Work Text:
let the world come at you love
The first thing Jaskier notices about Geralt is that he's the most beautiful man Jaskier has ever seen in real life. For several moments, he can't even think, which he realises later must have been obvious. (No sane man speaks to a beautiful stranger about the bread stuffed into his pants.)
Once his brain starts working again and he realises who it is he's talking to, he stops leading with his crotch and starts thinking about his music instead. Not that he's gone off the idea of getting naked with Geralt and touching him all over, far from it, but if he can support himself and maybe help Geralt's image problem while he's waiting around for Geralt to kiss him stupid, he'll be doing rather well compared to his current situation.
It is, of course, wildly foolish to follow a witcher into unspecified danger, but Jaskier's done plenty of wildly foolish things in his time. Choosing to entertain people for a living in the first place, instead of some other, steadier line of work (such as, for example, being a viscount) was definitely foolish, according to his family. Wandering the Continent rather than seeking a stable position in some lord's court. Walking up to the gorgeous brooding man in the corner of the tavern. Foolishness has worked for him so far. Why change a winning formula?
By the time they're done with the elves, Jaskier's decision has all but been made for him. It's obvious. There's no other option; Geralt will just have to put up with him for the rest of his life. There's no downside.
(Well, Geralt might not agree with that, but Jaskier is hard to get rid of. Geralt'll come round.)
The problem with this plan, as it turns out, is that Geralt is... well, not quite what Jaskier expected. He's strong and fierce and brave, and watching him fight is the scariest and most enthralling thing Jaskier's ever seen, but he's also kind to children, he tries not to kill if there's a better choice, he can't be bought to do something he believes is wrong, he's... too damn noble, sometimes, in Jaskier's not remotely humble opinion.
He complains, and refuses to admit Jaskier's his friend, but he looks after Jaskier, protects him from those who'd harm him, even gifts him a finely made dagger for self-defence. Admittedly, the dagger comes with an admonishment not to accidentally stab himself, and a slightly patronising lesson in how to use it (it starts with "this is the pointy end, it goes into other people"), but the sentiment is clear; Geralt wants to keep him safe.
The problem, in a nutshell, is that Jaskier frequently falls in love with people who are quite interesting, enjoyably pretty, who seem at least to like him. Geralt's so beautiful Jaskier can barely breathe, utterly fascinating, and has made Jaskier's wellbeing his concern.
Jaskier is in desperate trouble.
He misses Geralt more than he expects to when they spend time apart. Jaskier falls in love a lot, but he falls out of it a lot too. Geralt isn't exactly thrilled about having a travel companion, and Jaskier has gotten over more successful love affairs with less trouble. He's young; he's used to being the one who can't stay still, the one whose interest wanes.
But... there's just something about Geralt. He'll reappear, grunt something unintelligible, and that's it, Jaskier will up and follow with barely a thought, whether Geralt wants him to or not. No matter how many people Jaskier falls in love with in between times, Geralt owns a piece of Jaskier's heart in a way no one ever has before.
He gives up trying to make sense of it. Geralt is Geralt, and Jaskier can't get enough.
The first time he catches a glimpse of the brown mark on Geralt's arm, the question falls out of his mouth before he can stop it. "Is that a soulmark? I didn't even know a witcher could form one." Then he looks up to find Geralt's eyes on him, narrow, an expression Jaskier doesn't recognise and can't parse. "Oh - gods, I'm sorry, I didn't - I didn't mean - I wasn't thinking."
That gets him an even stranger look.
... it's probably a birthmark.
It's not so bad, having temporary soulmarks; Jaskier is used to it. The connection is the important thing, after all, not how long it lasts.
Given that the only person he's ever (so desperately) wanted to make a permanent romantic connection with is a witcher, it's just as well he's accustomed to wearing his heart lightly.
