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Chapter Text

If life could give me one blessing...

The words had been stuck in his head since they had been screamed at him in rage. They ruled most of his days now, told his feet which paths to take and which to avoid. Whenever he heard as much as a whisper from the White Wolf he turned tail and fled. He stuck to big towns and cities, knowing Geralt hated visiting those places. It felt like a curse. And wasn‘t that ironic? A Blessing for the Witcher. A curse for the bard. And still he did not have the heart to call the last twenty years of his life wasted. He raged and he cried and he drunk himself to sleep. But the path leading up to agony he could not regret. It had brought him too much joy, experience and stories. Life was supposed to shape the soul. Jaskier was a firm believer that pain was merely the side effect of growing too fast. At least in some cases. Being punched in the face tended not to do anything for him but give him a bleeding nose and a black eye. Even if it had been a deserved blow. And oh...his metaphors were running away from him again. But what else was new. Everything important tended to do that in his life at one point or another. Ran away or kicked him out. Although he had done a good bit of running himself in his days.

As time went by he felt more and more as if he were the one running away this time, too.

His heart ached to seek out Geralt again. He had no patience left anymore for the arrogant people at court and the ignorant folks at taverns. Outwardly he didn‘t show his hurt and rage. He was a showman of the best quality. He had never let his emotions get in the way of a performance. Not since the early days, where he still had bread in his pants. Emotions were only ever used to spike up a tune, to make a show better, more relatable. Rage never helped improving singing happy tunes. And songs of heartbreak were rarely sought after. Not in times of war, where heartache was already plentiful.

There were days of joy still, where the dark pit in his stomach wasn‘t as heavy and the dark cloud over his head dispersed enough to see the sun above. Sometimes inspiration struck out of nowhere and gave him a boost. Sometimes he would get lost in good company. But the hurt always came crawling back. The injustice of Geralts words struck again when he least expected it, throwing off his footing, making food and wine stale.

He had a big, heavy raincloud over his head, both figuratively and literally, as he trudged into the decent sized village. His coin purse never really emptied out in full, but Jaskier had yet to buy himself a horse. He had become far too used to travelling on foot. And anyway, what was the rush? He didn‘t need to be anywhere, anytime soon.

The tavern was easy to locate, as they always were. Jaskier didn‘t really notice anything off about the village he stumbled into, nor did he notice the sullen atmosphere of the patrons at first. He figured it was just his bad mood that made everything and everyone look grey and drained. He briefly spoke with the bartender about sleeping arrangements, being pointed to a rickety inn down the road. After settling in a room there he went back to the tavern to play, gamble and get drunk. Not necessarily in that order.

The crowd was a tough one. Jaskier himself was only a little tipsy when he found the courage to pick up his lute and start his performance. But everyone else seemed to be painfully sober. Sober and depressed. Shit why hadn‘t he noticed before. Finally the haze of sadness lifted and let him see clearly. The people here walked around like zombies. They went through the motions of eating and drinking, but they did so with sluggish and halting movements and glazed over eyes. Every now and then some would glance at the door as if hoping for the arrival of someone important. At that realization Jaskiers stomach dropped. No. He knew the signs of a Witcher being near or on his way. Damn it the one time he had decided to stay in a village and of course he had to run into monster trouble! He barely finished his fourth song before stopping and darting back to the bar.

„My dear fellow, might I ask why everyone here is so glum?“ he asked as soon as he was in hearing range.

The barkeep stopped the circling motion with which he had cleaned the mug in his hand and blinked at him. „It‘s our goddess Arda, Master Bard. Someone angered her and now she has taken the spirit of our land. A Witcher went out two moons ago to speak to her, but has yet to return.“

Jaskier had never heard of a goddess like that before. But then again, local cults were springing up like weeds these days. It was probably not a goddess they were worshipping at all, but some sort of creature. „And that Witcher, what was his name?“

„Geralt of Rivia.“

The bard cursed under his breath. Just his luck. Briefly he entertained the idea of leaving again. So what if it was nearly midnight. Dying in a ditch somewhere in the dark was probably better than the chance of running into a pissed off White Wolf. And Geralt would likely be in a fool mood. He always was when he somehow got tangled up in matters of religion or, gods forbid, destiny. But worry had him rooted to the spot.

„Where does this goddess of yours live? Is it far from here?“

The bartender gave him a somewhat incredulous look. „There is a temple in the forest, not even an hours ride away from here. Back in the day we went to communicate with her there. Now no one dares to get too close.“

„So no one went to check on the Witcher.“

The man shrugged. „He‘s a Witcher. Death is in his profession.“

Jaskier bristled at the nonchalance, but kept his mouth shut. He left before he could do something stupid like throw his half emptied pint of ale at the guys head. Sleep didn‘t come to him that night. He was vibrating with nerves, with the urge to get up and run into the forest. He wanted to make sure Geralt was alright. Damn his weak heart, why did he still care so much for the oaf?

He was up and shoveling down his breakfast at the first light of dawn and, after getting directions from the inn owner, dashed away into the woods like a madman.

It was a clear day, sun bright and unhindered by clouds. And yet, as soon as he set foot into the woods it got darker. It wasn‘t just the natural shade of the trees, something clung like a sheen to everything. Darker and darker it got the further he wandered into the forest until it felt like a moonless night. It was sureal. Whenever Jaskier looked up he could see the clear blue sky peaking through green, fresh leaves. But none of the light touched the ground.

He found Roach grazing in a clearing in front of a stone entrance that seemed to lead underground and was overgrown by moss and vines.

She perked up at hearing him approaching, letting out a happy little neigh in greeting.

„Why hello there, my darling. Pretty as ever, did Geralt go in there and left you to wait here? Hm~?“ Jaskier happily stroked through her mane and kissed her snout, nearly loosing a few teeth when Roach decided that that was the perfect time to nudge him affectionately. She was jitterish, he noticed. Ears swivelling in all directions, feet stomping nervously on the ground. And she was nibbling on his doublet now, something she only did when there was something urgent to do. Like running from a monster or running into the fight to save Geralt.

„Don‘t worry, Roach. I‘ll get him back here safe and sound. I promise.“ With a last stroke over the mares flank he left her to pick up a sturdy stick. Gently he wrapped a stripe of old cloth around it and dosed that with oil. Then he used his dagger and a stone to light the self made torch on fire.

As prepared as he could be for the rescue mission he went in. Down a narrow path that had occasional steps build into it. Always three at a time, a long stretch of mud and then again three steps. Until they led onto a tiled floor and a medium sized, roundish hall. Pillars had been carved out of the uneven stone walls. Moss, ivy and flowers were growing on every surface. The ceiling was closed and yet there was something like the light of a fullmoon shining from above. Jaskier had only a brief moment to take all that in and ponder over how he might be able to capture the beauty of this place in a song. Then his gaze fell onto the still body lying next to the altar. And all verses fled his mind.

„Geralt!“

All caution thrown to the wind Jaskier dropped the torch and raced to his not-quite-friend. He knelt down and with shaking hands and a lot of effort, turned him onto his back. The Witchers skin was pale and cold. It felt wrong. Geralt had always been a furnace, which had been a delightful thing to find out on a cold night. But now he wasn‘t. Just like he wasn‘t breathing. Just like his heart, slow as it had always been, wasn‘t beating.

„No.“ Jaskier sobbed. „Nonononono- you fucking idiot! What did you do?! Arda! ARDA! Hear me! What the fuck did you do?!“ His screams got thrown back at him from the walls. Hot tears ran down his cheeks as his nails uselessly scraped over the armor on Geralts chest, trying to find purchase and hold on. „Show yourself you bitch! Show yourself and speak to me!“

„You‘re mighty loud. And mighty rude.“ Came a calm, melodic voice from above him.

Jaskier looked up so fast that something in his neck popped painfully. Beside them stood a woman with grey, cracked skin and hair of moss that still somehow looked silky enough to want to pet. Her yellow eyes looked at him with open curiousity and Jaskier tried to hold the gaze and not let his eyes wander to the one breast that dangled out from the green robe, overgrown with vines.

„I have every right to be. You killed my best friend!“

„The Witcher?“ her mouth wasn‘t moving, in fact, her whole body wasn‘t moving. She was like a statue and yet Jaskier felt the life pouring from her in waves.

„Yes the Witcher! Or are you hiding any other bodies?“

„The bodies of the ones I‘ve slain have long been absorbed by the earth, bard. Your friend isn‘t dead.“

„What is he then? Meditating? Cause he usually keeps breathing for that!“ Jaskier spit, too angry to care if he got struck down for his behavior.

„He‘s...hibernating. Yes, one could say that. His soul is with me. I took it when he insulted me.“

„You took- I insulted you not a minute ago! I called you a bitch! Yet here I am, still talking. What could he have possibly said to make you so angry?“

Her features weren‘t moving and yet Jaskier had the feeling like she was smiling in amusement. „He blamed me for the state of the land. I‘m the patron of the forest and fields here. I would not take the spirit from my own home. And yet he came here to slay me for a crime I did not commit. For something I‘m fighting back against with all my might.“

„But he didn‘t know any better! The villagers send him out. And I know Geralt. He‘s not especially good with words, but if you had explained to him what was really going on he would have helped you. Instead, now you still have a problem and the Witcher that could have dealt with that is...whatever you did to him.“

„And you are sad.“

„Yes, sidenote, I‘m very, very sad.“

„And I‘m still angry.“

Jaskier scoffed, but remained silent. He understood in a way. Too well, if he was honest with himself. He hated being wrongly accused of stuff, too. Especially when he had just wanted to help. Something must have shown on his face. Something that made the deity or whatever in front of him curious. Before he could really comprehend what was going on a presence wormed itself into his head. He felt dizzy all of a sudden, pictures and scenes getting dragged up from the depths of his memory in quick succession. Too fast for him to really get a good look. When it was over he had to bite down hard on his tongue and swallow to keep from vomiting.

„He did the same to you...“ she whispered, confused. „But...you still have such faith in him. You want to be by his side again.“

„That...Well yes. But that‘s not the point here. I want him to be up and about doing his witchering business, most and foremost.“

„I believe you.“ Although she didn‘t elaborate what she believed him for. „Nothing I do comes without a price, though. Will you be prepared to pay it, I wonder.“

„What‘s the price?“

„I cannot take back the soul that I took. I need an even exchange.“

„My soul for his.“ The offer shot out without thought. And like most anything regarding the Witcher, he did not regret having made it.

„You truly are a curious one. So shall it be.“

Jaskier steeled himself against pain, against darkness, anything. But there was only a gentle breeze slowly enveloping his body, making his skin tingle. He blinked and the woman was gone. A shaky breath from beside him told him she had upheld her deal. Briefly he looked at the Witcher, smiling in relief.

If life could give me one blessing...

As if on instinct he rose and took a step back. Something bubbled within him, crawled over his skin and clothes. Another step taken back and suddenly everything turned grey and muted.

„Wha-“

„A blessing, bard. To ease your pain.“

Jaskier only had a few seconds to be confused before Geralt shot upward, eyes wide and hand immediately going for the sword laying beside him. He wrinkled his nose and sniffed the air, but he did not see Jaskier. Disappointment and excitement both warred within him as Jaskier realized what the goddess meant. At least in part. As Geralt picked himself off of the floor, still a bit wobbly in the knees, Jaskier looked back at the altar tilting his head in question.

„I took your soul to do with as I please.“ Ardas sweet voice curled in his mind like a cat in front of the fireplace. „I gave you your wish. Your souls are tied together, now. Stay with him to ease your pain.“

Well if that didn‘t sound cryptic as fuck. He opened his mouth to ask about it when Geralts voice cut their conversation short.

„What the fuck. Arda what did you do to me?“

Jaskier rolled his eyes at the growl. Oh Geralt was grumpy. No wonder he got himself a pissed of goddess.

„I returned you to your body. A little bird told me we had a misunderstanding.“ Ardas voice rang in the chamber.

Jaskier froze as Geralt frowned. That sentence had been far too revealing for Jaskiers liking. Of course, a part of him wanted to instantly reveal himself. To talk to the man who had stolen over twenty years of his life. But the more dominant, heartbroken and scared part of him wanted to remain unseen. Because the chance of getting taken back was so slim. And like this at least he could be close, even if just for a little bit. Maybe it would finally be enough to let go.

He barely heard the rest of the conversation, too lost in the newfound ability to stare at Geralt without having to hold back. When silence reigned again and Geralt made to stomp out of the temple Jaskier hesitated. He still had a lot of questions for Arda. But panic surged up as soon as Geralt moved towards the entrance and away from him. So he only nooded to the altar in thanks.
He would have time to figure it all out by himself. For now something pulled him to follow his Witcher.

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He was careful to stay several steps behind, not sure if Geralt just couldn‘t see him or if he was hidden from all senses. He did feel a bit bad about pretty much stalking his former friend. But couldn‘t deny the thrill of it either. He wondered if that was how powerful monsters felt, stalking their pray. Not that he considered the Witcher his prey. Still. It felt good. Freeing. Right up until the point where his shoe caught on a root and he stumbled. A tiny, surprised yelp left his lips and Geralt whirled around in response. He was tense, eyes narrowed as his nose flared, subtly scenting the air. There was confusion and anger written all over his face, mirrored in the roared „Show yourself!“

Jaskier stood stock still, his heart that should be hammering in his chest fell silent as his body refused to take another single breath. What the heck. He had never, in all his life, reacted like that to a threat. He was more likely to talk a monster that wanted to kill him to death than freeze up and turn into...a statue. Wait, he didn‘t feel wrong. Even though for all he knew his body had ceased to function, he was perfectly fine. His lungs didn‘t protest the lack of air. His blood happily took a break while his organs just ignored the temporary shut down. It felt odd. To be so dead and yet feel so alive. Geralt mirrored his stillness in front of him, now even more confused as he likely couldn‘t find a trace of Jaskiers presence anymore. Slowly, hesitantly the Witcher turned and moved on. Carefully, on feet as light as a feather, Jaskier followed again. A few more paces were left between them. Geralt was still wary and Jaskier didn‘t want to stay in sword swinging range if he accidently made a noise again. At least one of his questions had been answered, he guessed.

Roach neighed when she saw his master again, but tried to look over his shoulder and refused to leave her spot. Oh, the pure soul. She was waiting for him to come out too. Geralt tried soothing her, but he too seemed to still feel Jaskier close by. Or well, he would be able to fell a presence at least. Jaskier doubted Geralt knew it was him.

When both had waited long enough to understand that no one else was coming they finally went on their way. Roach was moody, trying to nip at Geralts shoes more often than not, ears resolutely drawn back. Jaskier dared to walk beside them, longing to touch and comfort the poor horse. But he didn‘t know if she would spook and didn‘t want her to accidently kick Geralt out of the saddle.
They arrived back in the village and Jaskier stayed with Geralt until the man got into the tavern to speak with the alderman. Apparently someone had pissed off a rather powerful mage, who had cursed their land. Arda was fighting back against the curse, but the lack of devotion and prayer made her weak. Geralt promised to find the mage and the alderman would get word out to the village folk to go back to honoring their patron of the land to aid her.

It was a sweet tale, Jaskier thought. And it had everything you‘d need for an epic ballad. A benevolent goddess, a huge misunderstanding, the mage as the main villain and of course the Witcher, the hero in all of his stories.

Geralt rode out on the same day, still smelling like something that had been laying on the floor for two days. Jaskier hoped he would be fine confronting the mage. That he wouldn‘t get cursed on top of having his soul briefly apprehended by a pissed of deity. He watched the Witcher riding away until he couldn‘t see him anymore and then went into an alleyway to try and get himself visible again. He had gotten his breathing and heartbeat back in no time, but stepping out of the greyish plane back into the one he usually inhabited was a bit tricky. He had no handbook for his newly found powers and he had half a mind to just go back to Arda to ask. The prospect of walking back and forth again wasn‘t a pleasant one. He was tired and hungry and his feet hurt. And this whole business couldn‘t be that complicated. He learned best by trial and error anyway, Jaskier lied to himself. So instead of doing the sensible thing and asking for aid he paced up and down, hopping back and forth and invented a dozen colourful curses while doing so. Why was this so hard when turning invisible had been so easy? He had just taken a step back. And then his skin had prickled. He was stepping back now! And forward. Because maybe it needed to be done in reverse or something. But nothing triggered the tingle.

Come on! Stupid body, reveal yourself! I need to be seen! he cursed mentally. It wouldn‘t do to be overheard now, when people could very well mistake him for a ghost. Another round he paced and then another and another until panic had fully claimed his heart. What if he couldn‘t switch back? What if he was stuck this way now? Never to be seen again?

No. NO he didn‘t want that! He was a bard, for fucks sake. He was meant to be in the limelight, all eyes on him. Loud, shining, performing. And just like that skin prickled and the world got back its colour. Or, well at least some of it. But Jaskier was comforted by the fact that the last bits of grey belonged to the cursed land and not to another plane of existance or whatever. When he walked out of the alley people turned to look at him and he couldn‘t help but smile at them, happy to be back.

He hurried back to the inn to grab his belongings and, after eating a hearty meal, left the village. He didn‘t want to linger close to Geralt longer than he needed to. It had to have been enough to see him again. To know that the man was well and truly capable of shovelling his own shit. Theoretically he knew that Geralt was about as much a magnet for trouble as he was. The Witcher always got himself involved in stuff that was bound to end in disaster. But it was a nice reminder. Because these days he had come rather close to believing the accusations thrown at him on top of that mountain...
Colour sunk back into the hills and fields as he wandered, the few people he encountered on the farms gaining back their cheer. Some even hummed along to the tune he strummed on his lute. He was glad that this story had gotten a happy ending.

He ignored the weird pull he got in his guts ever since he had lost sight of the Witcher. It wouldn‘t do to let longing dictate his path again. Not this particular kind, at least. But every step he took seemed to get harder. His chest started to ache, the pain spreading into every vibre of his being until his whole world burned and the only thought that remained was „Geralt“.
He collapsed at the side of the road, too overcome with agony to even make a sound. He could only writhe on the ground, press his hot cheek into damp grass and try to breath. That pull was now a swirling vortex, urgent and all consuming. He didn‘t want to, but he got up.
He can‘t see me. he thought in a flash of panic. Not like this.

