good in. It suited him, somehow.

"A good friend of a friend in Temeria saw you heading toward Ellander. You told me the temple here would house you if needed." Jaskier said flippantly, and Geralt thought about that. It had been a throw away joke, actually. 

Jaskier had asked him once what he would do if he got severely hurt during a hunt. Geralt responded with a bit of dark humor that the priestesses of Melitele in Ellander would give him proper last rites.

"Hm…" Geralt had nothing to say to that. He was caught off guard by Jaskier remembering such a little thing.

"Well, let me see." Jaskier was kneeling in front of Geralt now, off to the side of where his legs were swung over the edge of the bed. His hands were inches away from the bandages.

"You touch those, boy, I'll have your hands." A woman's voice from the doorway barked, making Jaskier jump. Geralt just smirked up at Nenneke. The older woman gave the bard an appraising once over and narrowed her eyes as she considered him. "I've finally got this stubborn mule to leave them be. Don't you dare undo all my hard work."

"Ah. Sorry, Mother Nenneke." Jaskier mumbled.

"And who might you be, then?" She asked as Jaskier stood, backing away quickly. He gave her a pleasant smile and a very large courtly bow.

"Jaskier the Bard, at your service, venerable Mother." 

"So you're the one who's been singing those songs about Witchers the last couple years?" Nenneke said as she dropped the couple of books she'd been holding into Geralt's lap. She quickly fussed at the bandage ends, making sure they were still properly wrapped. "Didn't think you could take on such a vibrant travel companion, boy." She said to Geralt, poking him in the shoulder.

"I thought that Geralt deserved an image fix, what with all the nasty names people liked to give him. The White Wolf is so much better than… that." Jaskier huffed at the woman, slightly offended, but Geralt could see the gleam in Nenneke's eyes that meant she was teasing the boy.

"I have to agree there." She said, surprising Geralt with her earnesty. "You're that Pankratz boy Stefania talks about, aren't you?" Jaskier's jaw dropped at that, eyes wide in surprise and shock.

"You… I- Yes. Stefania is one of my aunts. How do you-?"

"She studied here as a girl, and she still visits from time to time." Nenneke cut off the rambled questions easily, and Jaskier could do nothing but nod. Geralt was surprised.

"I didn't realize." He answered, obviously out of his depth and floundering.

"You keep interesting friends, Geralt." She said softly to Geralt with a small smile and soft touch on his shoulder. Geralt just grunted.

"I'm leaving tomorrow, Nenneke. I'm healed enough to get back on the Path." Nenneke raised an eyebrow at him, skeptical.

"Can you even lift your sword yet, Geralt?" Jaskier cut in, frowning at him. "What about turning your head?" Geralt growled a little at him for that. He didn't realize the bard could read him that well. He had been trying to hide that fact from him.

"I'm going to go somewhere safe for the rest of the season. Heal until spring comes." He replied in a grumble.

"Going home so soon? Will Vesemir even be at the keep this early?" Nenneke asked, knowing exactly where he was planning on going. Geralt shrugged and immediately regretted it. He sucked in a sharp breath, trying to hide the wince.

"You've told me the trail up the mountains is dangerous even for you on a good day." Jaskier was radiating concern now, hands fluttering about in a nervous tick that only Geralt seemed to notice. Nenneke raised a questioning eyebrow at that. She knew better. He'd only told the bard that so he wouldn't try to follow him home. "Why not come winter with me? Oxenfurt is an easy ride from here. I've more than enough space in my house, and I'd planned on teaching this semester anyway."

"You teach?" Geralt asked, a little blindsided by that. Jaskier crossed his arms at that, obviously upset.

"I've told you that before. I teach rhetoric some of the winter semesters." Geralt was surprised by that.

"I thought you'd teach music." Jaskier wrinkled his nose in distaste, which was probably more endearing than it had any right to be.

"Melitele's tears, no! I'd fling myself off the roof of the Chancellor's building if I had to teach music to students who didn't truly love it." Nenneke laughed just a little at that.

"Go with him, boy." Nenneke whispered quietly, giving Geralt a small sly smile. "It'd do you some good, being around people for a while."

It was that stern approval from Nenneke that swayed him. Geralt stayed one more night in the temple before they both set off toward Oxenfurt.