Sometimes he wishes the beautiful images that run riot over his skin would last a little longer (and he definitely wishes he had more artistic skill when he tries to record them in his notebook), but then how would he ever have room for more? And there's always someone else, no matter how he might feel in the first flush of love; he knows it will never last, even as he's sure it cannot end. He's both a fool in love, and much too used to its foibles to be fooled.
As he grows older, the Marks are less frequent, and last a little longer, but he's never at risk of being distracted from his lute or his witcher for long. (Occasionally he wishes a lover would stay in his life for a while; he isn't looking for forever, not with anyone besides Geralt, but he wonders sometimes if there's something wrong with him, that he's so easy to leave.) Life goes on, and he's quite used to it, and generally satisfied. When the change arrives, it's so unexpected that he doesn't grasp right away what it means.
He feels the stinging on his back in the middle of an otherwise unremarkable afternoon. Geralt is off fighting a wyvern, and it's not that Jaskier's bored of watching Geralt fight (how could anyone be bored of anything so frightening and so magnificent?), but it's cold and wet out, and the inn is warm. Jaskier's seen more wyverns beheaded than he's seen really nice inns, the kind where the beds have enough blankets and no tiny livestock, where Jaskier can stay dry and make them a little extra coin come the evening.
At first he thinks he was wrong about the bed not being infested, but when he reaches up under his chemise, his skin is smooth, no bites he can feel. He doesn't realise what it is, because there's no one special in his life of late; usually he's half-expecting it.
He whistles as he crosses the room, manoeuvring the mirror so it's pointing in the right direction, and right up until he turns his back to the glass and pulls the fabric out of the way, he thinks nothing of it except to check he hasn't been bitten by something more nefarious than a bed bug. He's completely unprepared; his jaw drops and he stares in disbelief, because it can't be- it really can't be what it looks like. Something in the world has gone terribly, terribly wrong to have this soulmark appear. He takes off his shirt to look properly.
Jaskier knows immediately who it represents, although it seems impossible; the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, the witcher, the man he's been following and falling in love with for years. There are paw prints in snow, because whoever or whatever it is that creates soulmarks hates him, and somehow there are snatches of music in there too, when he looks carefully. He sings the tune aloud, hoping he's just imagining things, but no, he can follow it perfectly. "Toss a coin to your witcher, O valley of- fuck!" There's no way Geralt reads any kind of notation, right? Especially not when it's hidden away, like a code in the dappled shadows; surely not.
But gods, even Geralt can't miss the imagery of a wolf in winter. The only way the metaphor could be less subtle would be for there to be an actual wolf there, or just 'Hi, my name's Jaskier, I'm hopelessly in love with Geralt' scrawled over his shoulders in thick black letters.
... sweet Melitele, he should be careful even thinking that. Best not give either his skin or destiny any funny ideas.
Part of him dreamed of this happening, but that just makes it worse. It can't mean anything. Witchers don't form soulbonds, supposedly they can't - and even if they did, it would be for dryads or sorceresses or, oh, anyone other than annoying bards who won't leave them alone. It can't mean that Geralt has formed an attachment to him.
Jaskier always falls heart first - almost all the Marks he's ever had have been romantic - and the Marks prove that it's often mutual (at least, so he's always thought), but Geralt? Geralt has made it clear he doesn't consider Jaskier a friend or a colleague, and as for Geralt falling in love with him, not even Jaskier can summon up that kind of blind, reckless optimism. He wants to believe Geralt might feel something profound for him, wants it so badly he can almost taste it, but it's impossible.
Maybe it's Jaskier - maybe he loves too much and too wildly, wants it too much. Maybe he can fool his body into conjuring bonds that don't really exist. Has he been doing that all his life? Gods, what a depressing thought. It's one thing to form temporary bonds, to love briefly as long as it's true and deep, but what if it's him, he's built wrong somehow, and that's why no one's ever stuck around? Is that possible? He doesn't know who he'd ask even if he knew how to ask.
He definitely can't tell Geralt. The best case scenario is that Geralt laughs in his face and tells him he's a fool, and if that's the best he can hope for, he'd rather not even think about the worst.
