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Jaskier was nervous, Geralt could tell, by the fidgeting of his hands. He could never stand still for long but it was especially bad when he was nervous, always needing to do something with his hands. Geralt smiled slightly, placing a hand on his back. He startled, turning to him.
“I had kind of hoped we wouldn’t be the first ones here,” he said with a tight smile.
Geralt shrugged. “Technically, we’re not,” he pointed out, nodding at Vesemir, who had warmly greeted Jaskier if only because he had been able to sense the nerves rolling off him in waves.
Jaskier let out a strangled laugh. “Right, yes.”
When he had first asked Jaskier if he wanted to accompany him to Kaer Morhen, he had exploded with excitement, one of Geralt’s favorite smells on him. The last few hours he had reeked of nerves. “You’re acting as if you’re performing at a banquet for kings and queens,” he said with a hint of amusement.
Jaskier wrung his hands. “No, it’s worse,” he said, side-eyeing him. “I’m essentially meeting your family, Geralt.” He swallowed. “If I don’t make a good first impression, what will they think of me?”
He snorted. “You’ve made a good first impression already,” he said, gesturing back at Vesemir.
“Yes, but it will be different with the others,” he hissed. Geralt raised an eyebrow, waiting as he knew Jaskier wasn’t done. “I’ve heard how you speak of Eskel.”
Geralt supposed that was fair. He always had been closest to Eskel, and it was endearing, really, how much Jaskier wanted to impress all of them, though he’d never admit it in so many words. “Just be yourself,” he said, and Jaskier laughed wildly.
“Well, that is a first,” he replied.
Before Geralt could reply, Vesemir stood, tilting his head to the side. “They’re here,” he said right before the doors to the dining hall swung open with force. Geralt watched, silently amused, as Jaskier nearly jumped out of his skin.
Eskel was the first and moved quickly. “Geralt!” he greeted brightly, approaching him for a rough hug. Geralt patted his back, hard, pulling back. Lambert was next, their hug not quite as tight or long.
Vesemir simply nodded at them both. It was only after greetings were out of the way that Jaskier’s presence was noticed, or at the very least addressed. Lambert spun around, staring at him like he was a threat. “Who is this?”
“One of Geralt’s friends,” was the answer, spoken by Vesemir.
Lambert blinked once before narrowing his eyes. Jaskier raised a hand, giving a small wave. He still reeked of nerves. “Geralt has friends?”
“Fuck you,” he replied easily. Jaskier cracked a tiny smile.
Eskel pushed Lambert out of the way and extended a hand, smiling politely. “Any friend of Geralt is a friend of mine,” he said sincerely. Jaskier seemed to know that, as he relaxed a little and took his hand, giving a firm shake.
Geralt tried to ignore the swell of his heart at the sight of Jaskier being friendly with - as he had put it - his family.
“We should have a proper celebration tonight,” Eskel said, looking to the others. “To welcome Geralt’s friend.”
Jaskier quickly shook his head. “Oh no, you mustn't. I’m just honored to be here, in your lovely home.”
“I won’t decline the offer of some good food and even better drinks,” Lambert said with a rakish grin, already shrugging his bag off. Jaskier blinked, looking at Geralt as if for help or direction. He just nodded and Jaskier turned back to all of them, watching him.
“I could perform,” he offered, almost shyly. It was the shyest Geralt had ever seen him.
Vesemir nodded. “I’ll get started on supper. Some help?” he asked, pointedly looking at Lambert. He grumbled, leaving his bag and following him out of the hall.
*
“I didn’t expect them to be so…” Jaskier paused, biting his bottom lip. He nearly looked ashamed as he finished his sentence, “Nice.”
They were in the library, a stop on their tour as Geralt showed him around. “The rumors wouldn’t want you to,” he pointed out. He hadn’t been the only one to receive some cruel monikers over the years.
Jaskier frowned, clutching a book a little too tightly. “But I prided myself on not believing any of them.”