"Well?" Jaskier asked nervously as they approached his house. Ever since he had asked Geralt to accompany him home for the winter, he'd been a nervous wreck. Not that he regretted the offer, but he was worried that he had effectively trapped the Witcher in his presence for months on end. After all, Geralt couldn't just run off in the middle of the night once winter had settled in. "What do you think? Three words or less."

"There's a stable." He grumbled out and Jaskier just laughed at his response. Indeed, that was the reason he had chosen to move to this house almost four years ago after meeting Geralt the first time. It was small and set about as far away from the university you could get and not be in the water. 

"You'll have to make sure it's in good repair for Roach before we go get her." He said just as they were getting to the door. Letting himself and Geralt inside, he stood back to watch Geralt's face as he took in the house. It was probably nothing like what Geralt was expecting; he just hoped he would be okay living here until Spring. "And I'll need your help getting the spare bedroom set up the way you want it."

"Hm." Geralt grunted as he awkwardly set his bag and swords down in one of the vacant chairs. Jaskier sat his bag down in his favorite chair, the one at his desk in front of the window, before heading into the spare bedroom. It was little more than storage at this point, but there was an extra bed frame here already, propped up out of the way against the wall.

"Oh. We'll need to grab a mattress as well, when we pick up supplies." Jaskier started rambling when he heard Geralt following after him. "How about we head out to dinner after you check out the stables, and we can stop by the market on the way back from getting Roach. We can rent a cart."

"Hm." Geralt just hummed back, but Jaskier could hear the acceptance in it. Jaskier smiled back at his Witcher.

He felt his heart flutter in his chest as Geralt stepped in close to him before he carefully picked up one of the crates of books and stacked it neatly into the corner. 

"We can just stack this up out of the way. Don't want to impose any more."

"Nonsense!" Jaskier huffed at him, crossing his arms and scowling. "I invited you, Witcher. You are not an imposition on me, and I want you to be comfortable here!" Geralt ducked his head a little and reached to pick up another box, but Jaskier was watching him now. He saw the little twitch in his face and arm that meant he'd over-reached. "Nope! None of that!" Jaskier flapped his hands at Geralt until he moved away from the box, amusement hiding in the corners of his eyes. "You are to rest, stubborn man. And that means I can move these boxes all on my own." Jaskier waved at the room thematically. "You go check on the stables and make sure Roach will be okay out there when we go get her." He poked Geralt in the chest, but he saw the slight smile tugging at his lips.

Jaskier wanted to kiss them.

"Fine." Geralt relented and turned away.

Oh, Jaskier knew his traitorous heart too well by now. He was falling for his broody Witcher.

[westmoor]

jaskier dies in autumn.

geralt lays him to rest at the edge of a birch grove overlooking a flood plain on the northern banks of the pontar. 

he remembers the place, now gilded in the afternoon sun by wayward wheat having made its way to the rich river soil, where his bard had once pressed a ring into his palm (“how about this,” he’d said, “you keep this near and i’ll know you still want me at your side,” and geralt had closed his fingers around it thinking he’d take ten thousand golden trinkets just to be gifted with that smile) and he knows that come spring it’ll be a meadow thick with wildflowers.

he makes it to the coast alone, leaving a handful of filled notebooks and some letters in the care of trusted peers at oxenfurt on the way, before turning and heading northwest. he felt conflicted about the lute - still feels conflicted about the lute as he straps it to roach’s saddle - but jaskier would not have wanted it lost in the ground, and he can’t stand the thought of those strings plucked by the hands of any other, not yet. setting it down gently in its spot in kaer morhen is the least unbearable alternative on a list of unbearable options.

a cold winter melts away around a bleak spring and when he passes the gates that year he leaves a little more of home behind. beneath his wolf medallion, separated by armour and cloth, an amulet of a different kind presses a circular mark into his skin.

the next time he sees jaskier, he reaches for silver.

a wraith of some sort, his mind reels, a doppler or something- something similar, because there’s no other explanation. it’s impossible. there’s a man walking towards him through a field of poppies and he isn’t possible.

months of mourning boil into anger, anger at all he has lost and anger at losing it now again, the visage of his bard stolen and worn as a mockery. whatever time they’d had, borrowed though it was, twisted and thrown at his feet. geralt finds the hilt of his silver sword, and he is furious.

