Archive of Our Own ^beta

I.

Another town, another noble, another ball they had to attend.

Well, Jaskier had to, since he had been requested to play. Nobles from all the continent were asking for him more and more, to Jaskier’s delight, and Geralt’s dismay. Not that he didn’t think the bard hadn’t earned his fame, but because it meant he would find himself in ballrooms full of people he didn’t care about, for an ungodly amount of time, bored out of his mind.

He had no real reason to be there all the time. The first times had been because Jaskier asked for protection against cuckold husbands in a murderous state of mind; while Geralt could understand why they weren’t exactly happy to see their beloved seeking out someone else (although Geralt was careful not to think of why he understood this feeling so well), he was not annoyed enough with the bard to let someone kill him.

He could have stopped coming along when Jaskier stopped asking for protection, and just asked him to accompany him. There was no reason to say yes. Geralt hated these parties, Jaskier was too busy to talk with him, and he was starting to have too much fame and admiration for people to risk harming him in plain sight.

There was absolutely no reason for Geralt to keep trailing after Jaskier.

Yet for the seventh time in a row, Geralt found himself leaning on the wall of a godforsaken ballroom for whatever event, that whatever lord had decided to throw. He’d stopped caring for the details a long time ago, his only concern being the quality of the wine.

He didn’t even try to tell Jaskier “no” when the bard asked him to come with him. He merely sighed and told Jaskier to not pick a ridiculous gold outfit again, unless he wanted the Witcher to smother him with it.

“But you were so dashing in it! All the eyes were on you!”, Jaskier complained. 

“Which is exactly what I don’t want. You’re the one who likes to parade around for everyone to look at. I’m a Witcher, not a jester.”

“Are you calling me a jester?”, Jaskier asked with narrowed eyes. Geralt only smirked. “Well, joke’s on you. Jesters are always a blast among royals, I’ll let you know.”

“Yes. So are pigs on their tables.” He snorted at the outraged face Jaskier made.

Geralt was once more asking himself why he couldn’t seem to say no to Jaskier, when the bard appeared at his side. His hair was sticking out a bit where he had passed his fingers through it to unstick it from his slightly sweaty forehead. His doublet was open, and he had untied the laces of his undershirt, showing his chest hair. His eyes were shining, and Geralt was momentarily blinded by his smile.

He was the most beautiful sight in the room, and many eyes were on him, obviously thinking the exact same thing as Geralt.

But Jaskier ignored them all for Geralt. “You know, the evening would be a lot better for you if only you’d stop brooding alone in your corner.”

“I thought we agreed that I do not brood.”

“No, you said that, and I pretended to agree with you.” Jaskier took the goblet of wine Geralt was holding and took a sip, ignoring the Witcher’s glare. “But really, you look less dead in the eyes when you go on a hunt.”

“That’s because a hunt actually requires you to use your brain. There’s no need for it, right now.”

“Pretend you’re on a hunt, then.”

“And what am I trying to catch?”

Jaskier looked at him with a cheeky smile. “Well, I can think of a thing or two.”

Geralt could see people shuffling closer to them, probably hoping to grab Jaskier’s attention. 

Whether he was aware of it or not, Jaskier paid them no attention and kept his focus on Geralt. 

The Witcher had been surprised the first time it’d happened. Usually, Jaskier would mingle around, chatting up everyone and their mother, until someone got his attention, and ended up leaving with them for a bit - or for the rest of the night, more often than not. 

So when Jaskier started spending all of his breaks talking to Geralt, and Geralt alone, the Witcher had been a bit dumbfounded. But since these stolen moments made the evenings more bearable, he never questioned it. 

And if it also meant that Jaskier wouldn’t leave off with someone else? Well, Geralt wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Guess I need to go back on stage,” Jaskier glanced at the other musicians who were getting ready again. “Try to not kill anyone who gets too close to your brooding corner,” he added, while handing back Geralt’s goblet (that he had emptied all by himself, because of course he had).

“They know better than to come too close,” Geralt answered.

“Who knows? Everybody knows I have excellent taste. Some could try to follow my lead and come to you.”

“I’ll make sure to show them not to trust you, then.”

Jaskier waved him off and made his way back to the musicians. He hadn’t even taken five steps before a lady surged in front of him, stopping him with a hand on his arm. “I didn’t have the pleasure to catch you before. I’m the Countess of Leys,” she all but purred.

“Pleasure to meet you, my lady,” Jaskier answered. “Unfortunately, I have to go back to the stage.”