“You didn’t,” he replied, stepping over to him. Jaskier looked up, tilting his head in confusion. “You were nervous, yes, but at no point did I smell even a hint of fear on you, Jaskier. Any other person would’ve.”
Jaskier smiled, small and sincere. “I could never be scared of you,” he said, tucking the book under an arm to pat his chest, friendly and familiar. “You’re just a big cuddly bear, in the end.” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “With claws, of course, but still.”
He snorted, shaking his head. In the beginning, he might’ve growled at that, joke or not, now he just found Jaskier’s nonsense amusing, as intended. He supposed Jaskier had changed him - and not just his reputation - in many ways.
“What were you thinking of playing?” he asked, and Jaskier blinked once, looking confused before he brightened considerably, eyes wide and shining.
Even now he still looked so young, not unlike the eighteen year old he had met over a decade ago.
“Well, I have to perform the song that saved your reputation and gave me my big break, of course,” he said with a wink. Jaskier tossed the book aside and spread his arms wide, clearing his throat. “Toss a—”
He was silenced by Geralt throwing a book at him. Jaskier laughed as he stumbled and caught it.
*
When they entered the dining hall, Jaskier’s eyes widened as the smell of rich broth reached them. Stew, one of Vesemir’s specialties. “Admittedly, I didn’t expect witchers to be very good cooks.”
“Hey,” he said, feigning offense.
Jaskier grinned toothily at him. Lambert stumbled in with two bottles under his arms. At Jaskier’s questioning look, he popped one open and took a swig.
“For our mouths only,” he said. “This stuff would kill a human.”
Jaskier pouted. As if on cue, Eskel appeared behind him with a bottle of ale. Jaskier smiled slightly as he placed the bottle on the stone table. Supper was fantastic, as expected. Geralt watched Jaskier as he tried Vesemir’s stew, eyes brightening.
“This is wonderful,” he praised. Geralt didn’t miss the way Vesemir preened a little at the praise. Even he wasn’t immune to Jaskier’s charms.
The real celebration started after they were all done feasting; Jaskier left and returned with his lute. Lambert grabbed the same bottle from earlier and took another swig, even bigger than the last. Eskel took the other bottle, taking far more delicate sips. Vesemir retired after just a couple of Jaskier’s songs, though he thanked him for the entertainment before leaving.
“I guess he is the eldest, hm,” Jaskier said thoughtfully. Geralt elbowed him.
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” he replied, and Jaskier laughed, starting his next song.
It wasn’t long before they were all properly drunk, even Jaskier. Jaskier, who had stopped playing at some point and was giggling as Eskel spun him around the hall as if there were still music. Geralt felt a weird pang in his chest, watching them together, but ignored it easily enough as he bantered with Lambert.
It was the most relaxed Geralt had been in a while. He supposed it was only a matter of time before something went wrong.
The ordeal began with Jaskier tripping over Lambert’s bag and falling on his arse. Eskel cursed and so did Geralt, who rushed over. “You still haven’t taken your bag to your room?” he growled as he drew closer; he slowed when he saw Jaskier was holding something in his hand, a tiny jar of liquid, clear like water.
“Um. Rolled out of the bag,” he explained as he stood.
Lambert cursed, now, rushing forward. “Don’t touch that.”
Geralt glared at him. “Why, what is it?”
Jaskier kept it in his hand. “Yes, I would quite like to know what it is as well.”
“Here, give it,” he said testily as he stepped forward. Jaskier frowned, stubborn as always as he took a quick step back. Lambert’s bag was still in his way; he tripped again, falling with a huff as the jar flew out of his hand.
Lambert quickly grabbed for it. Not quick enough—the jar landed in Jaskier’s lap, the lid nowhere to be seen. Geralt watched as Jaskier’s trousers were soaked with the liquid. One sniff and he recognized a few of the ingredients, all common for many different kinds of potions.