His body reacted, grey enveloping him again. It was welcomed this time. The muted surroundings helping to calm his frayed nerves.
With a speed he hadn‘t thought himself capable of he ran back the way he came, trusting the pull in his gut to guide him. The pain lessened until it disappeared, but Jaskier only really felt like himself again when he caught a glimpse of white hair. Jaskier breathed a sigh of relief. Careful not to bump into any of the celebrating humans, he stepped through the tavern to lean against the bar. Geralt was sitting in a corner again, brooding, just like he had been in Posada. Only that he was far more tense now, more alert. As if some kind of danger still lurked in the shadows of the establishment.
He didn‘t look very happy. Maybe even more miserable than when Jaskier had first laid eyes on him.

Well that made two of them, then.

Jaskier used the next weeks to get used to his predicament. He tried out how far he could get away from Geralt without the pain becoming too much. (It wasn‘t far.) And he learned that intention and will were the important factors when it came to changing from visibility to invisibility. Stopping his breathing and heartbeat was a matter of fright or being soothed. He could calm both down into nonexistance or he could be terrified into playing dead. Being someone who never really got scared that easily he used the breathing techniques he learned in Oxenfurt to shut down his body when the need arose.

He also learned that he hated the situation he had gotten himself into. He couln‘t make much noise if he didn‘t want Geralt to become suspicious. He couldn‘t play in the taverns they stopped by, even when Geralt rode out to hunt. Because people would talk about the bard and they would wonder why he would disappear so suddenly. Jaskier, as a storyteller and professional liar, knew how rumours were made. And he didn‘t want to become one of the monsters for Geralt to hunt.

The nights were the worst. Jaskier couldn‘t roll out a bedroll and go to sleep at the camps the Witcher made. He would have been spotted. And the camps he made for himself a little ways off weren‘t exactly safe. He couldn‘t build a fire, because Geralt would notice and maybe come to investigate. And it was hard to sleep without warmth. He was lucky that it was summer and that the nights had been mild so far. But he dreaded the change of seasons.

Whenever Geralt decided to sleep in an inn Jaskier stayed in the stable with Roach. He would make himself visible then. A rare occurance these days. And he would comb through Roachs mane and whisper to her. Sometimes he would cry and the mare would nibble on his hair and lay down with him to give him comfort.

Food was another problem. Being invisible nearly all the time meant no coin from performing or even a chance to buy something from vendors. Geralt didn‘t know he was there, so he didn‘t hunt for him. Which meant Jaskier had to resort to drastic measures to get the nutrition he needed. Being invisible had its perks, then. For one, no one noticed when he was stealing something. Jaskier had soon learned that things he had on his person turned invisible with him. As if he plucked them from the plane of the living into whatever other plane he stepped into whenever he wanted to remain unseen.

It was in no way optimal. He hadn‘t gotten a warm meal in what felt like ages. Nor a hot, long bath, human contact or a good nights rest. He only ever sung softly to Roach now, when they were alone in the stable. He missed making noise, any noise at all. He had always been the enemy of silence. Hated the still air with a passion. And now he had no way to combat it anymore. The thought of trudging around like this for years was pure agony. So yes. Some days he just wanted to yell „Fuck it!“ and reveal himself to Geralt. Tell him what had happened. Probably apologize a lot while at it. But fear kept him back.

Geralt did not want him around. Had made it abundantly clear on that blasted mountain. And not only there. Over and over Geralt had fought him tooth and nail from dragging him into a friendship. Once upon a time Jaskier had believed the behavior to be a defense mechanism. His Witcher had gotten hurt and betrayed more often than not and it was only reasonable for Geralt to build such high walls around himself. Oh, Jaskier had been young and naive and had thought his presence would be a welcome change. He knew better now. Geralt would be mad beyond reason if he found out Jaskier had accidently bound them together, even if it was to save his thrice damned life. His heart couldn‘t bear another verbal thrashing. Not so soon after the first heartbreak. He‘d rather face the steel blade. Or silver one. Maybe he wasn‘t exactly human now. So silver might be more fitting...

A soft murmur washed his musings away. Jaskier looked up to watch Geralt as he took care of Roach. The talking to animals thing Jaskier had definitely picked up from Geralt. The man looked so much softer whenever he talked to beasts. As long as they weren‘t trying to kill him, that is. Jaskier watched him with a fond smile, silently shuffling out of earshot. If he had to intrude in these intimate moments than he could at least give the man a bit of privacy. These were the small things the bard lived for now. Although even those could be tainted sometimes. Like right now. Geralt was lovingly tending to his horse yes, but he himself looked a little worse for wear. The contract he had taken up had led him to a Cockatrice nest a days ride from the afflicted town. The fight hadn‘t gone over as well as it should have. There had been more than the alderman had said there would be. Because of course there were. When had information given by humans ever been correct? And on the way back wargs had attacked them. And Geralt, exhausted and low on potions had been injured in the fight. One of the monsters had bitten him in the shoulder, right through the armor. And another had gotten a good grip on his leg. Witchers healed fast, but coupled with a few sleepless nights - which Jaskier was awake to witness - exhaustion weighted Geralt down enough to not even try to hunt himself dinner.
And Jaskier felt useless watching him suffer like that. Geralt – for all his bark and bite – deserved something better. Anxiously he watched the Witcher hobble around camp. The armor came off painstakingly slow, Jaskier fingers itching to help remove it. Wounds were dressed without much care, cleaned out with water and alcohol and then wrapped up. The fabric was already sobbing red when Geralt pulled on his shirt again and Jaskier had to stop himself from tsking. This guy. Seriously. How did he even survive out there without someone to properly negate his self-destructive tendencies?

As if to further proof him right Geralt flopped down on the grassy, rocky ground with a grunt and closed his eyes. Jaskiers eyebrows shot up in disbelief. Roach nickered at the edge of camp, also not approving of Geralts reckless behavior. Now this was just pure stupidity. Or self-flagellation. Whichever of the two, Jaskier wouldn‘t stand for it. He waited until he was sure Geralt was finally catching a whiff of sleep before tiptoeing over to Roach, scooping up the empty waterskin on his way. Roach, the beautiful, amazing mare, that recognized his presence without him even having to show himself, now, kept on grazing as if nothing was amiss. He loved her. If she were human, he would have married her at some point. Alas he had to content himself with writing her songs and smuggling her peaches to show his gratitude. She leaned slightly into his touch as he stroked her neck, but otherwise stood still and quiet. Careful as to not make a noise Jaskier pulled out a dagger from the saddlebag and disappeared into the forest. He wasn‘t much of a hunter, but he had the advantage of camouflage. As long as he was silent and the wind didn‘t blow his scent in the wrong direction wildlife didn‘t even think to run from him.

He skinned and roasted the rabbits at the stream away from camp, not wanting to wake Geralt with the smell of blood or the crackling of a fire. His ears strained after every sound and he concentrated on the string tied to his guts that would tell him whenever Geralt moved.

Once he was done and had devoured his own meal he covered the fire and went back to camp, laying the fresh rabbit on a clean cloth close to the bedroll. Geralts face scrunched up in confusion, obviously smelling the treat and not knowing what to do with the information. Jaskier sat down a ways off, leaning on a tree and waited. Soon enough Geralt opened his eyes and sat up. His gaze immediately landed on the food, drawing a confused little noise from him. The oaf even looked over to Roach, as if she had somehow managed to hunt and roast him dinner. When Roach only whinnied at him Geralt went back to staring at the rabbit. Jaskier was tense the whole time. Nearly melting into the bark of the tree behind him. Geralt was scenting the air again. He tried to not be obvious about it, but Jaskier knew him too well. The bard thanked all the gods under the sun and above that the wind stood in his favour. He didn‘t know what he would have done if Geralt had caught his scent now. It felt like three eternities and a day before the Witcher finally relaxed and took the rabbit, biting into it with sharp canines. Warmth flooded Jaskiers being at the sight. Finally he had been able to do something again. Supporting Geralt had always been a special pleasure of his. And now, that he couldn‘t really do much else but haunt the Witcher it felt even better.

Geralt moved around more cautiously the next day, eyes sweeping over his surroundings, nose flaring more often than not. But he didn‘t scout, didn‘t look for tracks that Jaskier definitely had forgotten to cover and Jaskier felt save in the knowledge that he had yet to be discovered.

Maybe, just maybe he could be a little bolder from now on.

He wanted to be something else than a spectator again.

And who knew, maybe he could get Geralt used to a presence around him. Surely the Witcher couldn‘t mind him much like this?

He was barely even there, after all.

Chapter Text

A little bolder turned into pretty damn obvious real fast, real soon. It had started with him putting the healing salve for Geralts wounds on the nightstand after arriving in town. The Witcher had seemingly forgotten about his injuries once he had gotten his reward. Jaskier knew he sometimes got lost in his brooding. Usually he would chatter at him until he finally caved and let Jaskier take care of him. But he couldn‘t do that now so he had settled with an obvious prompt. Geralt had taken one glance at the innocent pot, raised an eyebrow, huffed and then turned away to clean and sharpen his swords. Yes, in that exact order. Jaskier had even counted the seconds between actions to calm himself. Fine. If Geralt wanted to pay attention to his swords first so be it. Jaskier could wait. It was agony to watch the Witcher. He had discarded his shirt, revealing the soaked through bandage on his shoulder. It looked uncomfortable even without the clench in Geralts jaw indicating that he was trying very hard to ignore the pain. Carefully Jaskier inched away from the door and to the bag beside the bed, wary of the creaky floorboards. He knew that Geralt knew that something was in the room with him, but he hoped beyond hope that he didn‘t know Jaskiers exact position. He knelt down and with slow movements pulled out the fresh bandages, laying them beside the healing salve before retreating back to the door. Geralt didn‘t look up from his task the whole time, even though he clearly struggled to move his arm. Jaskier wondered if Witchers wounds could get infected, or if they were immune to that kind of thing, as they were to most other stuff that ailed humanity. It wasn‘t really something he wanted to find out. Finally Geralt stopped playing with his swords and stood with a wince. Curiously he looked over to his nightstand and growled at the sight of the added item. Jaskier had the urge to growl right back at him when the bastard threw on a clean shirt, took his coin purse and stomped out of the room.

He did let out a frustrated noise when he felt sure that he was out of earshot. Fucking stubborn Witchers. Fine. Two could play at that game. He rummaged through Geralts bags while the man was gone, taking stock of all the empty vials, mentally preparing a list of herbs he needed to find.

He orbitted around Geralt that day, accutely aware of where the Witcher was at any given moment. It seemed his instincts or whatever it was had gotten sharper over time. And while he couldn‘t make out the exact spot he did know approximately where Geralt was. While Jaskier was out in the woods nearby, pain already making his chest feel tight, Geralt was at the marketplace. And as Jaskier broke down the herbs into components and spread them out to dry the Witcher was at the brothel. How a man could think about sex with injuries like that was beyond the bard. But then again he had always been the more sensible of the two. It was oddly calming though, being alone in a room like this. He hadn‘t dared to follow Geralt into his rooms since he had become invisible. The cramped space didn‘t give him much room to avoid the Witcher and he had been scared of suddenly being grabbed and forced to show himself. Now he stoked the fire and let himself be warm for the first time in weeks. Still staying invisible he dared to take out his lute and strummed a few tentative cords. He could hear the noise from below, a happy little jig played by a surprisingly talented fiddler, and the stomping, shouting and laughing of an intoxicated crowd. Them being loud was good. No one would notice him playing a few melodies for himself this way. He couldn‘t help the tears that spilled over as he started. With something simple at first, one of the exercises he had learned at the academy. He transitioned from that to popular folk songs and then to his own compositions. He played a whole set before his fingers strummed out new melodies and his lips dared to try out verses and rhymes that had crawled around his head for days. He had missed this so much. But even now he couldn‘t let himself relax, having to stay alert, always aware of the string tying him to Geralt, of the Witchers proximity. He wanted to be allowed to get lost in his music again. Wanted to talk and laugh, wanted...

I‘m weak, my love, I‘m wanting. He hummed, voice cracking.

The bittersweet irony of it all. The weak, wanting bard, broken by a blessing made to ease his pain. No wonder the earth was so shitty, if all deities were as bad with helping out as Arda was.
He put away his lute when he felt Geralt come closer to the inn and dried his tears as best as he could. When the Witcher opened the door to his room Jaskier had retreated to the window, eyes roaming over his wobbly frie- acquaintance. The man was as pale as snow, lips pressed into a thin line and sweat making his hair stick to his skin. Jaskier wouldn‘t be surprised if he fell over in the next few seconds. Miraculously, he didn‘t. He took in the scene in front him, settled down in the middle of the room and started to meditate.

Jaskier seethed. Grinding his teeth together he glided over to the nightstand, picked up the healing salve and jugged it at the big oafs head. The surprised little „Fuck!“ made him preen.
Growling Geralt snatched the offending item from the ground and sprung up ready to pounce on whoever had dared to assault him.

Jaskier was torn between scrambling back and jumping forward to catch his swaying companion. In the end he did neither, freezing up instead. Geralt was heaving, eyes darting all over the room, but he calmed down frightfully quick. If Jaskier didn‘t know better he might have even seen a small quirk of lips.

„What the fuck do you want?“ Geralt rumbled, inspecting the pot for any damage. It sounded more like a petulant child than an angry Witcher. But maybe the poor guy was just tired.

While Geralt acted like he was not paying attention Jaskier inched over to the nightstand again, lifting the bandages and gently threw them in Geralts direction. This time the Witcher seemed to be prepared and used his good hand to catch the item. Eyes landed approximately where Jaskier stood and the bards heart stopped without him even needing to tell it to.

Instead of walking over to him, though, Geralt huffed. „Fine. You insistent bastard I‘ll take care of my wounds. Or do you want to do that for me too?“

Jaskiers fingers twitched. Yes, he would very much like to do just that. But he couldn‘t. Geralt waited a few heartbeats, head tilted, before nooding and finally, finally tending to his wounds.
The bard smiled in victory.

„Let me guess. You want me to make potions out of the stuff you gathered as well?“

Jaskier rolled his eyes, witty comeback at the tip of his tongue. He bit his lip to not make a noise.
The silence stretched into something uncomfortable and heavy. For once Jaskier was not the one to break it.

„Not much of a talker, are you?“ Geralt whispered, eyes roaming around the room again. As if he could somehow catch a glimpse of the presence haunting him.

Jaskier wanted to laugh and scream at the same time. How wrong Geralt was. If he could he would do nothing else but talk! But he couldn‘t. He was damned to be silent until out of earshot. And even then he needed to be careful not to be too loud.

„Hm.“ Geralt rumbled when nothing answered him.

Yes, very well put my dear fellow. Jaskier thought, dejected.

Both said nothing after that, Jaskier watching Geralts every move, making sure his former friend wasn‘t half-assing in his self-care anymore. The bard skillfully danced out of the way several times, being reminded again, why he had never followed Geralt into his inn rooms before. Although, that didn‘t stop him from loudly knocking his boot against the wooden frame of the bed when Geralt tried to go back to meditating on the floor again. A rather awkward staring contest followed, in which only Jaskiers eyes found their target. Maybe that was why he won.

With an annoyed grunt Geralt settled under the blanket and blew out the candle. Jaskier stayed until the Witchers breathing evened out. Only then did he slip out of the room, locking the door with the spare key he had napped from the innkeeper and prepared for another night in the stables.

The next day Jaskier saw Geralt speak to the man who owned the place, borrowing a few pans. The bard left him to his task using his freetime to watch the people streaming in and out of the building. Eavesdropping on others had always been a hobby of his, when he wasn‘t telling stories himself. Oftentimes you were given the juiciest gossip when people thought no one else was listening. Sadly this was not the case today. Jaskier was bored out of his mind come lunchtime and breathed a sigh of relief when Geralt came down. Falling into step with the man, staying a few paces behind him, they walked to the nearest shabby tavern. Jaskiers stomach growled as they entered and the scent of food assaulted his nose. Jaskier briefly stopped at the noise, immediately alert, but Geralt either hadn‘t heard or had decided to ignore it.

They settled into the darkest corner of the building, the one furthest from any of the patrons milling about. How the barmaid even found Geralt was beyond Jaskier. But she did and she took Geralts orders without shaking too much. Jaskier barely payed attention to the exchange, too distracted by the people and the smells. A young bardling was scrambling onto a table, fidgeting with his harp and gazing over the crowd with a wide eyed, panicked look. Jaskier focussed on him, because that was easier than to focus on the smell of food. The young man plucked a few notes to get attention and then started a soft melody that was more background noise than anything. Despite the hesitance in the bards movements Jaskier could see that the man was in his element and smiled. He was reminded of his first few performances in and outside of Oxenfurt. The excitement and nervousness rushing the body before and during a show never quite vanished, but Jaskier knew that nothing was as horrifying as the first few steps outside the comfort zone. He nearly missed the barmaid coming back over, so caught up in his memories was he. She had dared to get much closer than last time. Close enough that she would have tripped over his feet had he not reacted. He bumped into the leg of the table as he quickly retreated his feet and bit down on a curse. The woman didn‘t notice, but Geralt surely did. Jaskier tried to ignore the inquiring stare of his companion. Which proofed to be difficult when a tankard was shoved in his direction. The plate of bread, strips of meat and hard cheese followed, but stayed more in the middle of the two. A clear invitation.

„I heard your stomach grumble.“ Geralt whispered as if a too loud voice could spook Jaskier. That he still managed to sound accusing and annoyed despite the forced gentleness was a talent probably only the Witcher possessed.

Jaskier stared at him in shock. He didn‘t move an inch. Despite really wanting to down the ale in one go and devoure the whole plate right after.