“How disappointing! Perhaps we could take some time after your show, to… get to know each other?” If the innuendo wasn’t clear enough, she pressed herself to Jaskier’s side, fingers playing with the laces of his shirt. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she carried on. “I’m dying to see if you keep up with your reputation.”

Geralt tensed up, watching the scene unfold in front of him. She was undoubtedly pretty, and obviously ready to throw herself at the bard, no questions asked. There was no way Jaskier would refuse.

“Ah, I’m afraid my… reputation has been made more of what it is as of late,” Jaskier answered, gently disentangling himself from her arms. “But seeing how many eyes are on you, I don’t doubt you’ll be entertained by the end of the evening.”

The countess took a step back, a bit disappointed, and yet not entirely surprised. “I see the rumors are true, then.”

“Rumors? What rumors?” Jaskier asked, confused.

“About you and your Witcher.” When she saw Jaskier was still lost, she explained. “You’re always at his side. There’s quite a lot of people disappointed that you’ve become so faithful. Don’t worry, I guess soon enough, people won’t bother you like I just did. The word will be everywhere soon, and no one will dare try whisking away the Witcher’s companion from him. You’ll be left in peace, both of you.”

With that, she bowed to him and went away.

Jaskier stood still for a few seconds, registering what she had said. He turned to look at Geralt, who was already looking back at him, confused as well. “Well, at least it will make it easier for me to keep you safe from cuckold husbands, if there won’t be any,” he finally deadpanned, actually quite pleased for some reason.

“ That’s your take on it?” Jaskier exclaimed. Geralt only shrugged, and the bard left him to go back to singing, muttering all the while at stupid people who thought Geralt and him were a thing.

II.

Jaskier woke up to find himself tied up to a tree. A quick scan of his body let him know he wasn’t injured, beside the pounding in his head where he had been hit.

He looked around to take in his surroundings, and to try to find out what happened. Well, beside the whole “let’s knock out and kidnap the bard” thing.

He seemed to be in a sort of camp, with a couple of tents on one side, and rudimentary wood structures scattered around. There didn’t seem to be a lot of activity beside the group of men gesticulating not far from him.

They seemed to be in disagreement over something, and considering one of them was pointing his finger at him, Jaskier guessed he was the cause of the disagreement. 

“I’m telling you it’s him!”

“You don’t know that! Do you know how many bards there are, travelling around?”

“He fits the description! And what bard would be in the middle of nowhere if they aren’t travelling with him ?”

Jaskier had a good idea who him was, considering the amount of fear distilled in the word. At least the situation was clearer. If they knew who Jaskier was, and with whom he travelled, it meant he hadn’t been targeted at random. These men were probably after Geralt, either for vengeance or ransom. They had been smart enough to wait until Jaskier was alone, while Geralt had been off to fight a nest of nekkers; they were probably using him as a bait to get the Witcher to come, only for him to fall into a trap.

Not that Jaskier was too worried about that. There were only six men with him, which shouldn’t pose a problem to Geralt.

One of the men glanced at Jaskier and saw he was awake. “Let’s clear it up.” He approached Jaskier, the others close behind.

Jaskier prided himself as a man not being so easily intimidated (he was, after all, friends with a Witcher) , but having six armed men surrounding him whilst he was tied up to a tree wasn’t exactly the most pleasant situation. Still, when the man asked him if he was the Witcher’s bard, he answered cheerfully.

“Yes, I am. And let me tell you that if you thought you could use me to get to him, you’re in for a big surprise. See, when he’ll see I’ve…”

“Fuck!” the man cut him off, which, rude. “Fuck, this is bad!”

Jaskier was a bit taken aback at the terror he could see on their faces. He hadn’t even told them what Geralt would do to them when he’d eventually arrive. “Uh, sorry, I’m a bit confused right now. You did know he’d come after you if you took me?”

Before he could get an answer, a man riding a horse entered the camp. It wasn’t Geralt, to Jaskier’s disappointment, but it didn’t seem to bode well for him.

“What the fuck is going on?” The new man asked, coming over. “Who’s that?” He pointed at Jaskier. 

Since everyone seemed to avoid his eyes and gave no answer, Jaskier took it upon himself to reply. 

“Hi! I’m Jaskier, the most prodigious bard on the Continent, as I’m sure you’ve heard, even in your… ah, charming retreat,” he added, glancing around. “As for what’s going on, I was explaining to your friends over here that my Witcher might be a bit pissed when he inevitably finds us, and…”

Jaskier was cut off again (and really, living in the woods wasn’t an excuse for not behaving politely with your guests).

“You took the Witcher’s boyfriend?” The leader yelled at his men. “Are you insane? What do you think he’ll do to us?”