“Lambert,” he snarled as he turned on him.
He threw his hands up. “I tried to get it back,” he said swiftly. “Not my fault your bard is as stubborn as you.”
Eskel crouched by Jaskier’s side with a cloth. “Here,” he said, and Jaskier took it with a polite smile, trying - and failing - to dry his trousers. “None of that is important,” he said, looking up at the others. “What was it, Lambert?”
“I—” He closed his mouth, sighed heavily. “I don’t know.”
Geralt growled again, feeling animalistic rage. “You don’t know?”
Jaskier stood up, the glass jar falling out of his lap with a clatter. “Calm down, Geralt,” he said, reaching for him. As soon as his hand touched his arm, he was gone. Well, not quite. Geralt could still feel the pressure of his hand, warm and familiar. “Geralt?” He could still hear his voice as well. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
He wasn’t staring at him, was the thing, but at the spot he should’ve been. “Lambert,” he said. “Where did you get that bottle from?”
“A witch,” he answered, sounding just as confused as him. “She was terrorizing a town. I took care of it. When she died, that bottle was the only thing on her.”
Eskel sighed softly. “And you took it with you?”
“I couldn’t just leave it,” he argued with a frown, “and it was too dangerous to get rid of it carelessly, without knowing what it did.”
Geralt slowly placed his hand over the weight on his arm; there was no mistaking the feel of Jaskier’s hand under his own. “Fuck, Jaskier,” he said.
“What?” he replied, voice growing higher by the second. “What is it?”
He didn’t know. He supposed he had no way of knowing. Geralt nodded curtly at Eskel, who disappeared and returned quickly with a small mirror. Jaskier took it. From his perspective, the mirror was floating in midair.
“I’m fucking invisible?” he squeaked.
*
Jaskier was invisible. That was fine. There were far worse potions that could’ve been spilled on him, really. Geralt was relieved for a total of four seconds before he realized they were thoroughly screwed. “Vesemir won’t be getting his twelve hour slumber after all,” he grumbled but was stopped by Jaskier again, hand on his arm.
He could feel him despite not being able to see him. It was unsettling and yet a comfort. He could also practically see the look on his face in his mind, so familiar with all of his expressions by now.
“Let him rest,” he said.
Thankfully Geralt wasn’t the only one who thought that was a very bad idea. “We should look into this as soon as possible,” Eskel said. “We don’t need the details of the potion, or what was used.”
He could also - now - imagine the pout of Jaskier’s lips, just as familiar as his smile. “I’m obviously okay,” he said, “though I suppose none of you can see that. But I am. I feel okay.”
“I can smell you, Jaskier,” he replied. “You reek of nerves.”
Like earlier, but worse, more sour.
Jaskier made a noise in the back of his throat. “You know, I really wish you didn’t have that nose, but seriously—look, am I a little stressed out because I’m literally invisible, which is, like, two steps from being nonexistent, if you really think about it, I lose my voice and I’m practically—”
Geralt swatted clumsily through the air until he found him, a solid weight despite it all. “Calm down,” he said as firmly and gently as he could. Jaskier breathed in deeply.
“Right. My point is, I will be fine if we let the man rest until morning, I’m sure. No need to wake him just yet. Not to mention, you’re all drunk and won’t be much help at the moment.”
Geralt opened his mouth to argue. Eskel was quicker.
“He’s right,” he said, and Geralt felt properly betrayed. “We’ll take turns checking on him through the night,” he said. “For all we know the effects could be temporary.”
Geralt frowned. As if sensing his displeasure, Eskel reached over and patted his shoulder.
“You’ll have the first shift,” he said.
Geralt nodded curtly. As he left the dining hall with Jaskier, he shot a final glare in Lambert’s direction.
*
Geralt didn’t just have the first shift. He had the second and third. By choice, of course. Eventually Lambert and Eskel stopped trying, knowing it was pointless. Every hour, he peeked into Jaskier’s room and saw nothing, though there was the undeniable shape of a body under his blanket.