Geralts glare intensified. „You‘re a fucking hypocrite if you don‘t take care of yourself.“

Ugh, Jaskier hated when Geralt started to throw around logic. The bastard could be downright philosophical sometimes. A trait Jaskier usually treasured, because it made for interesting, thought provoking discussions whenever Geralt felt thus inclined. Which was nearly never. But it was a downright pain in the ass when Geralts wit was used to convince Jaskier to do stuff. Like not coming on a hunt. Or not chatting up that particular pretty, married lady. Or apparently trying to make sure Jaskier wasn‘t starving himself to death.

The bard in person mouthed an aggressive if silent „Fine!“ and snatched the only sweet bread from the plate. He grinned in triumph at the flabbergasted look on the Witchers face. The glare was back only moments later, as Geralt took a bit of the meat and cheese.

„You‘re a little shit, I hope you know that.“

Jaskier, mature as he was, stuck out his invisible tongue at him.

Chapter Text

They settled into this new kind of routine frightenly quick. Geralt would share his food with Jaskier whenever the coin was enough. And Jaskier would find ever new and creative ways to remind the Witcher to take care of himself. The rest of the time neither awknowledged the existance of the other. Or well, Geralt didn‘t and Jaskier tried his hardest to leave the silence be. That part hadn‘t gotten easier. More than once the bard had caught himself opening his mouth to sing or to voice his thoughts out loud.

Jaskier still slept away from the camp whenever they had to stay the night outside. He knew that just because Geralt acted like he didn‘t mind the company didn‘t mean that he actually enjoyed it. Jaskier had made the mistake of assuming that once. He wouldn‘t be fooled twice. Geralt, for all his pacifism, had probably labeled him as a sort of monster. His indifference could well be a trick to coax Jaskier into letting his guard down. Overall though, his situation had improved. He didn‘t need to fight hunger every other day and the scraps of attention Geralt threw him where enough to not drive the bard utterly insane from isolation. He even started to enjoy certain aspects of his predicament. Like the ability to sneak behind Geralt to follow him on dangerous hunts the man wouldn‘t have let him watch before.

Right now he was close to vibrating out of his skin due to excitement. They were standing in the broad sitting room of one Ferdinand van Deren, local lord and what Jaskiers parents would have disdainfully called „new money“. The man was draped in so many colourful and embellished clothing that even Jaskier would have assumed him to be a clown. His bald round head glistened with sweat and he was nervously playing with heavy golden rings on thick fingers. He was the only one sitting down, although he hadn‘t once touched the tea in front of him. Brown eyes darted everywhere, effectively avoiding the Witchers form. Jaskier didn‘t need to have a super nose to know that the man must be reeking of fear.

„You said you needed help killing a vampire.“ Geralt opened the conversation after a long, uncomfortable stretch of silence.

The man flinched „Yes. Yes that‘s right.“

„Do you have any further information for me?“

„Well...uhm...what, what do you need to know?“

Oh dear it was one of those clients. Jaskier rolled his eyes, wishing he could take over the conversation to speed things up.

„Anything you know. When and where does it appear? How does it behave? If you‘ve seen it, what does it look like? There are different kinds of vampires out there. I‘d like to know what I‘m dealing with to prepare accordingly.“

The lord nodded. „Right. It started a few weeks ago. My son saw a beautiful lady in the garden at night. She lured him out and would surely have sucked him dry if not for the guards finding them before it was too late. Ever since then every night there‘s this horrible, shrill...not really singing, but something like it. It‘s driving us insane! Most of all my poor Arthur. Everytime he tries to go to sleep he will have nightmares. I have to have guards at his side constantly.“

„Have there been other victims?“

„Ah yes. Boys from town, I believe. Two or three. I‘m not sure.“

„Hm.“

Jaskier tilted his head, watching Geralt with interest. He itched to go and visit Arthur, maybe get some more details to the story. It sounded tragic and intriguing enough. He hoped he would be able to remember the most important bits until he could get away with writing in his notebook again- Gods the amount of paranoia that went into not making a sound around Geralt sometimes surprised even him.

„I think I know what it is. Are you sure there is only one?“

The lord looked uncomfortable. „No?“

„Hm...I‘ll be back for the reward.“ And with that Geralt stomped off, Jaskier in tow.

This usually was the time where Jaskier would flood his Witcher with questions. What kind of creature was it? What did it look like? What could it do? He was brimming with curiousity and could barely contain the swarm of words that wanted to break out of him. He worried at his lip instead, skipping alongside Geralt, fingers twitching. He was making himself quite dizzy with the speed of his thoughts, so he tried to calm himself with a few breathing exercises. He must have been breathing too loud, or maybe strayed too close because Geralts eyes were drawn in his direction, briefly pinning him down with a stare. Jaskier took several steps back, careful not to walk into anyone on the street leading back to the inn.

Geralt sniffed, eyes narrowed, but continued onwards until they were back at their lodgings. Jaskier hesitated before deciding to wait by Roach, using the short time apart to scribble down some notes and pat the mare. Geralt wasn‘t gone long and Jaskier skipped behind him as soon as he passed the stables.

Geralt used the rest of the day going around town to collect more information. This was always the most frustrating part of monster hunting. People usually had a hard time speaking to the Witcher. And Geralts brash, almost aggressive way of asking questions didn‘t help in retrieving the wanted answers. After a whole lot of stammering and quite a few doors that stayed stubbornly closed they seemingly had enough leads to go on. It had been a good thing that Geralt had decided to communicate with other humans in order to gain more puzzle pieces. Because the lord they had spoken to had noticed jackshit going on around him. His victim count had been way off. Five young men had been found dead already, two travelers and three town inhabitants. Another two were missing, but presumed dead. Jaskiers stomach turned at the thought. So many young lifes lost...

It was the late afternoon when they got back to the inn, Jaskier waiting at the counter for Geralt to finish preparing. He was still itching to ask what the Witcher was planning to do now. He hadn‘t heard of a vampire luring young men away with song before. But then again they hadn‘t encountered many „traditional“ vampires in their travels. Most of the bloodsuckers Geralt had fought hadn‘t been much more than overgrown bats with too much of an appetite. Some had been able to change their form, but most had been as intelligent as your run off the mill Drowner. The monster they were about to face sounded much more like a siren. Now if that didn‘t sent a thrill up Jaskiers spine. He had always been more entranced with the musically inclined beasts. Something about the romanticism of song just played to him. Jaskier thoroughly confused the innkeeper as he started tapping impatiently against the wood of the counter, too deep in thought and too relaxed to really notice that he was doing it. The man had pressed his ear against the counter with a furrowed brow, dangerously close to Jaskiers actual hand, when Geralt came back down wearing his armor and both swords strapped to his back. He rose an eyebrow at the peculiar scene and inclined his head in a motion that made Jaskiers heart flutter. That had been an order to follow. Geralt was acknowledging him!
His Witcher was already out the door and feeding Roach an apple as he stroked her mane, when Jaskier finally stumbled up to him, still a little dazed by the sudden attention.

„You‘ll stay here for now. I‘m going to fight a Bruxa tonight. A higher vampire. Maybe it‘s even a pack, looking at the current death count. Those things have sharp senses. They‘ll find you and tear you to pieces.“

Jaskier blinked at Geralts back. For all the world it looked like the Witcher was talking to his horse. But the bard felt like he was the one the warning was adressed to. Which…fuck why did that make Jaskier want to cry? This bloody Witcher and his tendency to worry about innocent lifes! He had to remind himself that this wasn‘t because Geralt cared for him specifically. He was but a ghost to the man. Probably a much better companion than the bard that came before that, but still an unasked for presence. He couldn‘t let his feeble emotions get the better of him this time. And if Geralt thought that he would heed his warning than the Witcher had another thing coming. Of course he was accompanying the dolt! That was the whole point of being invisible! With a practiced thought he stopped his breath and heart, trying to stay calm while his body was in shutdown mode. It didn‘t hurt to stop being alive. But his mind still briefly panicked whenever he pulled that stunt.

Geralt tensed momentarily and absolutely not subtly glanced around. Jaskier was grateful for the lack of wind that day. Like this he didn‘t need to worry about Geralt catching his scent.
The Witcher let out a frustrated huff of air and stomped away, Jaskier carefully tiptoeing along.

The sun was slowly setting when they made their track out of town. A small, overgrown path that could barely be seen with human eyes led them to an old mansion. The iron gate was rusted over almost completely, yet it still stood proud and defended against possible intruders. A wasted attempt, given that the stone wall had crumbled under the force of weeds and vines, giving ample space to effortlessly step over the remaining rubble.

The manor must once have been a beautiful place. There was a fountain in the garden, with a statue of a decently clothed woman holding a clay pot over her shoulder. That must have been where the water had come from once upon a time. Now the basin was as dry as the desert, home to moss and insects. The manor in and of itself was a modest three story building, which had probably been white in the beginning, but now was a dreary grey. A sturdy, two winged door with simple, playful ornaments hung half open in its frame. Behind that Jaskier could glimpse a cozy entrance hall. The space inside was surprisingly crammed and somehow didn‘t feel particularly abandoned. Geralt muttered a soft curse at that, he wouldn‘t have much room to maneuver around should he fight the Bruxa here. At least everything was decently lit. They were lucky to have a fullmoon tonight. Not that Geralt couldn‘t see perfectly well in the dark. But Jaskier really appreciated not having to bump into all sorts of furniture. The bard didn‘t hear anything out of place, but once they stepped into what must have been the solar room with its big windows, fireplace and several weather weary sitting accomodations, Geralt tensed up and abruptly changed directions. Jaskier had to jump out of the way so he wouldn‘t be barreled over, hoping it hadn‘t been him who had made the noise. The last thing he wanted was to muck up Geralts hunt. They climbed the stairs together, Jaskier suddenly being painfully aware that he was probably blocking the way, should Geralt need to retreat quickly. Shit maybe he should have stayed outside at least.

Upstairs they stalked through several rooms until they came upon what could have passed for a private library. The shelves were only half full, the books looking worse for wear. But a comfortable couch stood close to an empty fireplace. Opposite of that was a huge window, leading out to a balcony. The creature that stood there was both beautiful and horrifying. It was a woman, angled just so that the pale moonlight gently caressed her pale flesh. And there were copious amounts of that, because the lady hadn‘t deemed it necessary to get dressed. Soft, ebony hair framed a delicate face and fell artfully over her well formed breasts. Jaskiers gaze, in all other scenarios, would have wandered lower, but those empty white eyes held him captive. They were creepy, not like the black void Geralts eyes sometimes were. Her eyes looked lifeless and yet her gaze felt sharp, intent. It made Jaskier want to step closer, bear his throat to her. It also made him want to scream and run. Streams of red flowed from her parted lips and Jaskier couldn‘t tell if they were strange markings or old blood. The bard concentrated on that before he did something stupid like actually walking closer to the dangerous creature. Which is why he noticed that her skin looked tougher than a humans. Leathery, but smooth.

„Witcher.“ she spoke and Jaskiers eyes snapped from her collarbone back to her face, never quite meeting her eyes.

Geralt shifted, he hadn‘t yet drawn his sword, but he was far from relaxed. „Bruxa.“

She gave him a toothy smile, showing off her fangs. „My name is Tatiana. And yours is?“

„Geralt of Rivia.“

„Ohhh“ she purred. „The White Wolf! What an honour! Why have you come here, dear wolf?“

„You well know. Why do you torment the lords son so?“

Her expression turned dreamy. „Arthur… I met him in the garden of his home. He is to be my lover.“

„And the others?“

„The others? They were merely fodder. I craved his blood so much. I had to distract myself somehow.“

Geralt changed into a more defensive stance. The movement wasn‘t much, just a slight shift of weight, a small relocation of his feet. His hand still hadn‘t gotten even close to his weapon, but Jaskier knew how fast he could be. Had Jaskier not stopped his heart it would have pounded. The air was charged and even invisible he felt like prey stuck between too overpowering predators.

„Will you leave the town be once you have the lords son?“ Geralt mused.

„Yes. I won‘t be needing more than him.“

„He doesn‘t seem very willing to me at the moment, though.“

„Oh, he‘ll crack eventually. His daddy won‘t be able to protect him much longer.“

There was a playful glint in her eyes and Jaskier had the horrible realization that she could well have had Arthur from the very beginning. The bard had met women like her, although those had been human. Women who loved a challenge, who played hard to get or aimed high, who played the heartstrings of men like Jaskier played his lute. He pitied the lords son. Dedicated human lovers were already hard to get rid of, but the poor man could never stand a chance against a creature like this.

Tatiana must have seen the moment Geralts choice had been made for she launched herself at him with a shrill laugh. The Witcher ducked out of the way and send an Aard sign in her direction, knocking her over and into one of the shelves. Jaskier pressed himself in a small niche between the fireplace and another shelf, hoping nothing would hit him in his little corner. The Bruxa was fast leaving Geralt no time to stab her with his silver sword. There was a flurry of motion and limbs that Jaskier could barely keep up with. Tatiana dodged Geralts blade and went in for another swipe herself that only managed to nick the Witchers armor. Hissing she jumped back. Her skin rippled as she blurred and turned translucent. At first Jaskier was confused by that. She might have been a little harder to spot like that, but she was still perfectly visible. That is until the bard noticed how Geralts eyes swept over the room in search of his target. Panic sized him then. Was Tatiana able to do the same as him? Did that mean that she could see him now?! He was so fucked if that was the case. But the Bruxa didn‘t pay him any mind. She was staying close to the shadowed areas of the cramped room, avoiding the moonlight and preparing for a sneak attack. Geralt let out a frustrated growl, grabbed into his pouch and threw down a wrapped kind of bottle.

Oh shit. Bomb. Was all Jaskier could think before the thing went up with a loud bang. A cloud of glittering dust filled the room and made it hard to see at first. Jaskier had held up his arm in defense of the blow, eyes squeezed closed for but a few seconds and yet it felt like he had somehow missed a crucial point of the fight. He heard a familiar wush of air that told him Geralt had used another Aard sign. Something cracked and he heard two distant thuds. When he blinked his eyes open again the dust had settled, Geralts pouch was lying on the floor and the two combatants were nowhere to be seen. Not seen but heard. Jaskier scooped up Geralts supplies and ran onto the balcony. Just as he had thought, the two were in the courtyard now, circling each other. The Bruxa was shimmering, the bombs dust giving away her location, but most of the powder had already been shaken off. It was only a matter of time before she was fully invisible again. Mind made up Jaskier turned on his heels to sprint down the stairs and into the open. The few minutes it took him had not been kind to Geralt, who had again lost sight of Tatiana. Both seemed to have gotten a few hits in. Geralts left side had a gash and the Bruxa bled from a wound on her neck and hip. She looked absolutely furious. Jaskier didn‘t hesitate to throw a bomb right into her snarling face. Geralt whirled around at the noise. The Bruxa stood there, dumbfounded and confused. And that was her death sentence. The Witcher had some distance to cover, but he sent an Aard and Igni sign ahead of him in quick succession. He was on her before she could get up again, driving his sliver sword through her heaving breast and then in one fell swoop cut off her head for good measure. Silence tentatively returned to the abandoned place. Jaskier was still trembling a little from the left over adrenalin, clutching the pouch to his chest.

„I told you to stay back.“

The low rumble snapped him out of his haze. Geralt wasn‘t looking at him. He was scooping up the head with a pained grunt and slowly shuffled towards the wall. Jaskier would have liked to take the invitation for banter, but that would have involved talking, something he still refused to do around Geralt.

„Hmmm. I want that bag back eventually, you know.“

The ass. He could have at least thanked Jaskier for the assistance. That fight could have taken much longer if he hadn‘t been there to throw stuff. He let the vials of potions clink together gently in reply, gaining him a glare and a „be careful with that“.

Well this had been a fun adventure. One that Jaskier could easily spin at least three songs out of. A creepy lullaby, a tragic ballad, an epic. So many possibilities. For now though he‘d like to get back into town and curl up with Roach. He had earned himself a good nights rest.

Of course none of his wishes ever came true. Life just loved to throw rocks at him, it seemed. They hadn‘t made it far down the trek back towards the inviting lights of civilization when an arrow flew past Jaskier. It would have hit Geralt directly in the throat had he not been gifted fast reflexes and what could well be called darkvision. It still left a mean gash at the side of his neck, a small stream of blood trickling down and soaking up his dark shirt beneath the armor. Geralt growled, more pissed off by the additional wound than hurt. He launched himself in the direction of the shot but was blocked by three men jumping out in front of him, unknowingly to them cutting him off from Jaskier. Revealing themselves like that had been a bad move. Jaskier thought as he soon was able to take a dagger from one of the fallen men to sneak back into the bushes in search of the archer. Jaskier had to give it to them, they were good at stealth. The guy with the crossbow was hard to see nestled between branches. He was high up and for a short second Jaskier debated if he should climb up there to slit his throat. Shaking his head at the ridiculous thought – he was invisible not transparent – he bend down to pick up a heavy rock and hurled it at the archers head. It met his shoulder instead, but given the piss poor lighting in the forest, the distance and all the branches that were in the way, Jaskier counted it as a win. The man screamed in shock, lost his balance and fell a good few feet to the ground. Jaskier had moved and was there to spring on him before the archer even made it all the way down. He was mid groan, trying to catch the breath that had so roughly been knocked out of him, when Jaskier cut his throat, ending his miserable life. Scowling Jaskier stood up to check up on his Witcher. Geralt stood stock still in the middle of the road, eyes firmly fixed on the bushes Jaskier had disturbed by walking through them. The tired monster hunter relaxed a fraction when nothing else happened.

„The archer?“ he asked gently.

Jaskier threw the bloody dagger in front of his feet.

A small frown marred Geralts handsome features as he picked it up. „Hmm... Let‘s go it‘s best if we leave as soon as possible.“

The bard hated that Geralt was right. This didn‘t happen often anymore, not since Jaskiers songs had made the White Wolf famous. But occasionally rich or desperate people hired mercenaries to kill a weakened Witcher after a hunt so they wouldn‘t have to pay up. Jaskiers blood boiled at the injustice of it all. Geralt was exhausted and injured. He should have been given a warm bath and soft bed to rest in, not an arrow to his throat. Jaskier brooded the whole way back. Usually Geralt would drag him back to the inn they were staying at, when something like this happened. He would threaten and growl at the bard to leave it be and not to cause any more trouble. But Geralt couldn‘t see him now. No one could if he didn‘t want them to. He left the Witcher to pack up their things, confident that the man wouldn‘t go far in the time he was gone. Geralt had adopted a slow pace since he found out he had a companion and without any verbal clues Geralt didn‘t dare go faster than a normal human could handle. And even if he did get away further than Jaskier had calculated, a little pain was worth the justice he was about to induce.