Once again, Jaskier found himself a bit loss. It seemed they didn’t really want anything to do with Geralt, which brought the question of what the hell he was doing here.

The leader turned to Jaskier and started to untie him. “Look, we’re going to let you go, no harm done here, right? So there’ll be no need for your Witcher to be mad at us, right?”

Before Jaskier could answer, there was the sound of a sword being unsheathed. They all turned around to see Geralt standing there, sword in his hand, blood on his face from his last kill, and wearing a very murderous glare. “I believe you have something of mine.” 

Jaskier was a big fan of the entrance. 

“Wait, wait, wait!” One of the men yelped when Geralt came closer. “It was a mistake!”

“You mistakenly kidnapped my bard?” Geralt didn’t look impressed.

“Yes! We didn’t know he was your bard! We’d never have touched him otherwise!”

“We were ready to let him go! See?” The leader said, finally untying Jaskier, and putting him back on his feet. “We weren’t planning on hurting him!”

He pushed a still somewhat confused Jaskier toward Geralt, who seized his arm and pushed him behind himself. He looked at the men who were all looking as if they were trying to become invisible. No one moved.

“I really think it was a mistake,” Jaskier finally chipped him, unable to withstand the silence any longer. “They really were ready to let me go before you came in, so maybe we should just do that.” His hand went to Geralt’s arm, who finally lowered his sword a bit.

“I still think I should cut off some hands. That would teach them a lesson.”

“There’s no need to! My men are really stupid, that’s it! We all know better to come between a Witcher and his boyfriend!”

“Wait, you really think… Is that why you…” Jaskier started. Before he could explain that he and Geralt were not actually together, together , the Witcher sheathed his sword and turned around, veering Jaskier away with a hand on his shoulder.

“Have a nice life together!” One of the men shouted, as they were leaving the camp.

“If you say one word,” Geralt threatened when Jaskier opened his mouth to answer, “I’ll send you right back to them.”

“Please,” Jaskier scoffed. “I’m too precious to you to be harmed, apparently.”

Geralt only hummed in answer.

III.

Geralt never really knew how much of Jaskier’s flirting was part of his job, and what was real. He’d watch the bard wink and make suggestive faces at patrons listening to his singing, but then, Jaskier would spend the evening sitting next to him instead of trying to find company for the night.

It hadn’t always been like that. At the beginning of their travelling together, Geralt would more often than not end up in their room alone, being joined by Jaskier later in the night, reeking of sex and contentment. Geralt wasn’t really sure when Jaskier stopped sleeping around, but he was sure he wouldn’t admit having noticed it. There were a lot of things concerning Jaskier that he actively tried to not notice, only to fail spectacularly. Like how funny he felt every time Jaskier would pay attention to someone other than him , or how his hands itched to touch Jaskier when someone would put their hands on him, as if to erase the memory of their touches and replace it with his own.

It wasn’t like Geralt was always touching the bard. If anything, it was the bard who was always touching him, from a hand clapping his shoulder in passing, to his knee bumping into his own while drinking their ales, not to mention the hair-washing that Geralt would superbly pretend he didn’t enjoy. 

His own touches would be out of necessity, like checking Jaskier hadn’t broken a bone after meeting a tree a bit more forcefully thanks to a monster, or a hand on his arm to stop him from jumping on someone who made a mean remark about the Witcher. 

(It had surprised him, the first time it happened. Geralt hadn’t been able to stop Jaskier because he hadn’t expected someone to stand up for him. They had to leave the tavern after he’d dragged Jaskier off the man, whose nose was probably broken. Geralt hadn’t even known how to be angry, only bewildered that Jaskier hadn’t even hesitated before throwing his punches for him . It still baffled him every time he had to stop him.)

The downside of Jaskier’s fake flirting was that people would think it was real, and would pursue him eagerly. Usually, Jaskier would sweetly apologize, and that would be all, but sometimes, it wasn’t that easy.

That evening, Jaskier was “livening up the place” as usual, winking at the patrons while he was dancing between the tables, without really paying much attention to whom he was winking to. The moment he took a break to parch his throat, he was accosted by a man before he could even reach the table where Geralt was sitting. 

“Nice singing,” the man said, cutting into his path. Before Jaskier could thank him, he continued, “I wouldn’t mind hearing a… private performance.”

“That’s… not something I do, I’m afraid,” Jaskier answered, with a polite smile on his face. Before the man could answer, he walked past him to join Geralt, and took a much-needed sip of the drink the Witcher gave him.

“Well, this crowd is quite receptive,” Jaskier said. “With any luck I’ll have enough to buy me a new doublet, after you so carelessly ruined mine last week”.