but the thing wearing jaskier’s face laughs at him then, and smiles, and it’s that smile. the scent reaches him next, not the earthy, sour musk of weeks on the path but that scent, the smell that lingered under road dust and chamomile and geralt could never find words for, jaskier’s smell.

it floods his senses, blinds him and leaves him weak, rooted, a century’s worth of witcher sensibility screaming at his limbs to move, but he cannot. 

the face before him, close now, looks deceptively young, half the years or so of the man he held that autumn morning by the river. but there’s a crinkle to the eyes, a temperance to his expression that only came later, and the hands that reach for him are ones that knew every day until the last.

there are fingertips on his cheek, calloused, skimming his jaw and brow and wiping at whichever expression they find there. murmured apologies as he himself struggles just to breathe. 

if this is how i go, he thinks, i’ll take it, and he tips forward. filling his head with all things lost to eternity: the tickle of cropped brown hair against his nose, the barely-there scratch of stubble, the warmth of smooth skin as he buries his face in the neck of what can’t be his bard, waiting for it to dim and fade as every dream before.

but the arms that wind around him are strong - always a little stronger than expected - and the hands that wander up his back and settle at his shoulder and in his hair are ever so sure.

-

their meetings are sporadic and unpredictable, at first, seemingly without rhyme or reason. 

they find each other at crossroads, in places between places, more often than not he will find his lark waiting under yew trees or in shaded spots overgrown by bluebells. no matter the way of their meeting, he is always greeted the same as jaskier steps close, outstretched hand settling left of geralt’s medallion, palm pressed gently against the near-indiscernible bump there and finding the rounded outline before arms settle around him and geralt, for all his heightened senses finds his vision narrowed and senses blurred as jaskier’s joy overtakes every other impression.

the bard is not always quite the same - at times he comes back slightly tilted, slightly younger, slightly paler, a little taller or thinner, but he laughs the same and his hair sweeps across his face just so, and geralt knows better than trying to apply certainty to things that cannot be.

“where are you, now?” the question slips anyway, one late night when he’s not sure whether the heat he feels stems from their smoldering fire or from the weight of the man drawing patterns on his skin. there’s a huff of a laugh across his sternum and he can just make out the blue of the eyes that meet his in the darkness, and the knowing smile that lifts their corners. “i’m right here, love.”

it gets somewhat easier after geralt brings the lute down from the keep - another tether, he thinks, or perhaps there’s simply more to him now, more to a bard with an instrument than one without. not just once he follows familiar melodies into narrow valleys where brooks spring from the ground, or deep into woods where the air is so still drawing it feels like a disturbance, or across fields of flowers which jaskier will weave into roach’s mane and bridle as he walks beside them, sometimes for days, weeks if it’s fair.

he asks again, much later. too late by some degree, not for fear of the answer but for fear of placing force upon something so yielding as this dream. “what are you?” barely a whisper, he’s nearly surprised when jaskier turns to him several feet away, hair that was once threaded through with silver now shining like gold in the warm autumn sun, the grin flashed in his direction is blinding at first, but gentles as he makes his way closer. 

folding himself into geralt’s lap, thighs bracketing hips and geralt’s hands find their home at a lean waist by habit and by choice, lips ghosting his brow, then his cheek, before whispering against his own:

“yours.”

[deagle]

Ga je mee

Ga je mee

Naar Luilekkerland... 🩸

Corndemon!jaskier au

He lures lost/ mourning souls into the corn fields with his sweet song of Cockaigne, a land where evil doesn’t exist, sorrow is unheard of and wine and pleasure is plentiful.

(but issa trap yk yk)

TUMBLR BUTCHERS THE PREVIEW QUALITY so pls feel free to check it out in detail :)

[whereismymonsterlover]

I was singing The Fishmonger's Daughter and when I actually thought of the lyrics my brain went Non-human Jaskier???

"...your daughter's hunger to pull on my horn as it rises in the morn / for tis not but bad luck to fuck with a puck / lest your grandkid be born a hairy young faun..."