Chapter Text

Getting into the mansion was laughably easy. The place was bustling with life. He had been able to hear the music and laughter before he even saw the building. The gates were wide open, the eyes of the guards - merely there to welcome the guests - useless against his current state of existence. Jaskier scowled at the party goers. All dressed to the nines with cups of wine in hand, dancing and gossiping. „Celebrating the monsters death“. The bard had half the mind to set something on fire just to wipe the smug espressions out of their ugly faces. He knocked over several cups and tripped some of the guests to his way into the mansion instead. He might occasionally suffer from bad impuls control but he also knew when something was a truly bad idea (sometimes). These people, while probably bastards, were most likely innocent. The one he was really after was the lord. Not that he really had a plan for when he found him. He couldn‘t kill him, that would have linked back to Geralt and Jaskier worked way too hard to improve his reputation to damage it now. Maybe he‘ll poison his goblet or something. He did still have the Witcher potions and his own bag had enough herbs to at least give the man horrible diarrhea or something. Now finding the man was turning out to be a bit of a problem. He was nowhere in the courtyard and the halls inside were cramped with humans in various states of intoxication. Not very coordinated folks to begin with, but the fact that they couldn‘t see him made it even harder for Jaskier to navigate through the rooms. Eventually he decided to take the stairs to the upper floor and nap some valuables while he was at it. Maybe damage some property. That could always be linked to a drunk guest. Damn if he could just show himself and perform like usually. He would ruin this mans whole reputation!

The cheerful music and warm light from bellow followed him into the hallways. Here it was empty, Jaskiers shoes clacking uncomfortably loud on the polished wooden floor. Aimlessly he opened one of the doors and stepped into the space behind. A fire burned in the hearth to his right, an open door leading to a balcony ahead of him and a king sized bed. A small table and chair was crammed into the corner beside it. The space looked luxurious enought that it could be the lords bedroom. Grinning he stepped further into the room and closed the door.

„Who‘s there?“

A frightened whisper made Jaskier flinch. There huddled in the corner behind the door was a young man in smallclothes, hair almost black in the darkness, huge, haunted eyes staring into empty air. The light of the fullmoon made the huge circles under his eyes visible. His skin was ashen and he was trembling like a young dog in winter.

„Lady? Is that you?“

Jaskier had been too shocked to answer at first, but now he sprang into action at the rising panic in the mans voice. „No! No. I‘m not. I mean you no harm.“

„Are you another one of those monsters?“ Arthur sobbed, curling tighter around himself.

„No, my friend.“ With a deep breath Jaskier revealed himself and gave the poor traumatized soul his most charming smile. „I‘m a human just like you.“

„You can turn invisible like them.“ he said squinting up at him in suspicion.

„Ah. Haha. Yeah. I might be a little...cursed. At the moment. But see? I have normal eyes and teeth. I‘m fully clothed and I don‘t have blood dripping down my chin like some sort of weird fashion accessoire! I swear to you I am and never was anything else than human.“

That seemed to do the trick. Arthur uncurled from his position a bit, eyes now more curious than scared. Jaskier liked this one. He seemed like a man still used to the rough life of a peasant, not yet swallowed up by the comforts and vanities of the upper class.

„Is it true then? That the monsters are dead?“

Jaskier nodded. „It is...“ If you counted the mercenaries as among them even the plural form was correct. „But still, you‘re father must have been mighty sure the Witcher killed all the monsters, if they are no guards around anymore.“ A small tug made Jaskiers eye twitch. He sat down crosslegged on the surprisingly comfy rug to counteract the feeling. He wasn‘t done here yet. Damn it, why was Geralt always so quick and efficient?

„He had much faith in the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia. Say, why are you here? Your attire looks fancy and you have a lute, but- and forgive my rudeness, you‘re also caked in dirt.“

Jaskier squirmed a bit in his spot. The tugging was already getting more insistent. But gods be damned this was the first conversation he‘s had in ages! And he hadn‘t even exacted any revenge yet! „He might have had faith but your father definitely lacked in gratefulness.“ Jaskier bit out. „He sent men out to ambush him after the hunt. He‘s leaving the town as we speak, injured and without coin for his trouble.“

Understanding dawned on Arthurs face. „You‘re the White Wolfs barker! You‘re Jaskier! I‘ve seen you once a few years back. I couldn‘t get Toss a Coin out of my head for weeks afterwards!“ Jaskier shushed him urgently, the man had gotten far too loud in his excitement. Arthur waved his concerns away, but sobered quickly. „You‘re here for revenge then. Please don‘t harm father. He‘s...not a kind man, but not especially cruel either. And he‘s the only thing I have left.“

He said that as if he didn‘t sit in silk clothes in a huge ass mansion with a room all his own. But Jaskier understood. Sometimes there were more important things than comfort and riches. And the lord did seem to care deeply for his son. „I still want compensation. He could have killed my best friend. I‘ve been travelling with him for over twenty years you know? Oh the trouble we have gotten ourself into! I could write entire song cycles about them! Oh wait I did that. Although I still have a huge amount of material I haven‘t used yet. This too will be turned into a song eventually as. Probably a ballad. Or a lullaby-“

„A lullaby.“ Arthur breathed. He was smiling now, leaning forward with obvious interest. „One that warns children about approaching strange naked ladies in gardens.“

Jaskier chuckled. „That sounds more like a ditty. Hm mixing something cheerful with something creepy. That could work actually.“

„It does. It‘s called nursery rhymes.“

„Oh! Someone has a good sense of humor! Ack!“

„What‘s wrong?“

Jaskier grimaced, rubbing his chest, where pain bloomed from an invisible wound. „I told you how I‘ve been cursed, right? Well-“ he tried to keep the story short. He really did. He was running out of time and he still had so many things to do. He hoped Geralt would make camp not too far away from town. The pain right now was bearable, but if the Witcher went much further Jaskier would have no choice but to bolt back to him again. And yet, the words just kept coming. He had caged his voice for so long that now that he had opened the doors the words just kept coming in a steady stream. It felt so good to hear himself again, to move his mouth into different shapes to produce various sounds. He wanted to keep going forever. He could keep going forever. If it wasn‘t for this thrice damned pain telling him his time was nearly up.

Arthur was an attentive and passionate listener, not even mentioning the fact that Jaskier was crying again. He had relaxed a considerable amount and was nodding and humming along. Only when Jaskier started to rub at his chest and didn‘t stop again did the young man interrupt the bards tirade.

„Jaskier? Could you sing something for me? I‘d like to get the ladys haunting melodies out of my head.“

Jaskier forced a smile „Of course! Anything specific you‘d like me to perform?“ He wasn‘t sure if he could go much longer or if his singing would be any good. The pain was getting really distracting, crawling from his heart to his throat, threatening to steal his voice.

„Something sad.“ Arthur nodded to himself. „And then you can have some of my clothes as payment. Yours look horrid. Oh and if you want to get the money my father owes you, walk back down the hallway and take the second door after the staircase. The one with the green plant in front. That‘s his office, he hides the key under the pot.“

„Now that‘s not very smart.“

Arthur shrugged. „He‘s not a very smart man.“

„Right. Well let‘s see...How about this?“ He tried to tune his lute, but the sharp pins and needles inching into his fingers made it impossible to move them like he wanted to. No „Her Sweet Kiss“, then. Melitele, please let me just stay a little longer.

With a sheepish grin and whispered sorry he slung his lute onto his back and hummed a tune to warm up instead. The first few notes trembled, but once he started to sing they rang strong and true, his voice as sugar sweet as always. The pain lacing it was perfect for the song he performed. It was one he hadn‘t thought singing to anyone. He had used it to pour all of his sadness and devotion into after the dragon hunt. It was to be sung into the campfire at night, when he couldn‘t sleep, a weapon to beat away the darkness of his mind.

When you call to me asleep
Up the ragged cliffs I scramble
A single thread hangs limply down
And I breathe not now, not now
And I find you all unwoven
Trying desperately to sew
I know the kindest thing
Is to leave you alone

The first verse was always the hardest to go through. The wound that moment up on that mountain had inflicted was still bleeding. Leaving Geralt alone had been the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. His voice threatened to patter out at the end of the second and third verse, but eventually he made it to his most recent and hopefully last addition.

I wake and hear you calling
And up those cliffs I climb
And I find you with a thimble weeping
May I, I ask, may I?
And you gently gift it to me
Cos you've no clue how to sew
And I know the kindest thing
I pray to god it's the kindest thing
I know the kindest thing
Is to never leave you alone

The last word was barely audible, swallowed by the laughter and happy chanting from below. Jaskier just sat there, breathing deep and even. The agony bestowed upon him by Ardas blessing was briefly overridden by a numb, hollowness. He tried to break the spell with a small smile, but it cracked at the edges. Arthur stared back at him, tears streaming down his cheeks. Weakly he gestured towards his wardrobe.

„Take everything you want. Go ahead.“

Shaking Jaskier stood and nodded, his throat tight. He stumbled over and pulled out bits and pieces of cloth, soft and warm beneath his calloused hands.

„Take the winter coat, too. You‘ll need it when the frost comes.“

Quickly he changed into his new clothes, not caring for the laces and threw the gifted coat over his shoulder. With a deep breath he went over to the door and send one last, sincere smile towards the lords son.

„Thank you.“ he whispered, before flickering out of existence.

„Thank you.“ came the strangled echo.

Jaskier hurried to finish his business, running down the hall and unlocking the lords office. He nicked everything he could readily grab. A bag overflowing with coin, an expensive bottle of wine, a fancy quill and inkpot and what looked like an overly expensive notebook (What he had earned himself a bit of a reward as well). It was getting hard to move by the time he made it out of the mansion. His head was pounding, his legs cramping, barely able to support his weight. Only the pull of the string tying him to Geralt allowed him to push forward. Or maybe it was pulling him.

He ran through the last bit of night. Had he really been spending so much time with Arthur? And breathed a sigh of relief when his nerves didn‘t flare up with every twitch of muscle anymore. Finally, finally he was back where he belonged. He saw Roach first, tethered lightly to a low hanging branch. Geralt sat not far away from her in front of the fire, sharpening his swords with motions that seemed almost anxious. Jaskier shuffled closer, purposefully making as much noise as he dared. Geralt stopped the assault on his weapons and tilted his head as if to listen, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. He still didn‘t look happy, but at least he seemed to have bandaged himself up. And that was more than Jaskier could have asked for him to do in his absence.

„I was wondering if I had accidently left you behind. You wounded?“

There was a roasted rabbit stuck on a stick close enough to the fire to keep warm, but far enough away to not get burned. Jaskiers heart swelled at the sight. Carefully he arranged himself in a sitting position without accidently dropping anything of his loot. His limbs were still stiff from the strain, but he managed. Eagerly he reached for the meal and hoped Geralt would take that as a no to the injury part.

He got a frustrated huff. „You know this would be much easier if you would just talk to me.“

Funny how the tables have turned, isn‘t it? Jaskier thought with a reasonably amount of spite mixed into the irony.

„Can you even talk?“ Geralt asked after a silence that stretched long enough for Jaskier to be able to finish his rabbit.

Jaskier threw a stone into the flames as a reply, which only got him a disgruntled hmmm. As if the bastard would know what to make of that message. As always these days the silent troubadour waited until Geralt fell asleep before moving. Carefully he deposited the coin bag and potion pouch into Geralts saddlebag, together with the wine. He would have loved to keep the bottle for himself. Melitele knew he was the one who needed a drink much more than the Witcher. But being drunk and invisible probably wasn‘t a good combination.
The gifts didn‘t get the reaction he had hoped for. As soon as Geralt found them the next morning his brow furrowed and his posture stiffened.

„Ghost, what did you do?“

Ghost? Now that was a new one. Jaskier stayed a safe distance away, wary of the angry growling coming from the Witcher. He rolled his eyes at himself and kept silent as usual. Couldn‘t the oaf just be happy that he got his payment after all? Now he wouldn‘t need to scrape by as he had needed to do so many times before.

But Geralt apparently didn‘t see it like that. While he thankfully took the path that went further away from the town he kept his guard up. It felt like the first few days after the cur- blessing. Jaskier clenched his teeth at the revelation. He had defended Geralt, helped him with his hunt and used everything in his repertoire to make his life easier and mistrust was the thanks he got? He should have been used to being shunned like this by now and yet it still hurt. Like always. Why was he always hurting these days?!

Chapter Text

Geralt was wary around him now, Jaskier noted after the first few days back on the road. The tension bled over to the bard, who couldn‘t help but widen the distance between them a little. His heart wasn‘t beating now most of the time. He rarely bothered to breath. It drove Roach crazy. She kept flicking her ears to try and make out where he was. The poor thing. She had gotten used to his invisible presence, accepting the new reality of his altered state of being with the calm attitude only someone who already saw everything could possess. Gods he loved Roach. The girl was probably the only one with any common sense in their little group…

Despite the obvious rising awkwardness on both sides Jaskier still tried to keep up their weird form of banter. He didn‘t want Geralt to slip back into bad habits again. It was a relief at least that the Witcher still responded to that. Still hunted food for him, too. Now that he thought about it. Huh, maybe he was the one making a too big deal out of the whole thing, Jaskier mused as they trotted along the road. Maybe he was making up malicious intent now where he had once made up friendship. Could he go from loveblind puppy to mistrusting ghost? The situation sure called for it. And he was a bard. Jaskier had no illusions there, he was born for the extremes, moods rising and falling like the tides. Still the stakes where too high to slip up any more than he already had. Geralt had been severely displeased with Jaskiers behavior and the man was good at brooding for ages on end.

Jaskier mentally huffed, biting his lip as to not let out the breath of air in the real world. He didn‘t get why it was such a big deal. He hadn‘t killed anyone! And Jaskier the bard would have done (or tried to do) the exact same thing as Jaskier the ghost had. Geralt might have pulled him away from bar fights or stopped him from chucking something at ungrateful villagers, but he had never looked at him like...he had this shadow in his eyes now. This expression that Jaskier always saw when Geralt first walked into an unfamiliar tavern. Or when speaking to nobility.

Mistrust. He was looking for him (Never at him. Couldn‘t do that if Jaskier didn‘t make a sound.) mistrust in his gaze.

For a brief moment he forgot himself and kicked a stone. Bloody, Witchers and their high moral standards. He‘ll just have to get used to having a defensive ghost around him. He had endured Jaskier for a long time, after all. And shit he didn‘t want to think about what would happen if Geralt got tired of him in this form. It wasn‘t like he could go anywhere else.

Roach neighed curiously at the noise of the stone skittering across the ground, trying to turn her head so she could look behind her. For a horse that lacked the full range of human facial expressions she was very good at showing her annoyance at the whole situation. She clearly wanted him up front at her flank, touching her mane from time to time. Jaskier was as proud of his ability to read Roach as he was at his ability to decipher Geralts various hums and grunts.

The aforementioned Witcher gently nudged his mare to watch the road ahead again and only spared a brief glance at the path behind him. Jaskier waved at him with a sneer, knowing his theatrics were wasted on the man. Not that he had gotten much of a rise out of Geralt before this whole debacle… Great, now he had maneuvred himself into a maudlin mood. And he couldn‘t even sing a sad song about it. Life sucked.

The wind picked up as they walked, pushing at Jaskiers back, seeming to try and help him forward. The bard always tensed when the breeze wasn‘t in his favour. He still did not know how much of his being was hidden from the senses. Roach had no problem identifying him, but that might be because he had revealed his little trick to her and she was a very smart girl that could put two and two together. Geralt at least hadn‘t reacted to his scent if he had caught it. Maybe he smelled different now? He was much dirtier that was for sure. And he hadn‘t been able to use any of his usual perfumes in ages.

Jaskier was ripped out of his musings by a low, dissonant humming. At first he thought it was a traveler coming towards them. But then he found the source of the noise. Geralt. Geralt was humming a song. Scratch that, Geralt was humming one of his songs! It sounded more like sandpaper on a stone for all the roughness of his unused vocal chords, but to Jaskier it sounded like the melodies of paradies. He had no clue what had brought up the sudden change in the Witchers mood. But Jaskier prayed to the gods (not Arda, she could go fuck herself) that it would hold.

His heart started to pump blood again without his permission, obviously still unsure how to do its job properly after such a long break, because it was skipping beats all the time. So he probably had been painting the sky black again. If Geralt was relaxed enough to hum a tune than he couldn‘t be that wary of his invisible companion.

Jaskier still worried from time to time as they travelled, but his dark thoughts dispersed when they reached a decently sized town again. While Geralt went into the next best inn Jaskier gleefully plucked some apples from the tree standing in front of the building. One was immediately fed to Roach, who had been tugged into her stall by a scared stable hand. She nipped at his hand in retaliation for his mood the last few days, but then gently nudged his hands after the fruit was gone, so Jaskier was pretty sure he was forgiven.

This time the transition from visible to invisible was triggered purely through shock at the door to the inn being torn open. Jaskiers heart found its new home in his throat, but Geralt didn‘t seem to have seen him. Right. It wasn‘t like the Witcher needed to check for Jaskiers whereabouts all the time. At this point Jaskier was probably more aware of his surroundings than Geralt. And the Witcher had his tunnelvision activated anyway, by the looks of it.