“You did it all by yourself. I told you to not get close to that arachas.”

“You had your sword planted in its head! How was I supposed to know it would still move!” Jaskier indignantly exclaimed.

“Because I told you ‘careful, it might still move’” Geralt deadpanned.

Jaskier waved his hand to brush the Witcher’s remark. “Semantics”. Geralt snorted at that, which made Jaskier grin like a fool.

“Better get back to my adoring public before they complain you’re stealing me away.” 

Jaskier didn’t wait for Geralt to answer - not that he was expecting him to - and went back to the middle of the room. 

This time, however, he was aware of the man who accosted him earlier, and who hadn’t taken his eyes off him. While it was usually flattering, the proof of his talent actually working to entrance people, Jaskier found himself uneasy under the stare. He didn’t let anything show through, being the professional that he was, thank you very much Geralt . Still, he ended up stopping his singing earlier that he’d planned, if only to stop being scrutinised.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for the warm welcome! It’s not often that I’m lucky enough to perform in front of such a lovely crowd,” Jaskier bowed. “Don’t forget to toss a coin to your bard!”  

As soon as he started moving around to collect his coins, the man followed him, trying to engage them in conversation, despite Jaskier’s obvious disinterest. When the bard moved to the bar to order two ales, he felt the man crowing him from behind and tensed up. 

“Look,” Jaskier said, “I thank you for the interest, but my presentation for the evening is over.”

“Oh come on” The man answered, putting a hand on Jaskier’s back. “I’m not asking for much, just a little bit of your time.” His hand started moving lower, and Jaskier’s heart sped up. He didn’t answer, only took the two tankards the innkeeper had put beside him, and knocked the man back before making a beeline to Geralt.

The Witcher was looking at him with a frown. “Everything alright?” he asked.

“Some people just really can’t fucking take a hint” Jaskier put down the tankards with more force than needed. 

Geralt could feel Jaskier’s anger, and while uneasiness couldn’t really be smelt, he knew the bard well enough to notice it. 

Jaskier’s body had gotten increasingly tense as the evening went, and it hadn’t taken long for Geralt to see the cause of it. He usually didn’t get involved with Jaskier’s admirers as long as the bard didn’t call for help, but when he’d heard Jaskier’s heart speed up, and saw the man’s hand on his bard, he had been ready to get up to throw the man out. It was only because Jaskier pushed him away that he’d stayed at the table. 

His hope that it would be the end of things lasted for thirty seconds, before he saw the man coming up again. He wasn’t even sure what he was thinking when he grabbed Jaskier’s arm and tugged him to him. Surprised, Jaskier flailed a bit around before half falling on Geralt’s knees. 

“Uh, sorry, I…” Jaskier tried to get off Geralt, lest the Witcher decide to push him on the floor, but Geralt only sneaked his arm around his waist, installing the bard on him, so he was plastered to his front.

“What…” Jaskier didn’t get to finish his question before he saw someone stopping right in front of their table. He involuntarily tensed up when he recognised the man from before, and he could feel Geralt’s arm tightening around him in answer. 

“I thought you weren’t doing private performances,” the man said. 

“He’s not,” Geralt answered.

“Then why are you… oh.” The man seemed to realise something. “I didn’t know you were taken. You could have said so.”

“Or you could have respected my choice the first time I said no, and leave me alone,” Jaskier said.

“Well, can you blame me?” The man joked. “I’m sure your man understands.” 

Jaskier couldn’t see Geralt’s face, but considering how the other man paled, before stammering and finally leaving, Jaskier knew it mustn’t have been amused. 

Jaskier felt the tension leaving his body and leaned heavily on Geralt’s chest, sighing. “Thank fucking finally.” 

He waited for Geralt to let him go, to tell him to go sit on the chair. 

Nothing happened. 

Jaskier slightly turned around so he could look at Geralt. “No mention of my castration, this time?” he asked, because he had to say something before doing something stupid, like leaning over and kissing the Witcher.

“That can still be done.”

Jaskier scoffed and grabbed his ale, still waiting to be moved. Geralt only shifted slightly, so he could recline against the wall, his arm never leaving Jaskier’s waist. 

They spend the rest of the evening like that, Jaskier chatting about something or other, Geralt answering in his own way, neither of them bothering to get up to get more drinks when theirs were empty. 

If Jaskier leaned over Geralt a bit more than necessary, or if Geralt’s hand ended up pressing into Jaskier’s hip bones a few times, well, neither one of them seemed to mind.

IV.

Geralt would never say this to Jaskier, but sometimes, he regretted when the bard stayed behind on a hunt.