It was on the fourth hour that he peeked in and finally saw Jaskier. He very nearly fell to his knees with relief. Eskel had been right.
He didn’t bother waking him, just retired to his own room and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the lumpy pillow.
*
Geralt was woken by Jaskier’s voice. “Geralt, Geralt.”
He slowly opened his eyes. No sign of Jaskier despite his voice being undeniably close, nearly on top of him. “Fuck,” he said. The sun was brightly shining through the small windows in his room.
*
Geralt was mad at Lambert. Annoyed, at the very least. Thankfully he didn’t have to scold him as Vesemir was happy to do it. Jaskier sat, still invisible, at the head of the table.
“You should’ve put it away as soon as you arrived,” Vesemir was saying with unconcealed disappointment.
Lambert grunted, “I forgot.” He looked young again, like he had when they were children and he was always the one being scolded the most for picking unnecessary fights.
Geralt felt a little bad, he realized.
“You also should’ve told me - all of us - ” he corrected quickly, gesturing around at all of them “ - what it was and that you had in your possession. What happened to Geralt’s bard could’ve happened to any of us.”
Geralt ignored that he had referred to Jaskier as his bard because—well, because he had to. More important things. Jaskier didn’t seem to have a problem with it, or at least not enough of a problem to say anything, since he couldn’t quite read his face right now and that was unsettling. Jaskier always wore his heart on his sleeve.
“None of this matters,” Eskel said again, a repeat of the previous night. “Jaskier, continue.”
Vesemir quieted as he sat down, glancing toward Jaskier, or where he should’ve been, at least. Jaskier cleared his throat, confirming he hadn’t moved. “When I woke up this morning, I went to the mirror and saw I was—well, there. I was excited, obviously,” he continued, “but then I glanced back and I was invisible again.”
“Is it at random?” Eskel asked curiously.
Geralt watched Vesemir, hoping he would somehow have the answer. “That, or there would have to be a trigger of some kind.”
He could hear the nervous shuffle of Jaskier’s feet. “Right, well, any ideas?”
“We should compare and contrast the situations,” Lambert offered gruffly. “You turned invisible last night when you went to touch Geralt, and this morning when you realized the spell had ebbed.”
Geralt tried to think of any connections and he could tell the others were trying to do the same. Finally he let out an irritated sigh, ripping his fingers through his hair. “This isn’t helping,” he growled, and Vesemir gave him a pointed look.
“Calm down, Geralt,” he said, not entirely unkindly. “Getting worked up certainly won’t help.”
He pressed his lips together, nodding curtly. Slowly Jaskier came back, starting at his core and pooling outward, like water. He smiled sheepishly as he stared down at his hands. “I mean, I’ll probably be okay, right?”
“We don’t know that,” Eskel said, peering at him with open interest. Geralt’s stomach churned, arms folded tightly over his chest. “Since the witch is dead, we have no way of knowing the details of the spell; how long it’ll last, if the effects will worsen or what the point or intended victim of the spell even was.”
Jaskier nodded slowly. “At the very least,” he started, “it’ll make for a good song, right?”
Geralt snorted in disbelief. “You can’t possibly be thinking about that right now,” he said, stomping toward him. “Jaskier, for all we know this spell could end in you turning invisible for good.”
“I’d make a good spy, don’t you think?” he said, voice a pitch too high. Geralt could smell it, the nerves pouring off him even as he smiled brightly. It was forced, he realized as he looked closer.
He took a deep breath and uncrossed his arms. “We’ll figure this out,” he said, reaching out to put a hand on one of his shoulders. As soon as they touched, Jaskier vanished, solid under his hand but out of sight. Geralt blinked, already connecting the dots as Eskel took a step forward.
“Well, fuck,” Eskel said thoughtfully. “I think the spell is tied to Geralt somehow.”
Lambert huffed. “How would that explain this morning?” he pointed out.