Curiously Jaskier watched as Geralt went through the town with fast, even strides. Clad in full armor he made for an intimidating picture. Jaskier wondered what kind of contract he had gotten talked into that made him leave so fast. It couldn‘t be a Drowner problem. Geralt would have waited until night time for those. Maybe a griffin? But they would have heard rumours by now had that been the case. Ugh, he regretted not following Geralt into the inn now. He somehow always missed the crucial stuff whenever he was busy in the stables. Not that he regretted tending to Roach. The mare deserved every bit of the love send her way and more. But-

Jaskier froze. They had made it to the outskirts of town, where the mud and dirt turned to soft green grass. And there a few meager paces away was a quaint cottage framed by a well tended garden. Geralt had already made it to the door, knocked and Jaskier was eternally thankful for the added distance he had kept. Because the door had opened. Naturally. That‘s what doors where supposed to do. It was the person behind it that made his body lock up in panic.

Yennefer.

Jaskier thought he was still coherent enough to see Geralt tense. Which meant he had not come to her specifically. Which meant he had sought out a mage. Which- Oh gods. Oh fuck. Jaskier had thought he still had time. They hadn‘t even made it through a year together! Had his little revenge plot really been that revolting? Had he pushed too hard again? What- No. Jaskier shook his head and took a deep breath to try and calm himself down. He could break his brain wondering about the Why‘s later. And probably curse the high heavens and all the deities in them while at it. Right now he had more important things to worry about. Geralt wanted to get rid of him. There wasn‘t a good other explanation for a surprise visit by a mage. Not when Jaskier knew Geralt was still full on potions. And if Yennefer was willing to help maybe Jaskier couldn‘t be sure what was going to come at him, but it defenitely wouldn‘t be anything pleasant.

He needed to leave. Needed to hide. And he needed to do it now as long as Geralt was still in the mages house, preoccupied. Maybe he would be for some time, too, if this meeting ended like all the others before. Jaskier thought bitterly as he ran for the woods.

Geralt was loath to admit it, but he had grown fond of the unexpected company that had followed him around since he had woken up at the temple. It felt familiar in a way and at the time it had seemed harmless enough. He had been wary at first, of course. You didn‘t live as long has he did in his line of work (even with the extra mutations) if you willy nilly trusted every magic thing coming at you with less than murderous intent. So Geralt had tested the waters, hadn‘t dared to sleep the first few nights, but tried to look the part. He faked vulnerability always prepared for a strike, but nothing ever came. Instead, one day the being that had attached itself to him bullied him into taking care of himself. And Geralt might have been a mutant, but damn it all he was still just as much human underneath. And the human part of him had been starved for a little affection since that blasted day on the mountain.

Geralt should have known it wouldn‘t last.

He had let the thing too close. Had let his guard down too much. It was clear now that whatever it was, it could be vicious. And with it lashing out and Geralt with no way to control it he had to get rid of it before it hurt any innocents. Or more. Fuck, he didn‘t know what his ghost had done to the lord. He hoped it hadn‘t killed him.

Damn it all if Vesemir ever found out about how soft and reckless Geralt had gotten he would be in for one hell of a scolding. But it had been so easy. So, so easy to trust the silent presence. His ghost. The pale shadow of another companionship he once had. And while he had yearned all the while for cheerful chatter and song, he took what he could get.

He didn‘t want to get rid of it.

Geralt had fought a furious battle of wills the whole damn way to the mage, gaining speed as his resolve faltered hardened. He had been barely able to hear his ghost behind him, puffs of air and a quiet patter of feet. Curiousity lingered in the faint summer – breeze - smell that sometimes wafted over to him. It broke Geralts heart a little. He hoped the mage could find a way to shoo it off without hurting it.

By the gods if he couldn‘t keep it, then at least don‘t let him have to hurt it.

Thoughts had calmed from storm to light breath of air, as he stepped through the small gate and up to the cottage. With the panic gone, only a pit of dread was left in his stomach.
Of course, destiny had to use his moment of vulnerability to slap him in the face again.
He smelled her before she even opened the door. Lilacs and gooseberries. Yennefer.

Fuck.

She was about as thrilled to see him as he was, already annoyed scowl deepening, a storm brewing behind lovely violet eyes.

„Geralt.“

„Yen...“

They stared each other down for a second, air cracking, either with tension or with barely concealed chaos, neither could be sure. Yennefers features scrunched up as she got distracted by something behind him. He felt her chaos reach out. She made an inquisitive noise.

„There‘s something following you. And it‘s not your bard.“

„I know...“ Geralt sighed. „That‘s why I‘ve been looking for a mage. Can I come in?“

She thought on it, eyes narrow as they swept over him, before she nodded and stepped back in, leaving the door open for him.

„Tell me then, what you got yourself into this time.“ she threw over her shoulder as she sauntered into her kitchen and leaned on the counter.

Geralt stayed awkwardly in the doorway, with crossed arms and his shoulder brushing the wooden frame, trying and failing at nonchalance. After he retold her everything he could remember and answered several of her questions he startled as she let out one sharp bark of a laugh.

„I correct my former statement. It is your bard following you.“

The world screeched to a sudden halt. Geralt could only stare at Yennefer with wide eyes. A strangled „What?“ leaving his mouth.

„You heard me. Really Geralt I‘m surprised you didn‘t notice. You said yourself that you could smell him!“

„I thought it was just wishful thinking...or maybe the ghosts way of manipulating me...“ Geralt muttered unable to look Yen in the eyes any longer. Yeah no telling Vesemir about any of this, ever.

„Geralt.“ And shit that was a soft voice. Yennefer only used that tone when he was either really close to dying or was being very, very stupid. „Do you know any monster that would be able to turn invisible, manipulate their scent to smell like your best friend – no don‘t deny it – and is magical enough to hide from your medallion?“

„Fae, maybe?“ he tried, just to be difficult. A horrible habit he had picked up from Jaskier.

Yen gave him a deadpan look. „You‘re an idiot.“ she concluded. „A blockheaded idiot. Does Roach have the braincell of your group at the moment? It sure seems like it. Now maybe I‘m wrong. But I rarely am. And I don‘t exactly know why he is as he is right now. I‘m assuming it has something to do with this mysterious goddess. Bring him to me if you can convince him. I want to examine him and see what I can do.“

Geralt let his eyes sweep over the room in confusion. „He didn‘t come in with me?“

The innocent question earned him a scoff. „Of course not. What do you think he thought when he saw me at the door? He probably ran.“

Something constricted painfully at the thought. His expression must have revealed his heartbreak, because Yennefer let out a tired sigh and gently pushed him out of her home.

„Go find your little songbird, Geralt.“

The quiet click of the door closing behind him made the world pick up speed again. Despite the sudden, groundbreaking twist there was something blooming in his chest, that had not taken root in his heart for a long time.

Hope.

Chapter Text

Jaskier knew he would never be able to outrun Geralt. What he could hope for was that Geralt would get tired of the hunt eventually. If Jaskier was lucky, Geralt would leave matters be once he figured out the ghost he got to know would no longer bother him. Hey the Witcher had abandoned hunts before! He just had to last until then.

Which...Jaskier honestly didn‘t know how long he would be able to get going. He had been running through the wild like prey for what must have been hours by now and still he didn‘t feel the familiar burn in his chest. Oh, he hurt. His body was protesting against the sudden exercise it had been forced into. His lungs ached, not used to the amount of air pushed through them all of a sudden. But the magical muscle Arda had cursed him with didn‘t strain. It had, for a short while and then it had loosened again frightenly fast.

Geralt had not stayed to fuck the sorceress then. Or maybe it had been a quicky before the hunt. His stomach lurched uncomfortably at both thoughts. As if he hadn‘t been miserable enough as it was. Damn his easily distracted mind.

He skitted to a stop, nearly falling over and into a stream as the rays of the sun started to turn orange and red. He was heaving, light headed and shaking. It didn‘t matter that there was mud and sticks in the water. Or that he was making himself good Drowner bait. He scooped up handful after handful and gulped down the cool liquid with greed.

Now that he knelt in the dirt he didn‘t think he could get up again. But he had to. He had to keep running. Geralt had better stamina than him. And the Witcher was stubborn. He would at least go through one night, before there was even a chance for him to give up.

He should cover his tracks better. His frantic running around had probably made his path super obvious. Choice made he stepped into the stream with a grimace and let himself be pushed downward by the current. He had no clue if he was doing this right. Shit if this kept up he might very well die from any number of stupid things before Geralt could even get to him.

It said a lot about how fucked up his world had gotten, that he felt comforted by that thought.

Jaskier had no idea where he ended up climbing out of the icy water. He only knew that it was getting too dark to scramble over slippery rocks. Not that trudging through the underbrush was any easier.

Why was he making this so hard for himself again? He wondered as he looked up at the treetops, exhaustion burrowing deep into his bones. Maybe he should climb one of those, hope that Yennefer hadn‘t given Geralt anything to counteract Jaskiers invisibility. He shuddered at the thought of the moon dust bomb. If she had given him anything Jaskier hoped it was something less explosive.

Carefully, or as carefully as one could do when pumped up on adrenalin, he weighed his options. He didn‘t feel like he could run any longer. He hadn‘t slept well the nights before. And it was nearly too dark out to see anything but slightly darker or lighter shadows…

„Fuck it.“ he mumbled, adjusting his lute and bag before starting to rob onto a particularly tall and sturdy tree.

Like this Geralt would have caught up to him in the morning at the latest, but that was future Jaskiers problem now. For the moment the bard pressed his back into the rough bark of the tree, caged in by several twisted but sturdy branches. With slow, calculated moves he tugged his lute from his back and took out the winter cloak Arthur had gifted him to use as a blanket. Nestled into the tree like that he very much resembled the bird he was so often called.

Despite the fatigue Jaskier could not hope to slip into dreamland and maybe sleep through his death by Witcher. He was still too alert. He had tuned in to Geralts whereabouts, heart beating louder and louder the closer the fair haired man came. Jaskier cut it off with a pained noise when he deemed Geralt to be near hearing range.

His whole body gave one shiver from head to toe before freezing up completely when Geralt stalked towards his little hideout. Jaskier saw his eyes first, glowing bright in the darkness like a cats. Faint traces of light from the waning moon caught in the silvery hair. If Jaskier strained his hearing he could make out soft footsteps and the quiet jingle of weaponry and armor shifting as the Witcher walked.

Jaskier curled into himself at the sight. He couldn‘t really make out Geralts face from where he was, but he could see the overall stance of his body. The Witcher was armed for a fight and tense in a way he usually only was when he was about to jump a beast. And not in the sexy sense.
He braced himself for an attack.

„Jaskier.“

Fuck! Not that kind. The gentle whisper punched through Jaskiers gut and he had to brace himself to not fall out the tree in shock. His head instantly filled with many different thoughts all screaming questions in confusion. One very broken, very quiet voice was reciting the old poems he had learned in Oxenfurt to cope with the further fraying of his nerves. Might as well have been a forest fire up in his head for all the chaos that was going on there.

„Jaskier. I know you‘re here.“ Now that didn‘t sound very confident. Jaskier was a master in reading Geralt and that definitely sounded more like a question than a statement. „Please don‘t be afraid.“ Yeah, big chance.

Despite the overwhelming urge to drop down and...what? Run? Reveal himself? Break down crying? All of that but not in that order? He kept himself still. Maybe it was just the habit of paranoia he had aquired during his invisible travels, but Geralt seemed shifty.

Maybe he knew that his ghost really was Jaskier, maybe he was taking a gamble and hoped to somehow trick, what he thought to be a supernatural creature, into letting his guard down again. Jaskier didn‘t know what option was more horrifying. He had, quite frankly, gotten used to hiding. It wasn‘t the best life, but it was a life at Geralts side. If Geralt really knew that it was Jaskier following him around then…

He would have so much to explain. If Geralt even let him. And then they both would have to face the consequences of Jaskiers rash actions.

„Jaskier. Come on! Talk to me. You never missed an opportunity to chew my ear off before. Why start now?“

The bard stopped himself from snarling. Alright. Maybe fear wasn‘t all that kept him from revealing himself. He loved his wolf to bits, but the man could be a right bastard. Trying to lure him out with insults. No wonder the goddess took his soul. Bloody emotionally stunted Witchers and their too sharp tongues.

He watched with a small, shaky smirk as Geralt looked around and let out a growl of frustration. Pissing off the Witcher probably wasn‘t a good idea. And shit Jaskier was still close to pissing his pants in fear. But he had never been known to make good decisions, especially when it came to riling up a certain wolf.

„Fine.“ Geralt grumbled. „Have it your way. We both know I can outlast you in matters of silence.“

The Witcher made sure that the spot they were in was safe, before he sat down, leaning on a tree opposite Jaskiers and started to meditate.

As quietly as possible Jaskier made himself a bit more comfortable too, eyes never leaving the still face of the White Wolf. Wait and see, Witcher. Jaskier thought. I‘m far more stubborn than you. The first bulk of the inevitable confrontation over, the bard was able to calm down enough to doze a little. Not enough to be truly rejuvinating, but enough to let the time flow by like a steady stream.

Geralt was the first one to move as the first lights of the sun tentatively creeped over the trees. He gave a low grunt as he got up, which made Jaskier crack open an eye to watch.

The man scented the air, eyes sweeping over the trees and through the bushes, that were starting to loose their leaves. His face did something complicated. Something that Jaskier couldn‘t quite place. And then.

„Jaskier!“

It wasn‘t quite a bellow, but loud enough in the stillness of the forest to kickstart Jaskiers heart into beating again in fright. He immediately reined it in again, but the noise had been enough to give Geralt a better approximation to where the bard was.

Jaskier gulped as those intense amber eyes focussed in on him. They still looked through the bard, but that didn‘t make it any less creepy and arous- Gods be damned body, why do you have to betray me like that?! He mentally moaned. This was no time to develop a new kink! This was a matter of life and death! Not that that had ever stopped his scattered brain from going of on tangents before. He just hoped Geralt wouldn‘t start to climb the tree he was in. Jaskier didn‘t think he could jump down without hurting himself. Or be caught by Geralt first.

But the White Wolf just tilted his head at him with a pained expression. „How long do you plan on hiding up there?“

It wasn‘t a good idea. Although, all good ideas had probably left him after that disaster of a Bruxa hunt. So Jaskier threw a twig at him. It didn‘t even come very close. Could have been mistaken for the wind rattling loose the brittle wood. But Geralt could make out the difference between acts of nature and the acts of the bard.

„Fine. I‘ll hunt us breakfast. Stay in the area.“

Jaskier glared after him and waited until he could be truly sure that the man was searching for food. Briefly he thought about leaving. This was the perfect opportunity. Easier, really, than he had thought it would be. And yet… He was hungry. He wasn‘t dead yet and Geralt seemed grumpy not livid.

In the end he went about gathering firewood. A weird divergence from their usual routine. It was jerky and bread, or some kind of edible stuff that they could find around camp for breakfast. And then in the evening they would usually make a fire and Geralt would go hunting.

Hmmm. This change in pace was nice after all the running around. Jaskier decided as he warmed his stiff limbs by the fire. Geralt came back not long after, two rabbits and one filled waterskin in hand. He grunted at the fire in approvement and went to prepare their food for consumption.

Jaskier was close to being lulled to sleep by the crackling of the flames when his Witcher spoke again.

„Why won‘t you say anything, Jaskier?“

The bard clenched his jaw to stop from answering. Shit this had been much easier when there hadn‘t been his name attached to the end of every sentence.

„I can‘t hear your heartbeat or breathing again. And I can barely make out your scent. What happened to you, Jask?“

Jaskier squirmed under the question. Well at least he now knew that he couldn‘t hide his scent. Thankfully he had been careful with it before, anyway.

Heaving a long sigh Geralt stabbed the rabbits onto sticks with unneeded force and stuck them near the fire to roast. „If you can‘t...“ he let out another shuddering breath and something squeezed painfully in Jaskier chest. „If you can‘t talk...Just...I don‘t know. Hum once for yes and twice for no?“

Oh, his stupid, wonderful Witcher! Only someone who mainly communicated in hums and grunts would come up with that idea. He thought about it. Jaskier didn‘t like the idea of giving away his location. That was the whole point of shutting his body down.

„Can you do that?“ Geralt asked after a while, slowly turning their meal.

No. No, Jaskier couldn‘t, even though he really, really wanted to wipe that pained look off of Geralts face. He stayed silent and watched with downturned lips as his Witchers shoulders dropped a little.

„Alright. We‘ll...we communicated before. Without you talking. We‘ll figure something out.“

They ate their meal in silence, Geralt deliberately looking away to give Jaskier the security he needed to grab his share. The air was heavy with things unsaid. A dozen unfinished actions piled up over the hours.

Jaskier opening his mouth to answer before remembering himself. Geralts hand reaching for his approximate location only to falter. On and on they circled each other, tiptoeing as to not accidently break the fragile peace they had managed to build between them.

If Jaskier had thought it was hard to be quiet before it was near unbearable now. Geralt kept starting conversations that pittered off again after a sentence or two. Because Jaskier didn‘t add anything and Geralt wasn‘t great with monologues. Not when they were adressed to humans.

They lingered where they stood when the fire had burned out and the rabbit bones had been buried. Jaskier refused to follow and Geralt was hesitant to leave.

„Will you come back with me to Yennefer? She wanted to examine you. See what she could do to lift the curse.“

The bards gaze snapped to Geralt, eyes wide and insides churning. Examining? What was that supposed to mean?

The Witcher noticed the shift in mood and reacted with a grimace. „She won‘t hurt you, Jask. I know neither of us have been..trustworthy as of late. But she really just wants to help.“

Jaskier shook his head from side to side so hard that it gave a quiet crack, before remembering that Geralt couldn‘t see the gesture. The Witcher must have gotten a cue from his smell though, because he only sighed and gave a tiny nod.

„You won‘t come...Fine. Would you come back to the inn with me at least? Throw something if no, do nothing if yes.“

Clenching his hands into fists Jaskier bowed down to scoop up a small pebble and threw it at a tree.

The aura of frustration coming off of his former not-really-friend was a little terrifying in its own right. „Okay...“ he said as if to calm himself „Okay. I‘ll just...I‘ll just get Roach and our supplies then. Can‘t leave them behind. Please, just wait here. Don‘t do anything stupid. We‘ll figure this out together.“

He didn‘t wait for Jaskier to react. Which was a good thing, because Jaskier wouldn‘t have, too caught up in his panic to do much of anything. It took some time to detach himself from his screaming thoughts and vivid imagination. By the time he managed to come back to the real world Geralt was long gone and one of his legs had fallen asleep.