Well, not on a hunt per see. Geralt hated when Jaskier was there, because he was always scared he’d get hurt, or worse, and Geralt didn’t need the distraction.

No, he regretted Jaskier’s absence when the job was over, and he had to go back to his contractors.

Geralt knew how to deal with people, and had done it long before Jaskier came into his life. He knew how to deal with the suspicion and sneer and disdain. He also knew how to deal with the grateful and overeager ones.

It was just that Jaskier made it easier.

The bard knew how to deal with people, and often managed to make the encounters run smoothly. Even when it didn’t go well, Jaskier was always so mad that people still weren’t treating Geralt as a hero, that Geralt ended up feeling pleased all the same.

So, yes, sometimes Geralt wished Jaskier was with him, instead of waiting in the inn.

Today was one of these days.

It wasn’t that the lord who had asked for a Witcher’s service was that bad. He had treated Geralt respectfully enough, and hadn’t tried to minimise the danger to rob him of his reward.

No, the problem was the daughter.

Geralt had ignored her the day before, even though she was looking at him as if she was going to jump him. She had been the one to welcome him at his return, and had spent the time waiting for her father by praising Geralt in a very unsubtle way.

Geralt had to stay polite, because he couldn’t really afford to be rude before getting paid. He couldn’t help thinking that, had Jaskier been here, the bard would have had a field day bashing every comment she made, and Geralt wouldn’t have to pretend he was grateful for her attention.

Also, he would have been with Jaskier, which was an argument in itself.

Geralt endured the lavish attention from Lady Beckett for ten long minutes, until her father finally arrived. The transaction was quickly made, with both parties satisfied, and Geralt was more than glad to get out of there.

His relief was short-lived though, as Lady Beckett spoke up, “I’m dying for a walk, with this beautiful weather. Surely you won’t mind if I walk with you to the market, dear Geralt?”

Geralt very much minded. “I’m going straight to the inn,” he said. “My companion is waiting for me.”

“I'm sure he will not mind. You’ll see, our town market is rather charming, and since you have to pass through it to accede the inn, it all works perfectly!”

Geralt couldn’t find an excuse to this argument, and so it was settled.

Geralt tried his best to make the way back quickly, but Lady Beckett had taken hold of his arm and was trying her best to get Geralt to talk.

Once again, the Witcher wished Jaskier was here to provide a much more wanted conversation, or to at least not mind if he was the only one talking. 

He also thought he wouldn’t really mind if it was Jaskier at his arm.

They were finally reaching the end of the market, and Geralt could see the inn, when something caught his eye. He stopped to take a look at a jewellery stall, to Lady Beckett’s delight.

“Looking for a gift for a special someone?” The merchant asked.

“Something like that.”

Geralt took the jewel that had caught his eyes to look at it more closely, while Lady Beckett inspected the other pieces. “How much?” Geralt asked.

“Ten coins.” It was way more than he usually spent on stuff other than necessary things, but he didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take it.”

The vendor made a great show of putting the jewel in a small pouch without actually displaying it to Lady Beckett, under her delighted giggles.

Geralt thanked the merchant, and made it for the inn without waiting for Lady Beckett, clearly hoping to get rid of her now that they were here.

He was again disappointed when she stopped him before he could enter. “Surely, there’s a better place for us to carry on,” she said.

“I have my room here,” was all the answer Geralt gave. He regretted it immediately when she gave him a cheeky smile, and he could smell the wave of lust coming from her. “Then by all means, lead the way.”

Geralt could sense her surprise when he didn’t go to the stairs, but went straight to sit at an already occupied table.

“Took you long enough,” Jaskier said, without looking up from his notebook.

“Mmh.”

“Did everything go well with… Oh, hello there,” Jaskier said when noticing lady Beckett who was awkwardly standing there. He glanced at Geralt in question. 

“This is the daughter of Lord Beckett. We were just going the same way.”

It was obvious by Lady Beckett’s frown that the explanation wasn’t satisfactory enough for her.

“Actually, I suggested to Geralt that we’d spend some quality time together.”

She pulled a chair, and sat at their table, clearly not attending to leave. Jaskier could tell Geralt was annoyed, and running thin on his patience. 

“You are of course welcome to stay with us,” Jaskier started, “but surely a lady of your standing is accustomed to a better place than this one?”

This one sentence was more flattering than everything Geralt could have told her so far, and yet she still didn’t retreat. She started to pick up the conversation with Geralt again, but the Witcher cut her off by turning to Jaskier.

“I got something for you.”

“For me?” Jaskier’s face lit up. “Oh, I do love gifts, give me!”