But then I got some sleep and realised shit that was probably just playing off the innuendo with the whole "pull on my horn" line so lmao

[katwriteswitcherthings]

Title: Vi Moxt Miirik (Chapter Six - Also on AO3)

Prompt: Whump: Discrimination Against Witchers

Pairing: Geralt & Jaskier

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild Description of Injury & Canon-Typical Hatred of Witchers

We go back in time, everybody! Gonna show off Jaskier falling in love a little bit more before we resolve everything.

Summary:

Our favorite lovable Bard is a little more than he let's Geralt know. Follow them through the years as he learns to let down his walls and show Geralt how beautiful he really is.

Chapter Six

"Why do you keep doing this?" Jaskier asked softly as he finally found the Witcher. He'd been playing in the tavern, where Geralt had left him to go fight what was probably a cockatrice, until he heard some of the locals gloating loudly about running the Witcher out of town without pay.

Jaskier had immediately gone to confront the assholes, but by then the damage had already been done. Geralt was nowhere to be seen and he had wasted so much time trying to track him down.

Geralt was laying down in a clearing, bloody and beaten and barely responsive as Jaskier knelt at his side.

"They needed help." Geralt growled out, voice a mess even as he tried to sit up. Jaskier just put his hands on the Witcher's shoulders and pressed down, keeping him laying flat.

"You're injured. Stay still." Jaskier commanded, voice dropping into a growl as he surveyed the wounds. "That doesn't mean that they can stone you out of town after you killed their monster, Geralt."

"I'm a Witcher." He said, like he thought that the villagers' treatment of him was just. It just stoked the fire burning inside Jaskier's core. He'd known this man for all of two months at this point, and had watched as Geralt was scorned, feared, and hated by nearly every person they had come across in their travels.

"You are a person." Jaskier said with a conviction that surprised even himself. 

He'd seen the shape of Geralt already, in that cave in the hillsides of Posada, when he spoke up to save a hapless bard for no reason other than it was the right thing to do.

He knew that Geralt was a good man.

He just needed to make the rest of the Continent see that.

That silly little song he'd been working on, about the elves and Geralt; that would be just the beginning! He'd write such songs about all of Geralt's heroic deeds that no one would ever remember the phrase 'Butcher of Blaviken'.

He would make Geralt a hero, like Jaskier already knew he was.

"Potion." Geralt grunted, reaching for his pouch at his hip. Jaskier caught his hand and laid it back down gently before pulling the pouch off his belt after a moment of fumbling with the straps.

"I've got it. Which one?" Jaskier asked as he looked into the pouch. He knew that Geralt kept his potions in this one, as well as a small box in the bottom of his saddle bags lined with straw for the rest of them, but he'd never been allowed to touch them before now.

"Thin bottle with a loop, golden liquid first. Then the two matching bottles, clear first then red." Geralt managed to say, and Jaskier clearly picked out what he hoped were the right bottles.

"Alright. I'm going to sit you up a little." Jaskier warned, glancing down to where Geralt's hand was pressing a bloody cloth into his side. "Then I'll stitch up your side."

"Hm." Geralt said, and Jaskier let himself smile, just a little. This man was ridiculous. He'd have to watch his heart. 

It would be foolish for him, of all creatures, to fall in love with a monster hunter. 

[katwriteswitcherthings]

Title: Vi Moxt Miirik (Chapter Twelve - Also on AO3)

Prompt: Wuv WHUMP: Flower Crowns

Pairing: Geralt & Jaskier

Rating: T

Warnings: None

The resolution to The Mountain. You know how a lot of my whumpy chapters haven't really been, ya know, whumpy? ...yeah... I make up for that here. It gets sad.

Summary:

Our favorite lovable Bard is a little more than he let's Geralt know. Follow them through the years as he learns to let down his walls and show Geralt how beautiful he really is.

Chapter Twelve

Geralt awoke with a start. He was curled up on his bedroll next to Jaskier's. He stared blearily at Jaskier's back as he tried to process what was wrong. He remembered drinking with the dwarves late into the night. He remembered the offered alcohol being really strong. He remembered cuddling with Jaskier.

"Where the fuck are those dwarves?" Yennefer yelled as she excited her tent. Geralt sat bolt upright and looked around. The campsite had been abandoned; it was just Yenn, him, and Jaskier still curled up asleep on the bedroll next to him.

There was no time. Yennefer started running down the path. Geralt shoved Jaskier's shoulder roughly as he sprang up, desperately pulling his armor and swords on.