He shook it out with a low curse, hopping around a bit to get the blood flowing again and wrapped the cloak around him a little tighter. Early autumn had been kind so far, but now a cold wind bearing the heralds of the first frost came blowing from the mountains. Sleeping in drenched trousers hadn‘t been the best idea either, although the fire after that had helped to chase away the last of the dampness.

Despite that and everything he had feared would happen he was far better off than he had thought. But what to do now? Geralt wanted him to stay and wait for him to come back. But could he trust the man to only bring back Roach and not Yennefer? What would he do if a portal suddenly opened up here?

Mournfully he looked in the direction Geralt had left in. As always when given an order by his Witcher he felt torn. A part of him wanted to believe Geralt really did want to help, really thought that Jaskier was only cursed (which wasn‘t that far off in Jaskiers humble opinion). But a louder, much larger part screamed for him to run. Too many things could go wrong if he stayed. He wasn‘t exactly afraid of being killed anymore, although that still was a possible thing that could happen, given the involvement of the witch. He was most scared of the anger that would certainly follow when he revealed his situation. He dreaded Yennefers mirth, when she found out he had done to Geralt what the Witcher had done to her. He‘d rather leave things dangling precariously on the edge of catastrophy than plunge off the cliff and break everything for good.

Well...He had never been good at taking orders from Geralt before.

It really just continued their usual pattern.

Jaskier didn‘t stay put.

Chapter Text

Of course he left. Geralt cursed his naivity. What had he expected, when all he could smell after mentioning Yennefers name was the thick stench of fear? But that didn‘t make sense, right? Why would Jaskier be afraid of the sorceress? Sure they had never gotten along, throwing barbs and threats at each other like some kind of weird form of small talk. But they had never been outright hostile. Maybe Yennefer had been wrong and Geralt right, and the ghost wasn‘t Jaskier. Only something that imitated his scent to manipulate Geralt into not hurting it.
Only…
He really wanted it to be his bard.
Whatever horrible curse had befallen him, Geralt would take it on with him if he could just have his best friend back. Even just for a little while.
Fuck, he had missed the loud minstrel.
He still missed him. Now even worse knowing he could be so close and yet out of reach.

Roach snorted directly into his ear as they stopped so Geralt could look mournfully over the abandoned campsite. When she didn‘t get a response from him, she nipped at his shoulder, huffing hot air onto his sensitive neck, making him flinch.

„I know, Roach! I‘m an idiot. You don‘t have to judge me so hard.“ he sighed as he patted her snout „What should I do now, hm? Track him again? Leave him be?“

His mare gave a threatening neigh and shoved hard at his shoulder. Her antics only made his lips twitch in amusement. „I get it. I get it. After him then.“

It was ridiculously easy to trail behind Jaskier, despite the whole being invisible thing. The man had never been good at being anything less than flashy and even the curse could only hide so much. Geralt found proof of the bards path in disturbed underbrush and hasty footsteps, in snapped branches and the sweet smell, that the breeze brought to him on her gentle wings like an offering.

He caught up to him right at the edge of the forest, having kept his own pace sedate. Ghost Jaskier somehow always seemed to know when he was close. Geralt didn‘t want him to feel like he was being hunted anymore than he probably already did.

It was anger and something else, but not less dark, that bubbled up in him as he broke through the treeline to see nothing. He had gotten used to it during the months Ghost had followed him. And it had been fine then. Geralt had just assumed it was something the goddess had left him with. Maybe a minion or a curse or something along those lines. Once he had known it was harmless, Geralt just left it be, trusting that it would stay or leave on its own.

But now that Ghost could actually be Jaskier it drove him crazy. Knowing the smell belonged to the man he desperately needed to apologize to, but neither hearing the familiar beat of his heart nor seeing him around-

A terrible thought hit him then. What if Jaskier had died? What if this was his literal ghost haunting him? Unable to rest because of a stupid tantrum Geralt threw? One that had been born of Geralts bad decisions and inability to do anything else with his emotions than to push them down and bottle them up until they eventually exploded out of him. If so than this was worse than Blaviken. Worse than Renfri. The terrible theory locked his joints into place.

Roach didn‘t care for her masters crisis, it seemed, because she just kept on walking, pulling him along with a few aggressive tugs.

She stopped when the smell of summer was nearly overwhelming and let out an irritated whinny.

Sheepish, Geralt blinked into the empty space in front of him and tried for a smile that morphed his face into a grimace. „I brought Roach.“ Fuck, he was bad at this.

Only silence greeted him, but he must have come very close, because he could hear the quiet rustle of fine cloth as Jaskier shifted his weight.

Right. He had to do the talking now. „You left.“ Yes, very good. Accusations always helped to lighten the mood... „So I came to find you again.“ Fuck, none of this sounded non-threatening.

„I didn‘t go to Yennefer.“ Ah there was that sour note again. Not quite fear. Not yet. Jaskier smelled more tired than scared right now. But something unhappy. Geralt couldn‘t exactly pinpoint it and he didn‘t really want to, so he barreled on. „I went straight to the inn and came right back. You don‘t have to go see her, if you are not comfortable with that. We can just keep travelling-“

Roach stomped at that, hoof coming down very close to his foot. He glared at her. She glared right back. Geralt could have sworn he had heard a small, broken off beginning of a chuckle.

„Or we can seek out another mage. Whatever you‘re comfortable with. Just...talk to me, Jask. In any way that you are able to right now. Let me help.“

The scent that hit him once he was done made him stagger. Salt and water and something bitter. Hurt.
His bard was crying.
Fuck!
He made it worse. What was he supposed to do now?!

„Let‘s find a road, first.“ he rumbled, hoping it didn‘t come out as harsh as usual.

Hesitant, he took a step forward, not sure where exactly Jaskier stood. He didn‘t want to walk right into him, that would have made this whole situation even more awkward. When he met no resistance he took another step, and another until he had found an easy rhythm again.

He risked a quick glance over his shoulder, heart dropping when there was no one there. Not anyone he could perceive in the normal, human fashion, anyway.

„You‘ll follow. Right?“

He knew the answer before he even finished the question.

Of course he would.

Jaskier always followed.

A weight lifted off his shoulders at the certainty, frayed nerves soothed by the rustle of grass and the return of a steady heart, only a few beats faster than his.

Good. As long as Jaskier stayed by his side Geralt had a chance to salvage something. He just had to try hard enough and actually communicate for once. Easy. Jaskier did it all the time. But Jaskier was also good with words. And knew how to express his emotions in a healthy way. And-
Fuck.
This was going to be hard.

They managed to get themselves on a road fairly quickly thanks to Geralts famous navigation skills. And by then Geralt had managed to think of numerous ways to come up with a conversation, without ever actually starting one. Whatever he thought of, it never seemed like the right thing to say. He knew he needed something to lighten the mood. Geralt could still smell a faint trace of salt. The bard was still sad. So he needed a distraction.

But he couldn‘t chatter away like Jaskier.

His mind could come up with swears and insults no problem. But actual, worthwhile monologues? The words just wouldn‘t come to him unless he was talking to Roach alone.

He had never felt so much pressure in his whole long life.

„Do you still have your lute?“

Stupid. A question, really? When Jaskier probably couldn‘t speak? Very smart. He was about to mentally berate himself a bit more when one, clear note rose to the heavens.

„Would you play?“ Anything to get rid of this cursed silence, mocking Geralt with his inability to make words happen.

There was a pause, steps faltered behind him and Geralt immediately stopped. He waited with his back turned, ears straining for any small sound. The stones under Jaskiers foot crunched as he started walking again, mute and songless. Geralt sighed and took this as his cue to continue.

The next village was around a days ride away, probably more with both of them walking as slow as they were. They made camp far enough away from the road to not be easily spotted, but close enough to hear if someone came down the path.

Geralt was hesitant to leave the camp to hunt, fearing Jaskier would use the opportunity to run again. So he stayed and took out some bread and hard cheese, as well as the bottle of wine Jaskier had nicked from the lord. He sat down what he hoped to be an acceptable distance from the quiet bard and put down their meal between them on a piece of clean cloth.

„You can have the bedroll tonight. If you don‘t have your own.“

Geralt wondered about that. As terrifying as the thought of Jaskier being dead had been it seemed more and more unlikely. Spirits didn‘t behave the way Jaskier did. He had met more or less benevolent wraiths in his time. But his medallion always vibrated around them. It didn‘t with Jaskier close by. A curious thing on its own. The curse – if it was one – must be a very powerful one. Maybe it was a sort of glamour? Jaskier wasn‘t a magic user so it was likely that some vengeful mage had dropped one on the unsuspecting bard and the poor sod didn‘t know how to reverse it.

How long had Jaskier followed him before the whole ordeal with Arda? How much had he seen and heard before making himself known? Seeing as to how reluctant his bard was to even stay near him it must have cost him a lot of courage to even reveal that little bit of himself.

Geralt didn‘t begrudge him his hesitancy. After his outburst at the mountain top Jaskier had every right to be wary of him. And yet he had sought him out. At the thought a warm pool spread next to the cold pit of guilt in his stomach. The two leaking into each other until they left behind a complicated mush of emotions Geralt would have much rather bottled up and thrown down the next well.

Alas, he couldn‘t. And now that he really thought about it, before Arda he hadn‘t been able to smell Jaskier around-
His muscles twitched in a poor imitation of a flinch when suddenly the wine next to him disappeared. He heard gulping and then it suddenly was visible again. Geralt blinked at it. He should have been prepared for that. It was still weird.

„You‘d make an excellent thief like this.“ he blurted out before he could stop himself.

There was the sound of a pouch being opened and rummaged through, before a coin bounced from the wide body of the wine bottle with an offended clink.

Geralt pulled his face into a disapproving frown, hiding his amusement. „Hm.“

It took a moment of silence to make the Witcher realize that his usual Hms would end the conversation now.

Damn it.

At least Jaskier was there the next morning. Or, as much there as he could be. Geralt didn‘t know hearing someone elses heartbeat could be so soothing.

The next village had a ghoul problem. Sickness had befallen about half of the already small community and the dead had hastily been buried not far from the village borders. The ghouls had been a welcome thing at first, getting rid of the bodies, but now that it was all over they were straying too close. Geralt took the job in exchange for a room for the night. Excited about the prospect of getting to be in close quarters with his bard.

He honestly shouldn‘t have gotten his hopes up. Jaskier followed him into the tavern, that coinsidently had a few rooms for drunkards to rest in. But that was as far as he would go. Geralt didn‘t understand why the bard was so hesitant to share a room with him. He had only done so a few times since he had turned invisible. All had been when Geralt had been seriously injured one way or another.

He contemplated letting a ghoul too close just so he could coerce Jaskier into spending the night inside. But seeing and smelling the fuckers as they sprang at him was enough to banish the thought immediately. He threw an Aard sign at the stinking, rotten beasts instead and beheaded the one closest to him before charging forward into the fray. The job was an easy one and before he knew it he was back at the tavern and sharing his meal with the bard.

No footsteps going up the stairs with him though. Geralt sighed, settling down in front of the hearth to clean his swords. What was he supposed to do now?

„Geralt?“

That was Yennefers voice. Coming out of his pack...No that couldn‘t be right. Frowning he cautiously moved towards his resources, there, underneath vials of potions was a small snuffbox that wasn‘t supposed to be there.

Geralts eyebrows rose into his hairline. „Yennefer?“

„Ah, you are around. Good. Have you found Jaskier yet?“

„Have you smuggled a xenovox into my backpack?“

„Obviously. Now have you found the bard?“

„Hm.“

Geralt could hear an exasperated sigh over the line and allowed himself to smile. Who said only Jaskier enjoyed riling other people up?

„Was that a yes or no, Geralt?“

„Yes.“

There was a short pause as Geralt sat down on the bed, box held delicately in his hands.

„I‘m starting to feel for Jaskier. Getting stories out of you is like pulling teeth from a vampire. Elaborate.“

„I‘ll need to tell him that sometime.“ Geralt mumbled. „Would maybe make him trust you more.“

„Don‘t. The man is dramatic enough as is. I take it he doesn‘t want to see me, then?“

„He‘s...skittish. Tried to run the second I turned to get Roach. Are you sure it‘s really him?“

„Are you?“

Geralt turned the softspoken question over in his head. „I am.“

„Then it‘s him. Has he talked to you, yet?“

„No… He doesn‘t talk at all. Doesn‘t make a sound. Doesn‘t even play the lute, even though he has it with him.“

Yennefer let out a hum of her own at that. „I remember him mentioning that you did call his singing fillingless pie once.“

„I was sleep deprived and that was years ago. I like his lute playing. He knows that. I would have broken his lute had it really bothered me.“

„Maybe that was the case before the dragon hunt. How did the apology go, by the way?“

„Fuck, Yen! Why do you know that?“

There was a low scoff over the line. „I just had to skim over your thoughts. You‘re thinking about it all the time… Rather loudly might I add.“

Geralt growled at the box in his lap.

„…Geralt...“ Yennefers tone had become sharp. „You have apologized, right?“

The Witcher shifted a bit, fingers playing with a loose thread on the shitty blanket. „I‘m bad at speaking to humans.“

„You‘re absolute shit at communicating with anything but your horse!“ she hissed at him and for a second Geralt feared she would hex him. „Go apologize! It‘s not that hard. Just three little words, two if you mash the first two together.“

„But Yen-“

„Goodbye Geralt.“

„Yen! Come on...“

But only silence answered him. Fuck.

That night he sat awake by the fire. His swords had never been this shiny before and maybe they had lost a bit too much metal from all the scrubbing and sharpening he had done. And still as they hit the road again Geralt had yet to come up with a proper way to say sorry.

He led them north, thinking about taking a detour to Redania and Oxenfurt to cheer up the bard before travelling to Kaer Morhen for the winter.

Geralt risked a glance behind him, his sluggish heart picking up speed when he thought about apologizing. He was such a coward.

Jaskier regretted not going up the stairs with his Witcher the night after the ghoul hunt. He desperately wanted to stay close to his friend and soak up the snippets of kindness suddenly being thrown at him. The Witchers soft spoken words had been a balm to a wound he hadn‘t thought still needed treatment. And the question about him maybe playing the lute again nearly broke his resolve to stay silent.

He needed Geralt to say more, though. He needed to be absolutely certain that Geralt wouldn‘t just throw another tantrum as soon as Jaskier revealed himself. Or worse, go back to ignoring him and being rude. So Jaskier had stayed at the stable to harden his resolve. Roach deserved some good company anyway.

Now they were back on the road again and the man was glancing behind him like a traumatized child scared of being hunted down by a horde of monsters. Whatever the man had cooked up in his head while left alone with his mind couldn‘t have been good.

Geralt abruptly stopped and veered off the path, leaving Roach to graze at the last tuffs of grass of the year. Jaskier frowned at the sudden flightiness. His feet carried him towards the Witcher, stopping a few paces in front of the man. Geralts gaze swept over Jaskier a few times as he searched for him, before it settled a few inches away.

Jaskier tensed. The Witcher had squared his shoulders and was clenching his jaw in a way that made him look like a man ready to face his execution. The bard wondered what sort of worldbreaking thing would be hurled at him this time.

He didn‘t have to wonder for long.

„‘m sorry.“

It was pressed out between grinding teeth, Geralts face left carefully blank. But Jaskier had never needed to watch for the minute twitches of Geralts facial muscles. His eyes spoke the most. And they were pleading now, soft and slightly wet.

„For the mountain.“ came the next painful part. It was like watching someone spitting out shards of glass. „I didn‘t mean it...“ And then, after a few painful seconds. „I like your music.“

Well...That was...something at least. Jaskier thought as he blinked at the tense man in front of him. Geralt didn‘t wait for a reply and went back on the track right away. Jaskier stepped up beside him as soon as the Witcher had mounted his horse.

His fingers twitched at his sides as he rolled the words around in his mind, grin on his face. Geralt liked his music. Actually liked his music! And he had apologized! Somewhat. So maybe...just maybe he could throw him a bone, too. Reveal a smidget more of himself, see if it was safe. Geralt had asked for him to play, after all.

Decision made he slung his lute over to his front, nimble fingers silently testing out some of the placements first before he began to strum.

The air filled with an easy, joyful melody and both player and listener let out twin sighs of relief.

They had missed this.

Chapter Text

Jaskier was a greedy thing. Give him the tip of a twig and he‘ll take the whole forest.

Now, Jaskier wasn‘t greedy in the traditional sense. He did value a good bath and some expensive wine from time to time, of course. And he definitely wouldn‘t say no to a soft bed every once in a while. But he was no hoarder of goods. Coin was important to have to keep himself fed and not much more. He could live without most of the luxuries his birth status had promised him.
What he was craving most of all was attention. Positive attention most of all. Affection from the unlikeliest of places, preferably.

Geralt was the unlikeliest source of all, dark and broody, with mental walls so high they would put Cintras defensive structures to shame.

The Witcher had always shown that he cared one way or another. There was no doubt in the bards mind about that. And Jaskier had held himself back as much as he could at that time. Sought touch without clinging, trilled loud and bright to hear the faintest of hums from his friend. Got into trouble just so he could see that protective glint in his friends eyes.

Alright the last one was a lie. Jaskier got into trouble even if the Witcher wasn‘t close by. The point stood, anyway. The point that he had always tried to siphon off more affection from his companion than the stoic man was willing to give. And after starving himself of any kind of physical contact and attention for so long he had to fight hard to not just run up to Geralt and cling to him like a fucking leech.

He kept playing the lute instead. Because this he was allowed to do now. He played until his fingers were raw and then some, addicted to the sound and feel. And Geralt hummed along. When they were camping out and the world shrunk down to just them, Roach and the fire. He would sit close, eyes fixed on the flames and brokenly mutter the lyrics to Jaskiers songs.

Jaskier loved these nights the most. Too bad they only happened when they were camping, far far away from any sort of people and only the wildlife could hear them.