Geralt took out from his bag the pouch he had purchased earlier.

“It’s for him ?” Lady Beckett started sputtering. “But, I thought…”

Jaskier glanced questioningly at her, but Geralt put it in his hands without hesitation.

Too curious to wait, Jaskier opened the pouch, and lifted a ring from it. It was a silver ring, with the head of a wolf as a signet.

“Geralt, it’s beautiful,” Jaskier said in awe. “I… thank you.” He slipped the ring on his finger.

Geralt felt a rush of pride and possessiveness at the sight of his sigil on the bard. It was a clear enough message to anyone that Jaskier was his bard.

Even Lady Beckett seemed to get it. “You could have told me you were going to propose to him!”

“That’s really not what’s hap…” Jaskier stopped when Geralt kicked him under the table.

“I wouldn’t have bothered if I’d known!” She motioned between the two of them, voicing her frustration loud enough to attract the attention of the other customers. “I’ll see myself out of this place.”

“Thank fuck,” Geralt grunted when she was out.

“What was that about?”

“She wouldn’t take a clue that I really didn’t care about her.”

“So you decided to fake a proposal to me? You could have just told her you weren’t interested, you know.”

Geralt shrugged. Jaskier toyed with the ring of his finger, his mouth downcast. “You’ll need to return this, then, I suppose.”

Geralt could hear the disappointment in his voice. “I would have bought it even if she hadn’t been there. I just saw it, and thought you’d like it.”

“I do,” Jaskier said, softly. 

“Good. If it helped me to get rid of her, well, it’s an added bonus.”

“Well, I hope you know that now we are engaged , I can assure you I will make a bigger scene if I catch you giving a ring to someone else,” Jaskier joked.

“Hmm. Better to avoid it, then.”

“Better, yeah.”

Jaskier went back to his notebook. Geralt smiled, feeling the pressure of Jaskier’s foot against his.

He pressed back.

V.

“See? This is why I shouldn’t stay behind,” Jaskier breathed heavily. “Who would save you, then?”

Geralt didn’t answer. Jaskier wasn’t really expecting it, as the man was barely conscious. He was grateful enough he was able to put the Witcher onto Roach, even if he was just lying sideways on the saddle.

Jaskier mounted behind him and Roach seemed to understand the emergency of the situation, for she didn’t complain and started galloping right away.

The Path had led them back near Posada, and Jaskier was now aiming to the mountains, hoping Filavandrel and his people were still hiding there.

When they made it to the pass a few hours later, Jaskier dismounted and started calling around. “Filavandrel! I really need you to step out of your cave! You or any other elves, I’m not picky!”

He shouted around for a few minutes, despair growing on as he got no answer.

“Well, if it isn’t our famous bard.” Jaskier turned around to face Filavandrel and a couple of his people. “Aren’t you afraid to call… what was it again? Oh, yes, ‘a silver tongued devil’.”

“Look, we can talk about artistic licence later,” Jaskier cut him off. “But I need your help. Geralt has been poisoned, and… it’s bad. Please.” His voice cracked a bit at the last word.

The elves went to take a look at Geralt. “What did this?”

“It was a basilisk. He killed it but it bit him and then he just collapsed and wouldn’t get up or react at all.” Jaskier was frantic and didn’t try to hide how scared out of his mind he actually was.

“Please, tell me you can help him. I can’t… I can’t lose him.”

Filavandrel stared at him with a piercing look, then nodded. “Come on. It won’t be easy. He’d already be dead, if he wasn’t a Witcher.”

Jaskier led Roach until they reached the secret tunnels. There, some elves hoisted Geralt down from Roach, and deposited him on a couch before starting to undress him to get access to the wound.

Two others elves were starting to prepare some mixture or potion of a sort. Jaskier wasn’t really paying attention to anything but the Witcher lying there. It wasn’t until one of the elves tending to Geralt told him that they had treated the poison, and that they could only wait from now on, that Jaskier finally reacted. 

“How long?”

“A couple of days, maybe. It’s hard to say. There’s a chance he won’t wake up at all.”

Jaskier spent the three longest days of his life, stuck in the elves hideout. He had never been so scared, and had to fight to just breathe at some points, as he was so overcome with terror. 

He became blind to everything that wasn’t the low movement of Geralt’s chest, proving his Witcher was still alive, terrified it would stop moving between one breath and the next.

He just waited, hoping and praying.

--

Geralt didn’t open his eyes right away when he awoke. He felt shitty and weak, and couldn’t remember much after killing the basilisk. He vaguely recalled Jaskier holding onto him, and then maybe an uncomfortable ride. Nothing else.

