Chapter Text
Geralt loosened his grip on Jaskier as he drew back slightly, rubbing his wrists to get the blood flowing again. Pins and needles crept through his hands, but the poet hurriedly snatched them towards him as he stood, trembling slightly as the last of the adrenaline left his system. The courtyard was deathly silent, so quiet that Jaskier was sure that the heartbeat that was thudding in his ears could be heard by the stoney-faced guards glaring at him from across the courtyard. No - not quite stony-faced, the poet realised with a spark of hope; a glimmer of fear was shining through the indifferent masks.
Swallowing tightly, Jaskier dragged his gaze over to the mimic. Fury lined every edge of her posture, and Jaskier got the distinct impression that behind that white shroud, her burning gaze was fixed entirely on Jaskier. And Jaskier had been around enough pissed-off nobles and royalty over the years that his instinct to know when somebody was about to snap was almost perfect - so he knew for a fact the careful facade was about one wrong word away from shattering.
“Geralt,” He hissed, feeling the mimic’s anger up a notch at his words, “We need to leave. Right now.”
He dared a glanced up at Gerald’s face to find that it had almost completely closed off.
“No, no, no, no, no, no , Geralt, now is not the time for revenge!”
Geralt studied the mimic with narrowed eyes for a few more seconds, the urge to start throwing punches all too clearly written on his face, but he turned towards Jaskier nonetheless.
“ Fine. ”
Jaskier was just in the process of letting out a breath of relief when a soft ‘no’ brought him back to reality. The bard turned slightly to stare at the mimic. Shit .
“No,” the creature spoke again, this time the gentle edge of the words was ripped off, “No, I don’t think you’ll be able to do that.”
Shit, shit, shit . Geralt’s smile turned nasty.
“In fact, despite that little show, I don’t think you’ll be leaving here at all.” Even though the words were calm and composed, she was all but shaking with rage. Jaskier watched with growing dread as she opened her mouth to give the order that would seal their fates -
“WOOO!”
The building tension in the courtyard suddenly vanished as the parties gathered there snapped their attention to a group of locals perched on the roof of a nearby house, clearly intent on watching a group of heretics get thoroughly murdered. The mimic’s calm exterior shattered, explosion of sudden noise the spark needed to ignite the bonfire.
She lunged at Geralt with frightening speed, sleeves slipping back to reveal gnarled hands with talon-like nails grasping for his face. Jaskier was almost overwhelmed with horror, simply standing there and staring before he shook himself out of his trance and dived for his sword. He winced as suspected broken ribs protested sharply at the sudden movement, but scooped up the blade nonetheless, spinning to take in the scene.
Geralt dodged the claws, reaching forward to grab its arm and yank it down to the cobblestones. The creature ripped free at the last moment, rolling to take the brunt of the fall on its shoulder. Jaskier took his opportunity, and swung wide at the mimic who ducked, leaving the poet to stumble forward, unbalanced. Before he could even think of blocking, the mimic was up in a flash, giving a powerful kick that Jaskier caught on his stomach. He staggered backwards, spluttering as bright bursts obscured his vision and his feet caught on the uneven surface - for one sickening moment, Jaskier felt himself falling before calloused hands caught him.
“Thanks,” He gasped at Geralt who nodded, sprinting forward to throw a right hook at the mimic’s face. The creature gave a hiss of pain as its head snapped backwards, and Jaskier noticed in alarm that its features were becoming jagged and distorted.
By now the mimic and Geralt were trading swift blows, their movements weaving nets of punches and jabs around the other. Letting out a hoarse yell, Jaskier raised the sword and charged forwards, swinging at the mimic who glanced back, but not fast enough - black blood exploded out of the creature’s arm, releasing an acrid smell that caught in the back of Jaskier’s throat. The mimic screamed in frustration and swiped towards Jaskier who blocked the blow with the flat of his blade. Feinting towards the mimic’s face, the poet reversed his sword and struck its leg with similar results.
But this time the blow came from his unguarded left and Jaskier fell to his knees, the blade clattering from his suddenly numb fingers. He stared blankly up as the mimic who’s shroud had slipped back enough to reveal perfect crimson lips twisted in a savage snarl. Jaskier was struck again - twice - three times - before he finally fell to the floor, fingers still itching towards his blade as it was snatched up by the mimic.
“I don’t suppose you want to beg?”
Do not beg. Do not. Jaskier managed to give a weak smile. “Not really in that sort of mood.”
The mimic opened its mouth again and probably said something cutting, but Jaskier was too busy staring at the way that its body was now actively moving, morphing like wet clay as the creature tried desperately to keep its shape together.
It raised the sword.
And a larger hand reached around and grabbed the creature’s face from behind, giving a sharp tug that sent it flying to the ground. The mimic made no move to rise again.
Shakily, Jaskier stood, wincing as his ribs sent spikes of pain shooting through him.