„It‘s getting cold.“ Geralt remarked on one such occasion, concern worming itself into his tone.

Jaskier had started playing before the sun had set and it was dark now. His fingers were stiff and a bit numb, which made him muck up some of the notes. It frustrated him to no end.
But what was he supposed to do?
Stop?
Pfff.

„Jaskier.“

Ah, there it was. That hint of annoyance. The bard had wondered when that spark would appear again. He plucked a rather dissonant cord and winced at the way it rang in his ears.

„Jaskier, if you keep that up you‘ll hurt yourself.“

The bard was taking a deep breath in preparation for voicing his displeasure at the reprimand before he was able to stop himself. He blew the air out again. Geralt gave him a blank look for his troubles.

„Jaskier.“

Geralt had started to call his name a lot these days. Jaskier suspected that about half of those times were supposed to be starts to conversations.
Jaskier picked at a high note on his lute. Something that Geralt could now read as a sign to go on.

„It‘s cold.“

Jaskier felt horrible smiling like a child being given honeycake when Geralt was struggling to get his point across. It was just too adorable. And he still felt a bit vengeful at times. For the mountain, for the temple, for Geralts obliviousness. The unrequited love part hurt, too. This was his unhealthy way of coping, okay? He‘ll get it out of his system eventually.

Geralt let out a frustrated huff. „Will you be alright? Sleeping on your own?“

Oh. Oh, fuck. He didn‘t think about that. Right, this night was about cold enough to excuse cuddling to share body heat so Jaskier wouldn‘t freeze to death in his sleep.
He played a shaky random order of notes, conveying his hesitancy. And Geralt let out a thoughtful hum in reply.

„I won‘t make you do anything you don‘t want to. I just want you to be safe.“

The last part sounded strangled, but it very nearly broke Jaskiers resolve to not launch himself at the Witcher and never let go. He feared if he did that he would also start crying again. Shit he didn‘t know how to deal with these sudden verbal proclamations of care, yet.

A high note cut through the icy air again and then, carefully Jaskier placed his lute away and sat down closer, lightly pressing his shoulder against Geralts. Testing the waters.

He had been given permission.

This was okay, right?

Jaskier bit down on a keen as Geralt tentatively slung an arm around his shoulders and drew him closer. They shuffled a bit, trying to get comfortable and wrap the cloak, Geralt wore around them both.

It must have looked weird, the dark thick fabric seeming to hang in the air, bulging around nothing. Geralt made a curious noise at the display, then sucked in a sharp breath as Jaskiers cold nose collided with his throat.

Both were tense for but a second after that, gradually relaxing into each other. The flames cracked merrily, Roach moving and huffing in the background now and then. The world around them was quiet in the very comforting, normal way that didn‘t indicate a monster being nearby. It was very close to how things had been before the dragon hunt.

„I was thinking.“ Geralt whispered into the night, the arm around Jaskier tightening a bit before loosening up again. „We still have a bit of time left until winter really sets in. We could make a quick detour to Oxenfurt. You always wanted to show me around there.“

Jaskier blinked into the fire, undecided if he should start crying after all. This was just playing unfair. It was like Geralt was trying to coax him out of invisibility by offering him his dreams!
The Witcher hated cities! They were too overwhelming for his senses and the amount of people he had to obsessively keep track of in order to feel safe was ridiculous.

The bard loved Oxenfurt, though. The city was where he had gotten his first real taste of freedom. And it did have some beautiful, quiet places and some very good vendors Geralt was sure to appreciate as well. The more he thought about it the more excited he got until he pressed himself into Geralts side and nodded his assent.

He had no idea how he would show Geralt around the city without revealing himself. Eh, he would come up with something along the way. He wasn‘t a creative genius for nothing.

He came up with the perfect idea. Jaskier did what any child would do to not loose their parents in a crowd. He tugged at Geralts sleeve. The Witcher, bless his soft heart, got the hint fairly quick and dismounted, so that Jaskier could steer him better.

He would have liked to give a running commentary on all the places they were passing. But he kept his mouth shut, grinning like a loon instead, happier than he had been in a long while. Not that he had felt especially miserable since deciding to trust Geralt not to stab him in his sleep.

Even Geralt seemed to be in a good mood. Grunting softly as he was pulled to a very fine inn nestled into a street corner right opposite an embroidery shop. The prices for a room for a night were ridiculously high, but Geralt managed to pay for a weeks stay with the money that had mysteriously piled up during their travels.

The high amount of coin was well worth it. It got them a three room apartment with a bedroom, a bath and a small sitting room. A perfect living space for a well endowed student, but pure luxury for a Witcher and his invisible friend.

„We really need to talk about your new way of contributing.“ Geralt muttered as soon as they were out of earshot.

Jaskier huffed quietly and knocked on the bedframe with the tip of his boot. He was testing the softness of the mattress already giddy at the thought of sleeping under the plush covers.

„Just because it made us afford this doesn‘t mean it‘s a good thing, Jas.“ came the gentle reprimand. Funny how Geralt could read these small gestures and silences better than all the monologues about feelings Jaskier had spent the last twenty years composing.
It really shouldn‘t have surprised him so.

They didn‘t stay for long, Jaskier vibrating with the urge to check out the market. He left his lute behind, hand wrapped securely around Geralts wrist as the Witcher let himself be dragged along.

Oxenfurt was to Jaskier, what he assumed Kaer Morhen was to Geralt. A sanctuary to return to every other winter. The place that molded him into the kind of man he was now. This was the city Jaskier was most likely to call his home, besides the open road. The narrow streets were stuffed full with vendors of all kinds, selling things you could get nowhere else in the world. Science and art flourished here and the young reigned supreme at least in the streets and taverns.

He loved how his senses were being flooded with brilliant, bright clothes and colourful banners, the scent of perfumes, expensive oils, sweat and underneath it all the clear crispness of the Pontar river. He could hear the bellowing of vendors and the music of bards from the academy.

Jaskier was, however, aware that his dear friend (was he allowed to call them that in his mind now?) quickly got overwhelmed. The hustle and bustle of the city made people crowd in the narrow spaces between the stalls, making it hard to get through without touching at least a few shoulders and nearly impossible to actually take a good look at what was being offered.

Most of which probably wouldn‘t interest the Witcher anyway. So Jaskier pulled him through the worst as fast as possible and to the harbor area. They had a week, the bard could wait a bit to get his fill of the city. For now Geralts comfort was the most important. Jaskier wanted for them both to enjoy this little get away.

The harbor wasn‘t any less loud and busy, but at least they had more space to move around. It was a pity Jaskier couldn‘t show him the academy with the way he was. With people only seeing Geralt they wouldn‘t let him in…

Jaskier had settled them both on a park bench overlooking the river to catch their breath. It felt like they had just left the inn, but it had actually been several hours of prowling the city, getting distracted by people recognizing the White Wolf, having to wait until spaces cleared for them to move through. People here were free spirited, more daring and much less willing to move for an intimidating stranger.

He… might have had a hand in that one. All of his students turned out much more rebellious than his generation. And they in turn inspired the townsfolk to be more open minded.

„So.“ Geralt started, taking a breath as though preparing for a blow and then continued „This is your Oxenfurt.“

What, are there any other Oxenfurts I should know of? Jaskier would have liked to tease. Instead he dared to blanket Geralts hand with his own and squeezed lightly. He was proud to say that he only lingered a little longer than necessary.

He wasn‘t sure if he imagined the pained little noise. Before he could regret his forwardness Geralt continued, though.

„It suits you. It‘s...much.“

Oh now he looked pained, like he swallowed a lemon whole and the acid was starting to burn his throat.

„Not in a bad way.“ he was fast to correct himself. „Mostly.“

Well good thing I‘m only half of myself now, right? Jaskier thought bitterly. Can‘t be too much like this.

And here he had thought he had figured out how to read Geralt again. The man was seriously sending some awfully mixed signals here. Jaskier had no clue what to make of them anymore. Did the Witcher see him as a friend or not? Did he want him around? Or was he just feeling guilty? Nothing felt certain. It did sometimes, when Geralt tried to keep in tune while humming along to Jaskiers lute playing at the camp fire. But then he went and said those things and suddenly nothing made sense anymore.

They spent the rest of the day in silence, Jaskier dragging him all over the city once Geralt got used to his senses being invaded from all sides. At one point their hands had ended up intertwined. It had just been the most sensible thing to do. This way they definitely couldn‘t loose each other in the masses.

Jaskier wasn‘t always able to get Geralt out with him. And that was alright. There were a few things the bard wanted to do that the Witcher would only get in the way of. Places that the Witcher wouldn‘t be allowed to go to. And likewise people approached Geralt for contracts. Minor ones. A few Drowners there, a Nekker nest there. Routine Witcher work Jaskier had seen enough times to find boring.

He relished the time apart, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn‘t be left behind. He enjoyed himself, looking, touching (and maybe taking. What? This whole dilemma had to be good for something.) the kind of wares Geralt would scoff at. A pretty yellow ribbon for example, nearly the exact colour of the Witchers eyes. New lute strings, those kinds of things.

The academy was just like he remembered. Full of well meaning, but oblivious professors and mischievious but clearly stressed out students. Unfortunately at this time of the year it was also inhabited by one Valdo Marx. His lectures were boring and uninformative as fuck, as uninspired as the handsome noble himself. Jaskier delighted in tripping him in the halls and hiding his teaching material, making a fool of him in front of the students.

He never went further than light pranks, though. He did still feel kind of guilty about that one wish he had made so many years ago. The man was an uncultured, arrogant, snobby prick, but he did not deserve a horrible death via djinn. Jaskier had just been mad at him that day (or more so than usual) and it had been the first thing to come to his mind.

Valdos music was good, at least. Jaskier had to admit that. When the troubadour didn‘t desperately try to show off to the people and just relaxed into playing his violin the emotion he could invoke with just the slightest tremor of his vibrato was downright awe inspiring. So maybe Jaskier also took a few hours away from Geralt to listen to his old flame play his heart out in an empty lecture hall. What of it? No one would be the wiser anyway.

Wasn‘t his fault that he always fell hard for talented, emotionally stunted men.

It was nearing sunset when Jaskier finally made his way back to the inn, four days into their stay. It was by pure chance that Geralt rounded the corner just as Jaskier arrived. And it was only an old habit that Jaskier followed behind the Witcher silently. He hadn‘t thought much of it, surely Geralt could smell or hear him. Only he hadn‘t considered the noise of the city overriding the beat of his heart. Nor had he remembered that their room was naturally smelling of the both of them now.

Geralt very much didn‘t know that Jaskier was back at his side.

And the man looked worried, immediately searching the room, making a choked noise when he couldn‘t find Jaskiers things on first glance. Then heaving out a relieved sigh when he found the bards spare clothes in the trunk in front of the bed.

Jaskier realized his mistake at once and was about to make some kind of noise to alert the Witcher to his presence, when Geralt moved to his pack and pulled out a little box.

„Yennefer!“

The bard halted his hand, which had crept towards the strap of his lute ready to sling it to his front.

„Geralt.“

The sorceress sounded tired, voice flat and lower than usual. Jaskier froze and waited, unsure if he should still announce himself.

„I apologized.“

„How did it go?“

Geralt let himself fall heavily onto the floor, the plush rug eating up the sound of his bulk hitting the ground. „Better than expected? I don‘t know, Yen. He‘s still with me at least. But-“

„Spit it out Geralt. I can‘t read your thoughts over the xenovox.“

Shouldn‘t read his thoughts at all, witch. Jaskier thought spitefully, biting his lip to not make a noise.

„I just… miss him, Yen.“ Geralt sighed, throwing his head back to look at the ceiling. „I know he‘s there, but also very much not. It drives me crazy. That I can‘t see him when I can smell him.“ Geralt closed his shimmering eyes to hide the pain and Jaskiers heart broke a little. „Sometimes it feels like it‘s all just in my head...“

„… He‘s there, though.“

„He is… But.“

„Let it be enough, Geralt. You hurt him. Don‘t rush him.“

Jaskier fought between snorting and crumbling to the floor in a sobbing mess. Even though Yennefer had said a very sensible thing (a true shocker), the force behind her words betrayed her own impatience.

„Now, anything else you want to whine about? Want me to portal over there and give you a shoulder to cry on?“ she sounded snappy, but Jaskier had the small inkling of a feeling that she was just covering up the vulnerability of the situation with undue sarcasm.

Jaskier rolled his eyes at them. They had the emotional intelligence of a Ghoul. Both of them. How they ever did anything else but clash was beyond him.

„Where are you now anyway?“ came the tentative question when Geralt didn‘t answer.

„Oxenfurt.“

„Wow, you‘re really grovelling. You‘re taking him to the coast next?“

„Hmm, no. I‘m planning to take him to Kaer Morhen.“

„Geralt I feel like I don‘t know you anymore.“ Yennefer laughed. There was still a mean edge to it, but Jaskier was nearly sure it was more for show at this point.

„Hm.“ There was a soft almost smile on Geralts face, wasted on the unseeing box in his hands. „Thanks for the chat, Yen.“

„Don‘t make it a habit.“

With that Geralt put the xenovox away again and left the room, presumably to order some dinner and maybe prepare a bath.

Jaskier stayed rooted to the spot unsure how to proceed. It had never once occured to him that his hesitance to reveal himself could have such an impact on the usually so stoic Witcher. Seeing the man suffer like this… It wasn‘t what he wanted.

He had thought it was easier like this. With him just being kind of there. He thought… As soon as Geralt got over his guilt that they would settle into this new normalcy. No talking needed. Nothing to fix, here, no good sir. They could have been two mature, mentally semi-stable men co-existing in the same space.

Jaskier had fooled himself into thinking they were friends for over twenty years. He was very much able to convince himself that living a half life like that would have been enough.

But if it hurt Geralt this much…

He couldn‘t keep doing this.

His hands shook as he put down the lute, carefully leaning her against the wall in a corner. He hoped she wouldn‘t be damaged by what he was going to do. He just knew Geralt would get angry once he saw him. It was a given. Jaskier understood that the Witcher would feel betrayed and played. And while the bard wasn‘t ready for the storm he was about to unleash he couldn‘t very well keep up this charade.

With a shuddering breath he stepped back into the light and waited, trying and failing to keep his breath even and nerves from combusting into a shower of sparks.

He held himself perfectly still as Geralt came back into the room.

Plates crashed to the floor, fall thankfully broken by the soft rug. Cheese, bread and some grapes rolled away, utterly ignored by the two men in the room.

„Jaskier.“ Geralt whispered, wide eyed.

They stared at each other like that, Jaskier using up all his willpower to hold the Witchers gaze. He tried for a small smile, that turned out to be more of a brief twitch upwards, his heart beating a mile a minute. „Geralt.“

His voice was rough and quiet after so many weeks of not speaking much, but it was enough to make Geralt move.

The bard didn‘t even have time to tense up before arms caged him in and pressed him into a firm, thankfully armor free chest. A nose burried itself into his hair, flaring as Geralt took lungful after lungful of Jaskier scent.

„Jaskier.“

The bard was so close he could feel the rumble of Geralts voice, a mere sigh of relief. Something awefully close to a prayer.

What?

No, that- That wasn‘t what should have happened.

Jaskiers thoughts screeched to a halt after that, unable to process what was going on.

This wasn‘t what he deserved.

But Jaskier was a horrible, greedy man. Weak and wanting. As soon as his wits came back to him he started clinging, pressing impossibly closer, rubbing his snotty nose all over Geralts shoulder as he started weeping like a child.

Geralt was unusally patient, rubbing along his back in soothing motions, not once lifting his head out of the soft tuffs of brown hair. Jaskier had no idea how long they stayed like this, only knew that by the time he had calmed down he had thoroughly embarrassed himself with the littany of desperate noises he had made.

Only after even the smallest sniffle subsided did Geralt pull away, hands sliding up to grab the bard on his shoulders, keeping them inches apart.

His eyes were like molten gold, wet and so, so soft. Jaskier wanted to drown in them.

„How?“ Geralt croaked „What lifted the curse?“

Jaskier blinked to clear his blurry vision and gave him a shaky smile, small but real.

He wanted to lie.

Oh, how he wanted to lie.

Chapter Text

He stamped down the urge to do so. Geralt deserved better after all the shit Jaskier had shovelled for him the past few months.

He gently took the Witchers hands from his shoulders and sat on the edge of the bed, with a rueful smile. „Well… you see…“ Damn he was out of practice. Where did his words go? Geralts intense stare didn‘t help much at all. He kept standing there like a kicked puppy, looking at him with the understanding of a four year old being explained the fundamentals of higher mathematics for the first time.

Jaskier fiddled with his thumbs suddenly wishing he could disappear again. He could do that, of course. But that would surely freak out Geralt and he couldn‘t have that now.

He took another deep breath, Geralt twitching towards him, probably smelling Jaskiers fear. „You see. It never really was a curse. Or intended to be a curse.“

The Witcher tilted his head, a low „Hm“ urging him to continue. So far so good. He hadn‘t punched him yet.

„I...Fuck where do I start? Right… So you remember the temple right? Arda?“ as soon as he got a slight nod Jaskier continued, warily watching Geralts body for any sign of aggression. He loved him deeply, but Jaskier wasn‘t exactly a glutton for punishment. Far from it. „I arrived in that village maybe a day later than you, purely by chance. And when I heard you had gone of to confront a blasted goddess and hadn‘t come back yet I decided to investigate...“

„You came for me.“ there was something like wonder in Geralts voice, mixed with the self-deprivating disbelief Jaskier had tried so hard over the years to get rid of. And yet the Witchers eyes had narrowed, face hardened.

Suspicion.

„Yes. Of course I did! And a good thing, too! I found you deadish on the ground with a pissed off goddess keeping your soul in a jar.“ Not exactly how he had found him, but a few exaggerations should be excused. He was nervous, for fucks sake. He always rambled when he was nervous.

„What did you do, Jaskier?“

The growl Geralt send his way made the bard flinch. „I may or may not have called her a bitch and demanded to get your soul back in… exchange… for mine. Sorry?“

„You insulted a goddess...“ Geralt sounded about done with the world.