He tried to move his hand but something was holding it back, and he snapped his eyes open in panic. Relief flooded in when he saw it was Jaskier’s hand that was restraining his.

The bard was sitting next to Geralt’s couch, his head resting next to Geralt’s hip, fast asleep. He was holding onto Geralt’s hand with surprising strength, but the Witcher wasn’t too eager to get free.

He quickly scanned his surroundings, and guessed they were in an elvish stronghold. Considering he was lying in a bed, and that neither he nor Jaskier were restrained or harmed, he deduced they were safe for now.

His attention went back to Jaskier. Even though he was asleep, the bard still looked troubled. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was pale, with tired traits, even in sleep. He didn’t seem to have changed, as his clothes were still dirtied by the journey and Geralt’s blood.

Geralt tore his gaze apart from his bard when Filavandrel entered the room. “Three days he won’t bulge from your side, not even to rest, and he finally sleeps right when you wake up,” the King of elves said. “He’s going to be pissed.”

Geralt felt warm all over at these words. His heart sang at the idea of Jaskier not leaving his side, watching over him, keeping him safe. It was perhaps a bit selfish, but Geralt couldn’t remember the last time someone cared for him that much.

Filavandrel came closer. Jaskier must have felt it, even in his sleep, because he suddenly sprang up with a dagger in his hand, instinctively placing himself between Geralt and what he thought to be a threat.

Filavandrel seemed amused at the display of protectiveness, and Jaskier realised who it was. “Sorry,” he said, putting down his weapon. “I forgot where I was for a second.”

“But you didn’t forget you needed to defend your En'ca minne* apparently,” Filavandrel commented, smirking.

“I’d like to see how he’d manage to protect me with just one knife.”

Jaskier pivoted so fast at the sound of Geralt’s voice that he lost his balance and half fell down over the couch. “Case in point,” Geralt grunted.

“You’re awake! Oh thanks all the gods, I was losing my mind!” Jaskier exclaimed, hands flailing everywhere.

“I could see that, seeing how fast asleep you were not two minutes before.”

“You utter dick! I spend three fucking days and nights watching over you in the most uncomfortable chair ever, gnawed by worry and fear, and you dare judge me because I fell asleep for five fucking minutes!” Jaskier burst out. “Three days I had to wait for you to fucking wake up! Three days looking at your chest to make sure it was still fucking raising! I have never been so scared in my life and you, you…” 

Jaskier stammered, too outraged to keep up, and the emotions of the past three days overwhelmed him.

Geralt grabbed him by the neck, stopping him. “I know, I’m sorry. It was a joke, Jaskier, that’s all.”

All the fight left Jaskier, and his body slumped down. He lowered his head until it was pressed on Geralt’s chest. “You scared me to death,” he mumbled. “Don’t do that to me ever again, please. I can’t bear it.” 

There was the sharp tang of tears in the air, and Geralt could feel the bard’s body shaking where it was pressed against his own. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m alright, it’s okay.” He was still holding Jaskier's neck, fingers grazing the skin in a gentle caress.

Jaskier finally lifted his head. He wiped away his tears, and punched Geralt’s shoulder without much force. “If you do that to me again, I’ll make your life a living hell.”

He looked exhausted, eyes red and hair a total mess. He was as threatening as a kitten, right now, and Geralt thought he would have fallen in love with him right now, if he hadn't already fell. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he answered fondly. 

Jaskier smiled, and they forgot everything around them, until Filavandrel cleared his throat. “If you two lovebirds are done annoying us with your feelings, I could maybe check on you.” He laughed when he received two murderous glare.

After some examination, it looked like Geralt was out of danger, though he was still going to feel weak for a few days. He was already feeling sleepy, and Filavandrel ordered him to sleep. “You too,” he added to Jaskier. “I won’t have the Witcher surviving, just for you to collapse. I suppose there’s no need to ready a bed for you,” he smirked. 

Just before leaving the room, he turned to them. “Oh, and I mean sleep sleep. You’ll have to wait a bit before doing any business in bed.”

“You know what? I’m too tired to even answer. Move over,” Jaskier motioned to Geralt.

He took off his boots and doublet, before sliding onto the makeshift bed. He carefully wrapped himself over Geralt, hand resting over his heart, so he could feel the Witcher’s heartbeat, and know he was alive. “Please, never leave me,” he whispered.

“Only if you don’t,” Geralt answered, before pressing a kiss in Jaskier’s hair.

They both knew somehow that they had reached a tipping point, and that they’ll have to talk about it in the next few days. But for now, they were content to fall asleep in each other's arms, safe and sound.