“I was excited,” he whispered, and all eyes turned to him as he reappeared slowly. He took a deep breath. “I was excited, um.” Jaskier tilted his head back and forth. “Emotional.” Geralt didn’t understand why they were all looking at him, now, everyone but Jaskier, who was pointedly staring at his feet.
Lambert let out something like a laugh. “Well, I’d be damned,” he whistled, and Vesemir hmmed thoughtfully.
“What?” he asked gruffly. No answer. “What?” he repeated impatiently.
Eskel stepped to the side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “The potion is reacting based on his emotions, Geralt,” he said as if he was explaining something to a toddler. Geralt stared at him with a deep frown. Eskel just sighed.
*
Jaskier was avoiding him and frankly he didn’t blame him. Vesemir had disappeared for the rest of the day, retiring to his room. Geralt tried to distract himself by sparring with Eskel and Lambert but his heart wasn’t in it.
After a while he sunk to the ground and just sat there. Eskel stopped to grab his sword, thrown many feet away during their fight, before joining him. Geralt silently took his sword.
“You’re never so messy,” he said kindly.
Geralt grunted, “I’m doing this to him and I don’t even know how,” he grumbled.
Eskel and Lambert exchanged a look. He really hated them sometimes.
“Vesemir is calling for a mage, isn’t he?” he asked instead, and Eskel sighed.
“Most likely. He asked me about Yennefer.” Geralt knew Jaskier wouldn’t like that. “I told him even you wouldn’t know where to find her.”
Geralt snorted humorlessly. “I wouldn’t,” he said. “If she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be.”
“Well, then,” he continued, side-eyeing him like he was looking for something, “I hope we can find a simple way to fix this.”
Geralt clenched his jaw hard enough he felt a spark of pain.
*
Geralt was only mildly surprised to see Triss when he arrived at the dining hall in the morning with Jaskier by his side, sitting at the table with Vesemir, a mug in her hands. “Geralt,” she greeted kindly. “I’m glad to know you’re doing well.”
“Likewise,” he said slowly.
As if reading his mind, she smiled a little. “She’ll come around,” she said. “Give her time.”
The thing was, Geralt wasn’t even sure what he would say when he saw Yennefer next, after everything. A small part of him had realized somewhere along the way that she’d been right. Perhaps they weren’t meant to be lovers but that didn’t mean he loved her any less. Just differently. At least he would have a bit of experience with apologizing, now, after Jaskier.
Jaskier hastily stepped forward. “Yes, well, I’m not doing quite as well,” he said, something unreadable in his voice. Triss raised her eyebrows.
“Right. Vesemir was filling me in. Unfortunately, I am not the powerhouse Yennefer is, but I’m sure I can at least work out the details.”
He smiled politely, a little strained around the edges. “Well.” He spread his arms. “Here I am.”
Triss looked only fond, as if she’d known Jaskier as long as Geralt, as she stood up and instructed him to sit. Jaskier stiffly sat, hands in fists in his lap. Geralt watched from a couple feet away, arms folded tightly over his chest. Triss tilted her head back and forth, peering at him curiously, even going as far as to circle him a few times.
“This is interesting,” she said with a finger pressed to her chin.
Jaskier swallowed thickly. He flickered in and out, like a fire. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
Triss patted his shoulder, tilting her head to the side with narrowed eyes. “Rare magic,” she said as if he hadn’t spoken at all. Geralt held his breath. “Not unlike the stuff you see in storybooks,” she continued, a curl to her mouth that looked suspiciously like amusement.
“Could you be any less, uh, cryptic?” Jaskier asked with a tight smile.
She nodded, taking a step back and exchanging a look with Vesemir. “The spell is reacting to his emotions. When he’s feeling overtly emotional, good or bad, the spell is activating.”
“Definitely don’t like the sound of that,” he squeaked. Geralt noticed he was watching him. He gave a curt nod of his head, his own form of silent comfort. Jaskier quickly looked away.
