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Jaskier placed a hand over his mouth, stifling a laugh. Geralt glared from across the table, Lambert and Eskel seated on either side of him. “No, no,” he said once he felt comfortable pulling his hand away from his mouth, clearing his throat. “Please go on.” His eyes slid over to Vesemir, who looked vaguely amused himself, thank you, which just made Jaskier feel even more validated.
“I’m assuming you don’t know much about fae?” he asked, and Jaskier could only nod.
In all his travels with Geralt, he had encountered many species, even keeping a list of them in his journal, but never fae. Geralt mentioned them, obviously, very occasionally, but he had never actually crossed paths with one. He assumed that wasn’t an accident, judging by Geralt’s tense expression now.
“They are far more dangerous than they look,” Vesemir said. “You should never underestimate them based on their size.”
Lambert sniffed, “Or beauty.”
Jaskier let out a tiny huff of laughter at that. “Right, of course, but. Well.” He tilted his head, eyes flickering between all four of them. He had always known fae existed in some capacity, that wasn’t shocking, but he did have to wonder… “How exactly did witchers get on the bad side of a fairy?”
That had been the reason for their current conversation, after all. Jaskier had visited Kaer Morhen quite a few times by now and yet this was the first time he had heard anything about this.
“Fairies,” Geralt began lowly, “are known for holding a grudge.”
Jaskier nodded, forcing his expression to stay neutral, which wasn’t an easy task.
“Lambert here is the reason for this particular strife,” he continued, side-eyeing the other man. “Followed him across the Continent and all the way here.”
Jaskier realized he hadn’t heard about this because it was a new issue. He nodded again, smiling slightly. “Should I be worried?” he asked, aiming for a light tone despite the small stab of worry in his chest.
“You’ll be fine,” it was Eskel who answered now, drawing Jaskier’s attention. “We’re only telling you so you know to be careful. Fae aren’t violent, not in the way of most. They prefer to play with their prey. Some even take an oath to not kill.” He paused, sighing. “Just don’t wander off on your own.” Before he could continue, Geralt picked up where he’d left off,
“This is a pointless conversation,” he said gruffly, not daring to look at him. “Nothing will happen to him.”
Jaskier smiled a little wider, resisting the urge to tease him. If he trusted any person in this world, it was Geralt. If it’d been the beginning of their friendship - or lack thereof, as Geralt would’ve said - that might not have been the case, but now things were different. They were different, and he knew that was Geralt’s own way of promising to protect him.
“Right, well, do keep me updated,” he replied airily.
*
Jaskier jumped out of bed, unsure of the time, when the rumbling started. It was just two days after their arrival and at first he wondered if the poor keep had simply given up; even stone could only hold for so long, he thought, but that theory was quickly squashed when the door was thrown open and Eskel stood in front of him, hair wild and clothes messily tugged on.
“Don’t ask,” he said. “Just follow.”
Jaskier nodded and hastily grabbed the only thing he cared about more than his life, his lute, before quickly following after Eskel. He was thankful to have slept in trousers last night as they stumbled out of the keep and met with the others.
Unfortunately it was cold, snow all around them, and he hadn’t had time to grab a shirt. He was distracted from the painful nip of cold air as he watched on. There was a concerning sound and a few pieces of stone fell, crashing to the ground not far from where they were standing.
Jaskier realized idly that if this didn’t stop, whatever it was, that Kaer Morhen was in real danger.
His eyes found Geralt, standing stiffly and also watching the scene with a clenched jaw. Not just Kaer Morhen, not just some random escape in the woods, but Geralt’s home was in danger. Jaskier swiftly turned to Vesemir.
“What is going on?”
It wasn’t a natural disaster, he knew, as the ground they stood on was still and unmoving. Kaer Morhen was being attacked and as he saw Lambert’s flinch - minuscule, easy to miss but Jaskier was used to watching for any small twitch after spending so long by Geralt’s side - he knew he had the answer. He let out a small disbelieving gasp, turning to Eskel.
“I thought you said fae weren’t violent,” he exclaimed, flapping his arms.
Eskel nodded curtly. “Could’ve crushed us. They gave us time to escape.”
His shoulders slumped as he stared, wide-eyed, at him and then Geralt, who still hadn’t said a word or reacted much at all. Not a very good sign from his companion. Vesemir opened his mouth, to say something, surely, but Jaskier was faster. Spinning on his heels, he pointed at Kaer Morhen, “Don’t be a coward! Show yourself!”
He heard a quiet curse from Lambert but he didn’t budge, staring resolutely ahead as he waited. A slight pressure on his arm and a quick glance to the side confirmed it was Geralt, closer now. Jaskier smiled, unable to help it, but then there was a gust of wind strong enough that Jaskier stumbled, only held up by Geralt’s hand around his arm.
“Fucking—” he grumbled, looking ahead again just for his mouth to snap shut. Jaskier realized he might’ve underestimated Lambert’s warning; the creature that floated in the air, surely flying though their wings seemed to barely be moving, was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Beautiful was an understatement.