"Hm? Whazzat?" Jaskier sat up and looked sleepily at Geralt.

"Dwarves left. Yenn left." Geralt grunted quickly before he started running.

"I thought we were leaving?" Jaskier was yelling as he stood. Geralt turned for just a moment.

"I have to stop them." He called back, and hoped that Jaskier understood.

Yennefer froze the dwarves near the top of the mountain and Geralt caught up to her at the entrance of the cave. There was the green dragon, dead, curled protectively around her egg.

Because of course she was protecting her egg. Tea and Vea were impossibly there, wielding their swords expertly. And then… Borch. A fucking golden dragon, and apparently the father of the wrymling in the egg. Because of course he fucking was.

Boholt and the Reavers finally showed their faces, and as Yenn and Geralt fought them to protect the egg, the only thought that Geralt had was to thank all the gods above that Jaskier wasn't here. There would have been no way Geralt could protect him as well as deal with the Reavers.

Jaskier yawned a little as he walked up the path alone. There was only one, and he knew Geralt had headed off this way, so hopefully he wouldn't get lost. He smiled as he remembered the night before, even if the dwarves had had an alternative reason to get him and Geralt very very drunk. It was so nice to fall asleep cuddled up to his Witcher.

"Oh!" Jaskier exclaimed, seeing a small field of flowers growing a little ways off the path. It was unusual to see flowers this high up. Maybe the dragon had planted them? If this was near a den, it only made sense to make it beautiful.

White camellias waved in the breezes, beautiful and delicate, and Jaskier picked a handful before moving on down the path. If he remembered correctly, they were a symbol of love and affection, though he couldn't quite remember in which culture.

Just a little further found him stumbling across bright yellow peonies. Those would make an excellent addition to his little bouquet. The promise of new beginnings. It would be fitting; a gift of love at the start of their new relationship.

"Are we queuing for something, gents?" Jaskier asked as he stumbled upon Yarpin and his crew. They were frozen in place, though he could see them starting to twitch and wiggle. The enchantment from Yennefer would be wearing off soon, no doubt. 

Jaskier looked at the flowers in his hands and decided to make them into a crown as he kept walking. It was easy enough for him to do absently; he and his sisters made them all the time when they were growing up it became second nature.

After the Reavers were finally dead, with Yennefer getting to finish off Boholt as promised, the dwarves and Jaskier showed up. Borch, back in his human guise, offered up his lady's teeth and a very real threat in exchange for them leaving right then.

"This is it. My final adventure." Borch said as he sat down on a large rock next to Geralt outside his den.

"A child?" Geralt asked, skeptically.

"Everyone wants a legacy." Borch said with a soft smile. Yennefer stepped up to him and held her sword to his throat, her face perfectly schooled neutrality.

"I should kill you." She forced out. "That's why I came all this fucking way. I need ingredients." And something in that clicked in Geralt's mind. The things they had never talked about when they had been together. The research she was always doing.

"Yenn. Don't tell me you believe the rumors about fresh dragon hearts being a magic cure-all." Geralt asked, voice not quite soft but not judgemental either.

"You know nothing, Witcher." She spat, not taking her eyes off Borch. He was still sitting there, calm as you please. "I've done the research. It is possible."

"I thought mages couldn't get sick." Jaskier piped up from somewhere off behind Geralt.

"We are cured of all ailments during our Ascension for the cost of others, bard." Yennefer spat again, venom lacing her voice. "I want my choice back." Borch just sighed and pushed Yennefer's blade away with a gentle hand.

"I am going to save you three a lot of hurt later by giving you a little now." Borch spoke with a command in his voice that Geralt had never heard before. "Yennefer, you will never regain your womb. Jaskier, you will never find your happiness until you stop pretending to be something you are not. Geralt, though you have fought valiantly, you will lose both the people you want the most." Borch eyed Yennefer for a moment before he smiled, just a little. "I can see why you would try, though."

Nobody moved for several long tense minutes before Yennefer turned toward him, questions and fury written all over her face.

"The djinn. I made a wish." Geralt finally said. It wasn't the words he wanted; there was more nuance to it than that. But his throat had tightened up, making more words impossible.