Triss chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip. “I can try to remove the spell, though this isn’t my field of specialty.”
“I’m willing to try anything,” Jaskier said. “And, uh, Geralt has mentioned you. He trusts you, and so do I.”
As he spoke, he flickered like a fire again. Triss blinked, eyes growing just a little wide. She looked at Geralt and stared for a long moment before turning back to Jaskier. “Oh, darling,” she said softly, and Jaskier stiffened, reeking suddenly and strongly of distress.
“Don’t,” he said desperately, and she nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Geralt wanted to rip his hair out.
*
Geralt visited Triss later that night. He was tired of feeling out of the loop, like he was missing an important part of this puzzle. She walked with him through the halls. Distantly he could hear Jaskier’s soft snores.
“If the spell is tied to his emotions, why do I keep triggering it?” he asked as they walked. He hoped he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.
Triss hummed, staring ahead. “Geralt, sweetheart,” she said. Out of Yennefer’s mouth, it would’ve sound strictly condescending but Triss wasn’t like her in many ways and she pulled it off. “I wish I could tell you, I do, because I have a feeling you truly don’t know.” She suddenly stopped and turned to him, jaw tight. “But I won’t betray him like that. If you wish to know, you can ask him.”
Geralt stared down at her. She might not have been like Yennefer but, like Yennefer, she had a way of seeming so much bigger. “I was your friend first,” he said with a hint of amusement.
She smiled warmly, reaching up to gently pat his cheek.
*
Geralt stopped in front of Jaskier’s door that night. He wanted to know, desperately, but he supposed it’d be smarter to wait. Jaskier was suffering enough. He continued on.
*
The next day found Triss, Geralt, and Jaskier in the dining hall. Triss had shooed the others out, complaining about space and privacy, but she had taken one look at Geralt and simply nodded before returning to her supplies splayed out across the table. Geralt watched as she worked, occasionally stealing glances at Jaskier.
He was stiffly sitting, jaw tightly clenched. Every so often he flickered out for a few seconds at a time and Geralt wondered what he was thinking about.
“Okay,” Triss said eventually, a loud echo in the silence of the hall. She shuffled in front of Jaskier, blocking him from view for a moment. “Jaskier, this is going to be a hard task but I need you to do something for me.”
Geralt didn’t hear a reply but then she continued, so he had probably nodded.
“Try to push everything out and away,” she said. If Jaskier was as confused as Geralt, that wouldn’t be a problem as she elaborated, “To disentangle the spell and your emotions, it’ll be easier if you’re as calm and disconnected as possible.”
She side-eyed Geralt, and Jaskier let out a humorless laugh. “Got it.”
He frowned as Triss returned to the table and poked around. Jaskier took a deep breath, letting his shoulders fall. When Triss stepped back up to him, she looked pleased.
“Hold this,” she said, shoving a small bottle in his hands.
Geralt narrowed his eyes. It was a simple glass bottle with a bundle of flowers in it, brightly-colored and freshly picked. He wondered idly how she had found them given the time of year. He knew better than to question mages.
Jaskier stared at the bottle curiously but didn’t ask any questions. Guess he had learned that lesson as well. “Now this might feel a little… uncomfortable,” she warned.
He smiled tightly and slowly disappeared entirely. Unlike the last few times, he stayed invisible. Oddly the bottle of flowers did not, looking as if they were floating. Geralt could smell his distress and fear, sour and potent.
“Right, well, understandable,” she said gently before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Geralt watched closely as she mouthed words, the corner of her eyes starting to twitch after a while. It was so silent he could hear the too-fast beat of Jaskier’s heart, the only proof he was still with them. “More powerful than I thought,” she said finally but she didn’t open her eyes and Geralt knew not to interrupt.
Somehow so did Jaskier, who didn’t say a word for once in his life.