+ I

It wasn’t the first time she had seen a Witcher. She was old enough to have witnessed their passings in her little town several times by now, even though she had never dealt with them.

She had always watched from afar, aware of their reputation. If she was glad enough they were dealing with whatever monster issues folks had, she was still wary. They were, after all, monsters as well, as everybody knew. It wasn’t safe to come close to them. Even the strongest man could be ripped apart like nothing, if it took their fancy. It was better to stay away. Everybody knew that.

Yet, she had noticed the change, these last years. The town hadn’t needed a Witcher’s service lately, but it was well passed by travelers, and rumors came with them. 

People were less reluctant to hire their services. They wouldn’t chase them out of town as soon as the deed was done. They were welcomed more, to stay around for a night or two. Some were even calling them heroes.

It had been unheard of, when she had been younger. Everything having to do with Witchers had been dealt in whispers and secrecy.

Now, people were singing songs about them, praising them. Songs that were popular, even she knew some of them, or could at least recognise them, even though she hadn’t sat in an inn for quite some time.

She didn’t know what had changed, but Witchers weren’t seen as scary as before. People were still watching them from the corner of their eyes, just to make sure, but they weren’t too worried about Witchers coming after them. Not really.

Still, when she caught a fight between the Witcher who had come to town the day before, and another man, she got worried.

They were only yelling at each other, but it could escalate quickly.

She crept a bit closer to the inn’s stables, in part to be closer to the door of the inn if help was needed, in part out of curiosity.

She had never seen a man facing a Witcher alone, even less without fear. But this one seemed fearless. He was gesticulating widely, and looked furious, seemingly not caring that he was so close to the Witcher and could receive a punch any moment.

The Witcher looked angry as well, though he seemed to contain it. He was dirty and bloody all over, and even from afar, she wanted to cower under his gaze. She didn’t know how the other man could stand it.

“... to tell me how to do my job!” the Witcher was saying.

“I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so stupid!”

She almost gasped aloud. The man was obviously the stupid one if he thought he could insult a Witcher without any consequences.

“I am the stupid one? Remind me who fucking threw away my potion?”

“It was going to kill you!”

“It wasn’t! Dammit, Jaskier, we already had this conversation!”

“And we’ll keep having it until you fucking listen to me!” The man, Jaskier, apparently, shoved the Witcher in the chest.

She was sure it would be his ending, except the Witcher… let him do it. 

“I know what I’m doing, Jaskier. I’ve been doing it for decades! Taking two potions in a row won’t kill me.”

“No, it’ll just leave you in such a state that anyone or anything stumbling upon you will! How stupid of me to not make the difference!”

“Then you have to make sure they don’t.”

“Are you serious right now?” Jaskier exploded. “You’re counting on me to protect you from monsters or a mob? Me ?”

“I’m counting on you to watch over me. There’s no one else I’d trust with that.”

This seemed to do the trick. She could see all the fight leaving Jaskier, as he rubbed his face. “You know I would,” he said, more quietly. “But you can’t ask me to watch you risk your life even more than usual. I’ll do anything for you Geralt, but you can’t ask me to watch you die, not when it can be avoided.”

The  Witcher - Geralt - sighed. “I know you don’t like it. I don’t like it either. But sometimes, I don’t have a choice. I have to do what I need to survive, so I can come back to you.”

“I know. I know. I just… freaked out. I’m sorry.”

To her surprise, she saw the Witcher reaching out for Jaskier, wrapping an arm around his waist. “You need to trust me on this, alright? I can take it, as long as I know you’re here for me.”

“I’m here. Always.”

Jaskier passed his arms around the Witcher’s neck, and kissed him. She could feel her eyes widening as Geralt drew him even closer, answering the kiss with obvious fervour.

“Come on,” Jaskier said. “Not that I don’t enjoy kissing you, because gods know I do, but you reek. Time for a bath.”

“Only if you join me,” Geralt said, nipping at Jaskier’s ear.

“Well, if you insist.”

Still surprised by the unexpected turn of events, she realised too late she hadn’t moved from her spot. She didn’t have time to move before they were in front of her. “Sorry,” she stammered, moving out of their way so they could access the door of the inn.

“Thank you!” Jaskier smiled at her. The Witcher only nodded, but his face was open and soft, and his hand was resting on Jaskier’s lower back.

As they passed the threshold of the inn, she finally moved and turned in the direction of her house. She needed not to worry about them. The Witcher - Geralt - was obviously not a threat to Jaskier. She’d need to pay more attention to the new songs, now. Maybe some of them would speak of a Witcher’s love.