„In my defense, you insulted her first. And she found mine funny.“ Jaskier blurted out before remembering that these details were not the important part of the story right now. „You did hear the other part, right?“

The moment Jaskiers words caught up with Geralts brain was the most terrifying the bard had ever had the misfortune of living through. The Witchers whole demeanor shifted and Jaskier didn‘t need to have enhanced senses to see the aura of rage slowly curling around the hulking form of his friend.

Or former friend if this spiraled out of control any more than it already had.

„What did she do with you?“

Jaskier managed a shrug, but looked far from nonchalant. „She… She said she blessed me. Something about giving me what I was craving the most while easing the pain.“

The bard explained as best as he could his new abilities and limitations. The hardest part was telling Geralt that Jaskier physically couldn‘t stay away from him. He thought he had cried himself out before, but watching the muscles in the Witchers body lock up in barely contained rage brought tears into his eyes again.

He stopped when he was done with the facts, mouth clicking shut. Geralt looked like he had on the mountain. He had learned at least one lesson that day. When Geralt got this wound up don‘t try to to lighten the mood. Don‘t say more than necessary.

Keep silent.

Don‘t light the fuse.

„You!“ It came out as a vicious snarl and Jaskier tensed, unable to raise his eyes from his clenched hands.

Silence. Stomping. Geralt wasn‘t coming closer, only pacing up and down in front of him, growling low in his throat.

„Stay here.“

And now the heavy footsteps were fading, the walls rattling with the force with which Geralt slammed the door shut. Jaskier curled up at the barked order and let out a sob. This was it. This was were everything broke down. It was a all freefall from here on out.

Geralt tried in vain to keep his temper in check. The smell of absolute misery coming from his best friend was torture, the rotten scent of fear even worse. His words though. The implications.

Fuck.

There had to be a monster here somehwere. Something he could fight to take the edge off. There wasn‘t though and he was in no shape to talk to anyone to inquire about a contract. So that left him to stomping around the streets of Oxenfurt in the dark, growling and cursing with every step he took further from the inn.

The few people still weathering the cold where intimidated enough this time around to scramble when he got closer, leaving the already empty streets even more deserted. Good.
Geralt breathed in and out, the icy air stabbing at his lungs while he tried to arrange his racing thoughts into anything resembling order.

Most important thing first: Jaskier had somehow managed to bind his soul to Geralts.

Fuck, this was like Yennefer and the djinn all over again. Scratch that, it was worse. Yennefer, while their destinies where bound together now, at least had the option to leave him for a while before their paths crossed again.

Jaskier didn‘t have that luxury. He would even be in pain if he strayed too far away from Geralt.

Another life was tied to him now, because of a bad choice he had made.

At least he hadn‘t taken out his anger on his friend again.

Babysteps.

Another frustrated snarl left his lips and he took out the dagger, that was strapped to his tight at all times even when he dressed down. The marketplace was empty, large enough to fall into some basic knife fighting drills. He silently danced around the market, the exercise hopefully enough to burn him out a bit.

Just because he hadn‘t lashed out in his rage didn‘t mean he wouldn‘t explode when he came back again.

Was this how Yennefer had felt when she found out about Geralts last wish? If so than he was truly lucky to still be alive.

Geralt rammed the knife in a wooden beam decorating one of the buildings, wrenching it out moments later. He was getting nowhere with this! All the thinking did was make him more anxious and furious. And physical exercise made his blood pump harder. He had to go back to the inn and… Fuck. Talk this out with Jaskier.

With a terrified Jaskier, to be exact. One that he had told to stay put. Just like last time. Where he decidedly had not stayed put.

Geralts eyes widened as he thought about the parallels.

Oh shit.

Jaskier had managed to calm himself down and work himself back up in a frenzy again while waiting for the Witchers return. The mess on the rug was cleaned up now and he had taken a look at the doorframe and wooden board to make sure Geralt hadn‘t damaged the property of the inn with his dramatic exit.

He had paced through the rooms after that and then picked up his lute to get rid of the nervous energy that way. When that didn‘t help Jaskier sank back down onto the bed and resigned himself to wait, throwing off his boots before he pulled his knees to his chest to properly curl up.

Jaskier could feel him coming closer, much faster than a normal gait would bring him. The door to their apartment banged open not much later, revealing a heaving, frantic Witcher who immediately relaxed when he saw the bard.

„I thought you would leave again.“ Geralt tried to explain.

„I can if you want. I mean, I can‘t go very far. I‘m really sorry about that, but I can stay well out of sight-“

„No.“

„No?“

Geralt nodded taking carefully measured steps closer until he eventually sat down next to the bard. „I promised you I‘d take you with me to Kaer Morhen for the winter.“

„Yes, but that was before I revealed myself! Before you knew that I latched myself onto you, when you told me in no certain terms several times during our long acquaintance that you‘d really like to live a lonely, miserable life alone, without bards distracting you.“

„I never said that.“

„Maybe not in these exact words, but I got your point!“ Jaskier gesticulated wildly now as he spoke, voice bordering on hysteric. „You never wanted anyone to need you. And now you not only have a Child Surprise waiting for you in Cintra and a crazy sorceress to keep from self destruction, no now here I am, adding myself to the menagerie, physically incapable of leaving your side like, ever!“

His hand was caught mid swing and forced down into his lap. The grip around his wrist didn‘t loosen after that though. The hand stayed where it was, warm and slightly sweaty. The motion made Jaskier look to his side and at Geralt, who had his eyes furrowed and was giving Jaskier one of his softer glares. The one that spoke of mild annoyance with a hint of amusement.

„As far as I‘m aware you were the original member of that menagerie. And Yen can take care of herself.“ Then, much softer „Do you regret it?“

„Do I regret?-“ Jaskier gaped at him like a fish. „Of course I don‘t regret saving your fucking life, you dolt! I would do it a thousand times over and more! As many times as it would take to keep you safe for the rest of eternity. Even knowing the consequences. I‘m just sorry to be a burden to you again.“

Geralts face did some complicated acrobatics, his hand twitching against Jaskiers skin. And then suddenly there was a rush of air and his head collided with a very broad, very solid chest. And a nose was unceremonously shoved into his hair with an exasperated huff.

„You‘re not a burden.“

The whole position was highly uncomfortable. Jaskier was bent sideways and hunched over in a manner that killed his back, both hands trying in vain to make him keep his balance. And Geralt wasn‘t even hugging him, was only insistently rubbing his nose against his scalp like some kind of dog.

He would treasure this moment forever.

„Okay.“ he managed to get out out alongside a soft laugh. This was the appropriate reaction to this clusterfuck of a conversation, right? „So, you‘re not mad at me?“

„I am very mad at you.“

„Oh.“

He tried to pull back. He really did. But the Witcher choose exactly that time to snatch him by the waist and arrange his limbs in a way that allowed for comfortable cuddling. Not that it made the whole thing any less awkward or confusing.

„Geralt?“

„Shut up. Let me have this moment.“ Arms tightened around Jaskier and a head fell heavily on his shoulder. „I missed you.“

Finally Jaskier allowed himself to circle his arms around the Witchers chest to return the hug, hiding his bright smile in the rough fabric of Geralts shirt. „I missed you, too.“

„You know, this could actually be a grant opportunity to have so much fun!“ Jaskier chattered at him the next morning, bouncing around the room, being the first one up for once.

Geralt blinked at him from underneath the covers, burrowing deeper into the mattress as if that would somehow help him to blend out the ray of sunshine his bard had decided to be this morning. He didn‘t begrudge him for it. Half of Jaskiers energetic movements was thinly veiled nerves.

The Witcher grunted in question.

„I can choose whether to be visible or invisible now Geralt! Think of the possibilities! I can play in taverns again, assist you on hunts without getting in the way, take the coin from stingy lords who won‘t pay up, prank your brothers, eavesdrop on people to gather information for hunts-“

„What did you say there? In the middle?“ Geralt asked as he slowly sat up. A glance outside the window told him that the sun was just about starting her round through the sky.

„Take the coin from stingy lords. Seriously Geralt you can‘t still be mad about that! I didn‘t even stab the fucker because his son was such a darling. And you deserved the coin and the wine-“

„Not that. After that.“

„Oh.“ And the grin Jaskier sent his way was downright evil. „Prank your brothers. I thought you‘d like the idea, given the amount of insults you always use when talking about Lambert. You know I can turn invisible. They don‘t. We could figure something out during our way there. As a sort of training exercise?“ Jaskier trailed off watching Geralt with huge eyes as the man got out of bed.

„Hm.“ the bard was wasting his puppy eyes on him, really. Geralt had been on board with the idea even before Jaskier had decided to explain it. „We‘ll tell Vesemir. Don‘t want him throwing you out the keep when he catches you.“

The giddy smile on the bards face made Geralts knees weak. Yes, this would be exactly what they needed to build up trust again. Geralt was sure of it.

And if he could get a rise out off his brothers while at it the better.

It would be an interesting winter.

„But before that! I can actually show you the academy now! Come on, we still have three days left in Oxenfurt. Oh~ Lovely Oxenfurt~“

Geralt sighed as his companion burst into song, but dutifully fell into step at his side. There was no way he could have ignored the hesitancy in Jaskiers eyes. A small amount of fear still clung to his bard.

There was still a lot to mend between them.

And scaring the shit out of one Valdo Marx was a beautiful start.

Chapter Text

„I want you to come into the room with me this time.“ Geralt rumbled as the first buildings of the small town came into view.

They still had quite a ways to go till Oxenfurt, Jaskier estimated at least a week and a half more of travel. So this wouldn‘t be the last pitstop they would make.
A few random notes broke up the easy melody he had been playing.

„We‘re already sharing a bedroll, Jask. This isn‘t so different.“

If Jaskier didn‘t know any better he would have thought Geralt was whining at him. He did have a point though. There was no real reason for Jaskier to shy away from going into an enclosed space with him anymore.

At this point Jaskier was pretty sure that Geralt wouldn‘t try to trick him. The threat of suddenly being grabbed and gutted was gone. And they would have to share in Oxenfurt anyway. No way was he sleeping in a stable in a city full of drunken students and what not. He didn‘t want to be thrown up upon in the middle of the night, or pissed on or worse. He had some dignity left.

He played a bright trill and watched as Geralts lips twitched. „Good.“

Jaskier felt a bit claustrophobic at first. Not that the room wasn‘t an appropriate size for the town. He just wasn‘t used to being inside anymore.

He marched over to the window immediately, glad for the fresh air and to be out of Geralts way. The Witcher surveyed the room with a nod and went to stow away his belongings, starting a fire while at it.

Jaskier leaned his lute beside the bed, they only had one, a reasonable order when the innkeeper could only see Geralt. And watched. He flinched a little when there was a knock at the door and Geralt let in some servants carrying a bathtub and buckets of hot water.

Geralt had the decency to look sheepish after they were left alone again. „We need a bath.“

We? Jaskier was smelling fine, thank you very much!

He sniffed himself for good measure and barely contained the disgusted grunt at his own stench. Alright maybe he did need a bath. But that would be weird, wouldn‘t it?

Wouldn‘t it?!

The splash of a mountain of muscle sinking into hot water pulled him out of his daily exercise of overthinking. The tub, for once, was big enough to hold all of the Witcher and Geralt had used that opportunity to slide into the water until only his head remained visible. Silver hair floated atop the clear liquid like spiderwebs and golden eyes shone with contentment.

Even with the water obscuring most of the good bits he was a magnificent sight.

„I forgot the oil.“ the sentence was breathy, as though Geralt had just thought out loud without meaning to.

Jaskier was momentarily excited and confused by the quiet utterance. His mind immediately jumping to all the fun activities you could need lubricant for and then briefly puzzling over if he had missed some very important clues, because that request came out of nowhere. Not even a little flirting and foreplay before the main act? Really? Come to think of it, was fucking an invisible being a kink? Probably, but Jaskier couldn‘t see the appeal to it. What good was it to fuck someone if you couldn‘t see them? Now the other way around-

„Jaskier? Could you?“

Right. Geralt. Bath. Bath oils. Pull your mind out of the gutter Jaskier. Your forced celibacy is making you stupid.

His heart ached a little as he went over to his pack to sort through his assortment of oils and soaps. This had been one of their dozen little routines before their brief, one-sided and very devastating spat. Bathtime had always been Jaskiers favourite time. He was allowed to see Geralt naked, which was always a plus, he was able to be useful for once without the Witcher nearly bleeding out on him and he got to touch. But most importantly it was a time where both could relax and just be in each others space. One of the very rare occasions where Geralt let is guard down.

Now though he didn‘t know where the new boundaries lay. It was so much worse than in the beginning, too. Because when Jaskier had first started following Geralt around he hadn‘t been as self conscious as now. He had just barreled over Geralts defenses like they were nothing, trusting in the Witchers softer side to leave him be and not punch him in the gut again.

He couldn‘t do that anymore. And without a voice to question about which actions were welcome and which weren‘t, Jaskier felt horribly like a fish out of water.

Jaskier took one of his herbal scented oils, one with an earthy, barely noticable scent and dumped it into the water at Geralts feet. After a moments hesitation he even let his hand sink into the steaming water and drew lazy circles so as to diffuse the oil better.

Geralt hummed in approval and heaved himself up a little so his chest was revealed. As if hypnotized he stared at the ripples slowly wandering towards him. Neither of them said anything as they watched, both gradually relaxing, the hot air and the absence of a threat enough to loosen their tension.

Eventually Jaskier had to pull his hand away again and Geralt took this as his cue to start washing himself. Without much thought behind the gesture the bard supplied his Witcher with his favourite soap and took a step back to watch.

This was an exciting new thing. At first Jaskier tactfully gazed away from the attractive man before him. A habit to protect his dignity. (He had allowed himself to stare in the beginning and had promptly been snarked at.) But Geralt wasn‘t able to track his eyes anymore, couldn‘t catch him watching.

There wasn‘t anything erotic in the way Geralt cleaned himself. It was quick, efficient and methodic just like everything the man did. It had, however, a certain beauty to it, like the movements of a cat. And Jaskier lived for beauty. Even if what he was doing was a bit creepy.

With the way he watched every move intently however, he couldn‘t help but notice that Geralt wouldn‘t touch his hair. His hands would wander there occasionately, but they always hesitated at the tips and then they would glide to another part of his body.

The Witcher cast curious, searching looks through the room. If Jaskier didn‘t know any better he would have said Geralt looked nervous.

„Jaskier?“

The bard tapped his foot where he sat on the only stool in the room, which he had taken to the window before the bath had been brought in. It had gotten a bit too warm.

The Witcher acknowledged his new location with a nod and then promptly turned to face the opposite direction, shoulders rising up to meet his ears.

„Would you wash my hair?“

For a second Jaskier thought he had misheard. It was whispered so softly, nearly being drowned out by the crackling of the fire and gurgling of the water as Geralt moved around to get comfortable again.

The small, punched out „Please“ however spurred him into action. Tentatively he inched closer to the now tense form in the tub, dragging the stool with him to make as much noise as possible. Even with an invitation like that Jaskier knew Geralt to be jumpy. And with him not able to see Jaskiers movements the bard somehow had to make up for it with noise.

He tapped the wooden outer wall of the tub when he was done settling back into a sitting position to warn Geralt of his closeness and then gently guided Geralts head down into the water.

Twin sighs of joy were breathed, recognized in their value only by their respective maker. Jaskier took his time soaping up Geralts hair, gentle hands massaging the scalp and neck, carding through the wet strands as if they were threads of gold, delicate and priceless.

Geralt leaned back into his touch, head nearly coming to rest on Jaskiers stomach, and closed his eyes.

Oh what sweet, sweet torture that was! Never, in all their time travelling together had Geralt willingly made himself this vulnerable! Had nudged so close that Jaskier could feel his chemise getting soaked. His heart thundered in his chest much like Roachs hooves when they were galloping away from danger.

The moment felt as fragile as a fine vase of blown glass. Jaskier had never been good at handling delicate things and he feared to break this one too. It would be so easy. Bending down to press foreheads together or give his Witcher a kiss. He could tug a bit on the silky strands, press Geralts head more firmly to him… So many fantasies and urges to accidently act on.

„All done.“ he whispered instead and was immediately mortified.

Fuck! Fuck! He slipped up! Shit how was he going to explain… As calmly as possible he untangled his fingers from the mass of white and stood, retreating to the window again. He had been very quiet, maybe Geralt hadn‘t heard. Maybe, if he ignored it hard enough, they could both forget about it.

The Witchers brows twitched into an unhappy little frown, eyes blinking open with a sigh. Jaskier watched as Geralt sat up straighter and then leaned back a bit as if he was searching for the bards warm body, making a barely audible noise when he couldn‘t find one.

„Your turn.“ he muttered, back to his usual grumpy self as he wrapped a towel around his privates and cast a small flame with Igni to warm up the water again.

Jaskier waited a moment for something more, for accusations to start, or for a bout of anger, but Geralt just seemed unusually dejected. As if hearing Jaskiers voice had made him sad.
A lump formed in Jaskiers throat and he hurried to get undressed and slump into the water just so he could sooth his poor bruised bloodpump. Why would Geralt not acknowledge his mighty slip up? Was he scared that it would end the silence?

He scrubbed at his skin to stop that train of thought. It didn‘t matter in the end. He shouldn‘t have spoken in the first place. It was for the best that they both just went on as if nothing had happened.

Geralt watched the water splash around, trying to make out more than just the ripples. Jaskiers low voice still echoed in his mind. All done. Just like he used to say. He wished it had been more than his mind playing tricks on him. With Jaskiers heat at his back, the loud pounding of his heart in Geralts ears and gentle fingers scratching at his scalp it had been so easy to close his eyes and pretend that Jaskier was all there, not only a shell of himself.

All done.

How he craved to hear Jaskiers voice again. He couldn‘t imagine what it must be like for the bard, to be forced into this unnatural state of silence.

Torture.

It must feel like torture.

As if his heart could break into any more pieces.

He would have to give the bard the best gods damned time he ever had in Oxenfurt. They both needed the distraction.

Chapter Text