He knew it was working - or at least that something had to be happening - when the flowers startled to wilt, dying slowly. Jaskier let out a soft gasp, confirming he had noticed as well. Triss continued on until suddenly she stumbled back and Geralt quickly grabbed her before she could fall. The bottle exploded, sending pieces of glass flying in every direction. Jaskier squeaked as he came back to them, eyes wide. The faint scent of copper had Geralt scrambling to his side.
“Just nicked my finger,” he assured him, showcasing one of his fingers that had been cut by the glass. Triss took in a deep breath and Geralt nearly felt bad for leaving her side so suddenly but one quick look confirmed she was fine.
Geralt didn’t dare believe it was over, just like that, but Triss joined Jaskier’s other side and gently patted his back. That was all the confirmation he needed.
Jaskier seemed to be on the same wavelength. “You, my dear, are getting your very own ballad.”
She smiled a little, looking over his shoulder. Geralt stared back. “I wouldn’t want to step on any toes,” she said softly, knowingly. Suddenly he couldn’t wait a second longer. Gently he took Jaskier’s elbow and stood up. Jaskier willingly went with him.
“What?” he asked, blinking owlishly.
Geralt grunted. “Your finger. We should wrap it up.”
Jaskier grinned, eyes twinkling. “You do care,” he singsonged. “I knew it.”
Without dignifying that with a response, he led them out of the dining hall. Eskel was waiting for them, as he should’ve been expecting, always a worrywart. He simply nodded back at the hall and Eskel’s eyes grew a little brighter with understanding. “Take care of her,” he said, and he nodded once, disappearing behind them.
*
Jaskier was obviously not going to bring it up, that much was obvious. Geralt sat on the bed with him, gently wrapping his finger after he’d poured a bit of disinfectant over it.
“I understand if you never want to return,” he said finally.
Jaskier laughed lightly. “As if I’d be so easily scared away,” he replied, and Geralt couldn’t argue with that. He had never been able to scare him away, after all, and he had tried. Now he was grateful that Jaskier had stayed around, even if he shouldn’t have, even if he would’ve been safer away from him. He was even more grateful he had forgiven him so readily after the mountain.
Now he had to ask the big question and he dreaded the answer because—well, he had a theory and he hoped he was wrong. Geralt finished with his finger, securing the wrap. “Are you scared of me, Jaskier?”
“What the fuck?”
Geralt winced slightly, daring to look up. Jaskier was watching him with a frown, a crease between his eyebrows.
“Why would you ever think that?” he continued. “I literally just said—”
Geralt lightly gripped his hand, careful of his finger. Jaskier’s mouth snapped shut. “You didn’t react to anyone else when the spell was active,” he said, letting the words spill out without a second thought because he knew if he didn’t he’d never be able to say any of them, “but you could hardly stand to be near me and I don’t understand why.”
Jaskier never smelt of fear around him, not ever, not once, but what else could explain it? That was why Triss wouldn’t tell him; she didn’t want to hurt him.
“After everything I did, I can’t say I don’t deserve—”
Jaskier squeezed his hand so hard he knew it had to be painful for the bard. He didn’t even know he had that much strength in him. Geralt looked up, unsure of what to expect. Jaskier stared at a spot over his shoulder, took a deep breath. “Okay, no, absolutely not,” he said. “I’m not scared of you, Geralt. Fuck, I could never—”
He broke off, scrubbing his other hand down his face. Geralt watched silently, back to square one.
“I was hoping we could, uh, avoid this, you see,” he continued with a little laugh that lacked any real humor. Geralt should’ve interrupted, told him it was okay, that he didn’t have to tell him, but selfishly he didn’t. He wanted to know.
Jaskier finally looked at him. Geralt didn’t miss the small quiver of his jaw.