"Is that why?" Yennefer asked, taking one step toward Geralt. "Why I feel so strongly for you? Why we can never escape each other? It's all just magic. It was never real." She sounded so broken, it twisted something inside of Geralt around until he thought he was going to be sick. He took a step forward, hand coming up to reach for her, but she turned away from him. Fury radiated off her in waves, and Geralt was too much a coward to stop her. To actually explain.

He let her leave.

She didn't look back.

Geralt's heart had been shattered and mended too many times before.

He was so tired of trying. Something moved in the corner of his eye, a bright flash of red. Geralt let himself snarl as he turned. There stood Jaskier, holding a ridiculous crown of yellow and white flowers, a look of pity and hurt clear on his face.

"Go on then." Geralt spat at him. "Walk away, too." Jaskier just shook his head sadly.

"Unlike Yennefer, darling, I know what a djinn's magic can and cannot do." He spoke with such surety, it brought all those little incongruities Geralt had observed for years right to the forefront of his mind. "You might have bound us all together, but the emotions are all ours. She'll figure it out soon enough and come back, like always."

"How can you stand there and act like this is okay?" Geralt asked, knowing that he could not do this another time. He would not survive Jaskier leaving him too. Not after everything.

"I accepted a long time ago that my heart is a fool and I can neither control its choices nor the choices of others. I am here if you still want me. I'll be here even if you don't." Jaskier was calm, his voice soothing against the hurt Geralt was trying to drown in his mind. How could he be so calm?

And then Borch's words to Jaskier echoed across his mind.

Geralt was done with everything.

He was hurting. He was tired. And he was backed into a corner.

So he did the only thing he knew to do in this situation.

"And lie to me, the whole time doing it?" Geralt roared out in anger, making Jaskier flinch back. Where did that even come from?

"I... That's not fair. I can't." Jaskier was at a startling loss. He thought... Jaskier could feel the tears building in his eyes but he ignored it.

"And why not?" Geralt growled, voice dipping low in anger.

"... I can't..." Jaskier ground out, never hating his heritage and upbringing more than in this moment. How he longed to tell Geralt. For years and years, he's wanted to. But Mother... If Jaskier did and it was for anything other than life and death stakes...

Jaskier would never be able to go home again.

"...I want to... Have wanted to for years! You have to understand, Geralt..."

"Enough!" Geralt roared at him, turning his back on the bard. Jaskier stumbled back slightly as though he'd been slapped. He couldn't help it. 

"Right. Uh... Right, then." Jaskier swallowed the lump in his throat. He looked down at the unfinished flower crown in his hands. "I'll... See you around, Geralt."

He'd already had to watch Geralt turn away from him once and run to Yennefer.

He couldn't do it again.

He put the crown down on one of the rocks, and turned on his heels. He followed after the dwarves, uncaring as his tears flowed down his cheeks.

Geralt stood there on that mountain top for hours. He did not cry.

He stared at the flower crown Jaskier had been making. It was laying atop one of the large rocks next to him.

It had unraveled somewhat, white and yellow blossoms spilling onto the ground as the winds blew.

They were cold.

Geralt was cold.

It would be winter soon.

[katwriteswitcherthings]

Title: Vi Moxt Miirik (Chapter Three - Also on AO3)

Prompt: Wuv: Meeting After A Long Time Apart

Pairing: Geralt & Jaskier

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Catch me sliding in 15 minutes till midnight to post this one! :D

Summary:

Our favorite lovable Bard is a little more than he let's Geralt know. Follow them through the years as he learns to let down his walls and show Geralt how beautiful he really is.

Chapter Three

"Geralt." The name slipped past his lips in surprise. He was staring into golden eyes for the first time in three and a half gods-be-damned years. And even though he wanted nothing more than to cry or scream or even shout out his joy at seeing his Witcher again, he didn't.

He didn't even realize Geralt would still be here, if Jaskier was being honest with himself. Oh sure, he could feel in the back of his mind where Geralt was at all times, but that didn't mean he actively looked. He hadn't since... since Geralt went to live with Yennefer.

The Witcher made his choice, loud and clear to the bard. 

So, he picked himself up and went home to cry to his mother and sisters.

After a good winter in Lettenhove, he'd set out refreshed and focused. He toured the festivals, and though he made sure Geralt was still alive every now and then, he did not seek him out.