Bitter weather sets in unexpectedly, and Jaskier's clothes aren't suited to it. Geralt grumbles, because of course he does, but he also finds a sheltered cave to wait out the squall, wraps Jaskier in blankets, lights a fire, and looks after him with a sort of surly caring Jaskier has come to understand as Geralt's way of expressing affection.
Or something like affection; Jaskier is certain the stories claiming witchers cannot feel human emotion are lies, crafted to make it easier for people to hate what they fear and do not understand, but while he's sure Geralt has plenty of emotions, he's reluctant to guess what they are or how much he truly understands them.
Still, at the very least Geralt has no desire to see Jaskier freeze to death, and as well as being really quite pleased about not becoming a human icicle, Jaskier is warmed by the reminder that, in a rough, gruff sort of way, Geralt is concerned for his wellbeing.
Once Jaskier's stopped shivering, he obediently eats the stew Geralt hands him; leftover scrawny rabbit has never tasted so good, and Jaskier can actually feel his fingers again. Now the immediate terror of dying has worn off, he notices the blankets wrapped around him are secured with a brooch that he's never seen before, but which is nonetheless oddly familiar.
He tries to puzzle it out for quite some time, and it's only when he gives up and his eyes come to rest on Geralt's forearm instead that the pieces click into place.
"Geralt," he whispers. The mark is - it's different from how Jaskier remembers it, and that can only mean one thing. It isn't just a birthmark, it's a real Mark, a soulmark, it's proof that a witcher can form a soulbond, and it takes all Jaskier's willpower not to let this new knowledge send his heart soaring.
Geralt glances up at him, sees his hand on the brooch, the direction of his eyes, and Jaskier doesn't think it's entirely fanciful that the decision being made is visible on Geralt's face. Jaskier won't ask again, he might be a fool but he'd never deliberately be that rude, but oh, he wants to know so badly.
"Renfri," Geralt says at last.
Jaskier doesn't dare speak. With anyone else, he'd at least make encouraging noises, but Geralt reminds him now of a deer, shy, nervous, uncertain if it's safe to come closer, and Jaskier is desperate not to spook him. He nods, because he can't help it, but then he waits, with a patience that's usually entirely foreign to him.
After another long pause, Geralt starts to talk. Haltingly, slowly, he tells the story behind the Butcher of Blaviken, and Shrike, and Renfri. The real story, that Jaskier has never heard. It occurs to him that Geralt may never have told it before, not like this. The version Jaskier knows is quite different, and besides, the pain in Geralt's voice is so raw, as if it aches to let the words out, as if they're being pulled from his soul.
It hurts to listen to.
Jaskier cries, of course. But it's Geralt's story, Geralt's grief, so he does it as quietly as he can - this isn't about him. How long has Geralt waited for a sympathetic ear?
There's no grand flourish; Geralt is not a storyteller. He tells Jaskier what happened, quiet and low, and when he runs out of words, he stops.
It's the most Jaskier has ever heard him say in one go.
They sit in silence for a long while, and when Jaskier breaks it, it's only because he can't seem to help himself. "Geralt?"
Geralt looks up at him, silent and watchful. Times like this, Jaskier thinks he was more accurate than he knew, calling Geralt the White Wolf.
"I'd like to- to write a song," he says, hushed, afraid of how Geralt will respond, "about Renfri. About... about what was done to her, and the people who hurt her, and just- I think she deserves to be remembered," he finishes. It doesn't come out quite right, but he doesn't know how to explain this to Geralt, that music is the only way he has of expressing his grief and his love.
Geralt searches his face for a long, long moment, and Jaskier has no idea what he's looking for. Then he nods.
When Jaskier thinks about it later, the revelation that a witcher can get a soulmark sets a treacherous splinter of hope in his heart. Still, that was different. Renfri had an impact - also, hello, princess. Jaskier would be a fool to pin his hopes on this.
(He is a fool. He's never hoped so hard for anything in his entire life.)
~ fin ~