“I’m not scared of you, Geralt, or—or bitter,” he said. “Not anything like what you’re thinking, you big self-deprecating oaf.” Geralt felt a sudden weight off his shoulders, but he didn’t say anything, just nodded curtly. Jaskier smiled slightly. He reeked of nerves. “Quite the opposite, actually,” he continued quietly. “I—I love you, Geralt,” he said, tilting his head back, chin up.
Geralt blinked slowly. Jaskier bravely didn’t look away.
“Mind you, I wasn’t going to tell you,” he continued, and his voice was even despite the smell of nerves growing stronger, not as sour as fear but still unpleasant, “I was perfectly happy to just continue on as we were, and still am.” He paused, and looked down at their hands. “If you are.”
Geralt stared at the hunch of his shoulders and finally realized why he didn’t want Yennefer anymore, not the way he had wanted her before the mountain. It was because he wanted someone else.
“I don’t think I am, actually,” he said eventually and Jaskier let out a sudden laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob. Before he could move away, as he could sense he was about to do, he squeezed his hand and continued, “I would like if this did change things.”
Jaskier peeked at him, his mouth a thin line. “In what way?” he asked, and now he could smell his hope, barely there, a sweetness underneath all the sourness.
Geralt had never been good with words and that would hardly change now, even if he wished he could be like Jaskier in that way, could shower him with sweet words and poetry. Instead he did what he was far better at - as Jaskier always said - and used his actions; bringing Jaskier’s hand up, he gently brushed his lips over his knuckles and Jaskier’s sharp intake of breath was beautiful.
“Um. I couldn’t possibly be misreading this,” he stuttered, eyes wide. “Right?”
Geralt hummed, the corners of his mouth twitching, a small smile. “I don’t think so,” he assured him, and Jaskier’s grin was nearly blinding.
“Well, I was very pissed at Lambert,” he bit his bottom lip, mindlessly playing with Geralt’s fingers, “but I suppose I can find it in me to forgive him.”
Geralt could complain that it had taken a lot more for Jaskier to forgive him but he supposed different situations and all that, and everything had worked out in the end. Still though Jaskier stared at him like he was deep in thought, even as he continued to smile.
“What?” he asked gruffly.
Jaskier shrugged, aiming for casual and failing terribly. Geralt hadn’t realized just how good he had gotten at reading him. “What about Yennefer?”
“Oh.” He was genuinely surprised by the question, which was probably stupid on his end. Of course Jaskier would be thinking about her. He hummed, lightly squeezing his hand. Jaskier’s hand was as rough as his own despite being a musician, not a fighter. “I should search for her eventually,” he said slowly. “I truly think we are bound, and not just by magic.”
Jaskier nodded quickly. “Right, of course, that makes—”
Geralt tugged on his hand and he clumsily fell forward, blinking widely as Geralt leaned in, stopping just short of their lips brushing. “But I don’t want her the way I want you.” Jaskier opened his mouth to say something but Geralt took that moment to finally kiss him. His stomach didn’t feel like it was on fire, not the way it had when he had first kissed Yennefer, it was gentler, almost soothing. Like coming home.
*
Geralt wasn’t surprised when they returned to the dining hall together and only Lambert was waiting. He took one look at Jaskier and let out a deep breath. “Thank the Gods.” But then he quickly cleared his throat and rushed forward, bowing his head. Geralt had rarely seen him so polite, and all for Jaskier, who blinked owlishly at him. “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “I shouldn’t have been so careless.”
Jaskier smiled softly. “Don’t. It’s okay.”
“I’m sure,” he said, looking up, side-eyeing Geralt with a familiar twinkle in his eyes. That was more like him.
Geralt snorted, shaking his head fondly and turning to Jaskier. “I’ll say it again. If you never want to return, I understand.”
Jaskier sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. Now Geralt saw no point in fighting off the thoughts that arose at the sight. “I think I’d follow you anywhere,” he said finally, cheeks only slightly flushed. Lambert made a face, though refrained from making any comments, which Geralt knew had to be painful for him.
Just to torture him more, he leaned in and kissed Jaskier because he could.