So, yes, it was quite the shock to see Geralt here, halfway across a crowded tavern. And for once, Jaskier felt embarrassed of himself. 

Geralt looked awful, worse than he'd ever seen him before, and yes, that did include before Jaskier had repaired his reputation after Posada. He was gaunt and haggard, with a beard that Jaskier knew Geralt despised because facial hair was itchy. His armor had been badly repaired multiple times just from what little Jaskier could see, and his hair was a dirty greasy mess of dull grayish-brown instead of the moonlight it could be.

Here he sat, fresh off a season of festival tours, bardic competition wins, and a rich appointment at a court for the winter, in a newly finished blue doublet and breeches set in the latest fashion by one of the best elvish tailors in Novigrad. He was freshly washed, well rested, and had plenty enough coin that he didn't have to worry about going hungry.

Geralt hadn't even gotten a drink, just a bowl of stew.

Jaskier squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze as he ate, the weight of those golden orbs heavy on his mind. The food, which had been delicious before this, felt heavy and turned to ash as he swallowed.

Jaskier was a terrible friend and companion. Geralt deserved so much better. With one last bite he stood. Geralt did deserve better and Jaskier was going to provide. He stepped up to the bar and ordered another bowl of stew and two mugs of ale, and used all his performer's grace to move across the crowded room without spilling a drop.

He saw Geralt sitting with his head down, not looking at anyone, trying to make himself smaller. Perfectly timed, Jaskier smiled as he sat down the fresh bowl of stew just as Geralt was finishing his current bowl, sliding into the seat across from him with a practiced ease. He saw Geralt's eyes flash up to meet his before dropping back to the bowl in front of him. Well, that wasn't a rejection, at least.

"Here to drink alone?" Jaskier asked, sliding one of the mugs across the table to his Witcher, making sure to keep his voice soft and light. A huff of a laugh escaped the Witcher, a look of surprise flashing across his face as it did, like Geralt surprised himself by laughing.

"... Just brooding in the corner..." Geralt's voice was creaky and hoarse, like he hadn't spoken in a year. It broke Jaskier's heart to hear it so; Geralt's husky voice was always a little crackly, but never like this. Jaskier just smiled at the snarky response and raised his mug for a toast. Geralt complied, downing the whole mug in one long drink before tucking back into the bowl of stew.

Jaskier waved one of the maids over to refill Geralt's mug, tossing a coin her way and waiting until she cleared back out before speaking again.

There were many ways for this conversation to go, Jaskier knew. Geralt hated talking about feelings; he was a man of action through and through. Geralt also admired honesty and integrity above all else.

"Have you gotten a room yet?" Jaskier asked, voice still soft. Geralt paused eating for just a moment, frozen in place staring down at the food.

"No." The word was grumbled out low, almost as if he'd not wanted Jaskier to hear it.

"I have a performance tonight and tomorrow at the Narakort. Part of the pay is a room." Jaskier offered without hesitation. He smiled, just a little. "It beats sleeping in Roach's stall again."

Geralt remained silent, eating at a steady pace without his gaze wavering from the bowl. Jaskier did not push. Only once Geralt had finished off the food did Jaskier speak again.

"Look, Geralt." He spoke slowly, carefully. "I heard about what happened in Kovir." Jaskier watched Geralt closely, waiting on a flinch that did not come. It was Essi that sent him the letter, about the huge city-wide scandal between Geralt, Yennefer, and some other mage named Istredd. "I won't pry, but Geralt..." Jaskier promised, voice fading as he lost his nerve. Geralt did not move. "You can only pick up a shattered vase so many times, Geralt. Soon enough, the pieces won't be big enough to pick up and put back together."

"Fuck off." Geralt grumbled, but it lacked any real threat. Jaskier huffed a laugh at that.

"Come with me?" Jaskier asked, as open and honestly as he could. Geralt looked up at him, wonder and bewilderment clear on his face. Jaskier just smiled at him, soft and sweet and genuine.

"Okay." The word was barely more than a breath, but Jaskier could see the tension draining away from Geralt's posture.

[katwriteswitcherthings]

Title: Vi Moxt Miirik (Chapter Eleven - Also on AO3)

Prompt: Whump: Hand Injury

Pairing: Geralt & Jaskier

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Another direct continuation of yesterday's chapter, featuring good sis!Essi!