“Ow…”
Again, that all-too familiar silence, coating everything with a heavy layer, rushed through the courtyard. The mimic’s figure had become squat and lumpy, the rolling sensation under the white robes never fully stopping. It raised its head, the shroud slipping off as Jaskier pressed his lips together at the sight of the unpleasant features.
“ Fuck .” it growled, struggling to its feet and staring around at the guards who had seemed to take a mental step back. Jaskier moved towards Geralt, as the sound of a gasp rang uncomfortably loud through the air. Then an uncertain scream that began to grow louder as more shrieks joined it. The locals on the roof began to scramble backwards, expressions full of horror as they stared at their goddess.
The soldiers’ faces were full of the exact same disgust and fear as, one by one, they began to break the tight-knit formation, clearly torn between running and attacking.
Jaskier poked Geralt in the arm, “That’s our cue to leave.”
This time Geralt didn’t hesitate, just scooped up Jaskier’s sword, grabbed his hand and dragged them both down the nearest alleyway.
_______________
The moment they made it into the woods beyond Bemoith Jaskier all but collapsed. Geralt paused as the poet sagged against a tree, breathing raggedly and clutching his ribs. He choked back a laugh, finally releasing the ridiculousness of the situation - a Witcher and a bard fleeing from a mimic. Now this would make an excellent ballad. Geralt stared at him for a second with an amused smile playing on his lips before shaking his head slightly.
“Can you walk?”
Jaskier smiled, remembering that those were the exact same words he’d uttered to Geralt just a few hours ago. Gingerly, he tried to take a few steps before Geralt had to catch him as he fell.
“No.”
“And if I told you that they’ll probably come after us?”
Jaskier paled. “I can run.”
That turned out to be an over exaggeration as it soon became clear that Jaskier could barely stagger through the trees without support. After a few meters of excruciating slowness Geralt turned and, before Jaskier could protest, scooped him up in his arms and began a jog through the forest.
“What’s going to happen to the city?”
“If I were to guess, I would reckon that the townsfolk will be a little angry for being tricked.”
“I don’t think a little angry will cover it.”
“Hmm.”
Jaskier leaned back and stared at Geralt’s face. His incredibly handsome face if Jaskier did say so himself. That he desperately wanted to kiss. Gods damn it Jaskier, show some bloody restraint. He glanced away, noticing that the trees had become more familiar as they neared the camp. Jaskier had never been more happy to be sleeping in the woods as Geralt broke into the clearing and set Jaskier down with surprising gentleness. Even the prospect of wet sleeping mats and watery rabbit stew couldn’t dampen his spirits as Roach delicately stepped into their camp. Jaskier felt a slight twinge of regret as he remembered she’d been on her own for the better part of a week.
“Sorry girl,” he muttered and she flicked her ears at him as if to say well you should be . Jaskier smiled ruefully, and glanced to where Geralt was approaching with a swath of bandage.
“Right, we’ll travel to Nares tomorrow - it’s a good week’s travel from here and then you can find an inn or something.”
Jaskier froze, but didn’t resist as Geralt began wrapping the cloth around his ribs. “What do you mean I can find an inn? You’ll - you’re coming too, right?”
Geralt wouldn’t look at him. “There’ll probably be other contracts in other towns for me.”
“So… so you’re leaving me. After that whole mess.” The pain in his chest now had nothing to do with his broken ribs.
“Jaskier - you could have died .”
“But-”
“You’ll be better off without me anyway,” Geralt said, forcing a laugh.
“Geralt, you could have easily died too.”
“Yes, but-”
“No!” Even Jaskier was surprised at his assertiveness, “You saved me, but I also saved you - we need each other.”
There was a silence before Geralt said more gently,
“Jaskier, if you die then… I don’t know what I’d do.”
“Well then that makes two of us.”
Jaskier thought his heart might shatter.
“No, Jaskier and that’s final - you can barely fight.”
“Then you’ll teach me -”
“I’ll just get you killed.”
Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm, finally meeting Geralt’s beautiful golden eyes. He smiled slightly.
“Wouldn’t that be a way to go though.”
Even Geralt didn’t have anything to say to that.
“Don’t leave me Geralt, because then that will mean that I’ve lost you.”
Jaskier bit his tongue. That kiss in Bemoith had been done in the heat of the moment, and now Jaskier worried he’d said too much. Geralt looked away, finishing bandaging the poet’s ribs and taking way longer than was needed for such a simple task.
“What am I going to do with you Jaskier?” The weak joke was edged with hopelessness.
“I have one idea,” Jaskier said, leaning in, circling Geralt’s waist with his hand and wrapping his fingers into the Witcher’s hair.
The kiss was long and deep, and Jaskier started trembling again, all but melting in Geralt, pressing himself closer and closer. Geralt pulled him in, deepening it and leaning his forehead against the bard’s. Jaskier broke away for a second, breathless and giddy.
“And here we are,” he murmured.
“You’re a fool Jaskier,” Geralt mumbled against Jaskier’s lips, sending a shiver through him, “But you’re also my fool.”
“Called it,” the poet laughed slightly, and pulled Geralt towards him again, heart aching for an entirely different reason this time.