Summary:

Our favorite lovable Bard is a little more than he let's Geralt know. Follow them through the years as he learns to let down his walls and show Geralt how beautiful he really is.

Chapter Eleven

"Damn it, Jaskier!" Geralt hissed out, fury clear on his face as he wrapped bandages around Jaskier's palm. Jaskier, to his credit, just sat there on the straw pallet of their borrowed room as Geralt tended his wounds. The Lady Drouhard was kind enough to give them some of her old linens to rip into bandages since all of Geralt's had been in his pouch. That was on his hip. That got soaked in seawater.

Because both of them had been soaked head to toe beneath the waves as the tides came in with both of them out on the Dragon Fangs.

Jaskier winced as Geralt turned his hand over to tie off the bandage, letting out the smallest whimper before biting it back. Geralt's eyes flashing up to his face immediately let him know he'd failed at stopping the noise.

"Why is it that I am always shoveling you out of a pile of shit?" Geralt growled out harshly as he stood. Jaskier could feel the tears at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. 

"...I don't..." He tried to speak up, but Geralt wasn't having it.

"Novigrad, Cintra, Rinde and fucking all of it!" He yelled. It was the loudest Jaskier had ever heard Geralt. Jaskier bit his cheek to keep from crying out, refusing to look up at the furious Witcher.

"That's not fair." Jaskier's argument came out small, voice constricted tightly so as not to shake.

"Jaskier! Geralt!" Essi's bright voice called from the doorway, causing Jaskier to snap his head up. She was standing in the doorway; the one eye he could see was bright and sharp, with a confused and concerned look taking over her features.

"I have to go." Geralt growled out, glaring daggers at Essi until she moved out of the doorway. Jaskier just watched him go, listening to the sudden sharp silence left in his wake.

"Oh, kwiatuszku." Essi cooed, sinking down to an inelegant crouch in front of him. "What happened?" 

"I fucked up again, perełko." Jaskier's voice was soft as he slipped into their original language.

"It'll be okay." She soothed in the same tongue, as she sat next to him. She slung an arm around his shoulders to bring him closer to her, completely ignoring the much and the sea water still covering his clothes. 

"No, it won't." He argued back.

"I saw the bracelet." Essi said, refusing to argue with him. Jaskier couldn't help but wince. Maybe she wouldn't tell Mother if he looked miserable enough. "What makes you think he won't come back for you?"

"That's the problem!" Jaskier could feel a few tears sliding down his face now, so he hastily scrubbed at them before holding up his bandaged hand. "He's too noble to leave me! I am nothing but a burden to him."

"You are not a burden!" Essi hissed, a calloused hand on his chin tilting his face toward hers. He looked up at her, sorrow written clearly all over his face.

"Experience has taught me otherwise, Essi."

They sat in silence together for the rest of the evening, until Geralt made his return just as the sun was setting. Jaskier heard the hallway creaking and groaning under his weight, even if Geralt's steps were silent. Geralt looked at the pair with a closed off expression; Jaskier did not try to parse it. Essi stood and pressed a kiss to Jaskier's forehead before she slipped out the door, closing it with a soft 'thud' behind her.

Jaskier did not force his company on Geralt any longer; he turned over on the mattress to look out the only window in the room that was so covered in cobwebs he couldn't see the sky. He did not even try to feign sleep, he just lay there, stiff and silent the whole night through.

Come the morning things were no better. Jaskier tried to pretend everything was normal; but not even seeing the mermaid Sh'eenaz walking into Agloval's throne room on two legs, clothed like some kind of sea princess could brighten Jaskier's mood.

It came as no surprise to him when he woke alone a week after they left Bremervoord. That was just the kind of person Geralt was. He made sure that Jaskier had made it safely across the Adalette into a sizable town. 

Essi caught up to Jaskier on the edge of town, wandering without a purpose along the bank of the river.

"Come on, kwiatuszku." She said softly, taking him gently by the wrist. "Mother misses you. Let's go home. Just for the winter, yeah?" Jaskier nodded and let her pull him along.

He tugged gently at the back of his mind for Geralt, for just a moment. Just long enough to know he was alive and healthy.

And then he shoved it to the back of his mind. If he ignored it long enough, maybe the feeling would fade. Maybe his heartbreak would, too.