Jaskier didn’t dare to open his mouth, lips pressed together tight. There was at least one positive: Kaer Morhen had finally stopped its slow descent to ruin.
“You broke our promise.” The fairy had a voice that was somehow both deep and high, sending a shiver down Jaskier’s spine. Geralt stepped even closer.
Lambert tilted his chin up. “I didn’t,” he replied, and Jaskier was impressed by how steady his voice was. “You just weren’t happy with the conclusion.”
For a moment it was eerily silent. Jaskier felt Geralt squeeze his arm a little tighter. When he spared a glance his way, he wasn’t surprised to find Geralt only watching the fairy. Never take your eyes off your enemy, he had told him once when they were sparring. Geralt had been a surprisingly good teacher. Suddenly there was a screech, unlike anything an animal could make and Jaskier yelped, covering his ears with his hands.
The fairy was no longer beautiful when he dared to look; small as the creature was, there was something daunting about the darkened whites of its eyes, wings suddenly flapping harshly.
“You will pay.”
Jaskier blinked, quickly whipping his head in Lambert’s direction as a flash of light surged his way. He could still feel Geralt’s hand on his arm but his grip had loosened, knowingly or not. He barely realized what he was doing until he heard a loud curse from behind him - Lambert, he knew that voice pretty well by now - and suddenly there was a blinding pain in his chest.
Slowly he lifted his head, hand pressed to his chest, still searing with pain. Somehow he hadn’t fallen; idly he realized it was probably because of Geralt and Lambert by his side.
The fairy was beautiful again, watching on with mild surprise. “Humans are so interesting,” spoken in that chilling voice, as masculine as it was feminine.
Geralt’s voice was barely above a growl, “What did you do?”
“He’ll survive,” was the reply and then Jaskier watched blearily as the fairy smiled. “Your debt is paid.”
Jaskier blinked once and the fairy was gone. Kaer Morhen was undamaged, and he had four pairs of eyes on him. “I’m okay,” he said, because he was. The pain in his chest was already subsiding. None of them looked convinced, which was fine. He could prove it. Smiling slightly, he straightened up and took a step away from Geralt’s side.
He didn’t remember much after that.
*
Jaskier should’ve known better, he supposed. He’d been warned about fae, after all, and he knew traveling with Geralt meant danger. It was worth it, he’d argue to his grave, but that didn’t make it any less true. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find he wasn’t in any pain or discomfort.
Maybe he’d misjudged. Maybe he was fine.
“You’re awake.”
Jaskier would know that voice anywhere, no matter the circumstances. Turning his head, he was quick to notice something was… off, but he couldn’t place it just yet. Geralt sat in a chair by the bed, jaw clenched and eyebrows drawn together in that way that meant he was concerned and trying not to show it. Jaskier frowned as he moved to sit up.
His eyes slowly flickered around as he tried to understand what he was seeing.
There were two options. He was in the world’s biggest bed in the world’s biggest room, or…
“Hand,” Jaskier’s mouth worked without his permission. Geralt didn’t reply, just placed his hand down on the bed like he’d known this was coming, that Jaskier would need proof. He reached out, placing his hand near Geralt’s, and confirmed his theory; his hand was barely as big as the tip of one of Geralt’s fingers. His first reaction was to laugh.
Geralt quickly withdrew his hand with a frown. “This isn’t funny,” he said, and Jaskier just laughed harder.
“I’m the size of—” His laughter was painful, clawing at his chest. He was no bigger than the fairy had been. He briefly imagined if Lambert had been the one to take the hit; he supposed it was better him than Lambert. He couldn’t imagine he’d handle this quite as well. “Is this really a fitting punishment?”
Geralt made a noise in the back of his throat. “It isn’t funny,” he repeated, and Jaskier finally looked at him, the laughter quickly stopping when he saw the look on Geralt’s face, eyes hard and unforgiving. “Why?” he asked. “Why would you do that?”
He looked at Jaskier as if he had betrayed him, or worse, as if he hadn’t done this for him.
Jaskier took a deep breath and willed himself to look as big as possible, which wasn’t much. “Lambert is your family,” he said, grateful that at least his voice was the same, as loud and steady as ever. “You would never want him to get hurt.”
Even if Geralt didn’t express himself so often in so many words, it was easy to read him. Had been from the start, really. Jaskier had always seen through his hard exterior, which was why he had forgiven him so easily after the mountain.
And one thing Jaskier knew, as clearly as grass was green and the sky was blue, was that Geralt loved those around him with every ounce of his being, but especially his fellow witchers. Jaskier still remembered the first time he’d spoken about them to him, the ways his shoulders had relaxed and lips had curled just barely.
Jaskier would’ve jumped in the way if it’d been Geralt, that much was obvious, but protecting Geralt also meant jumping in the way of any of them.
“You—” Geralt breathed through clenched teeth. “You think this,” he gestured at him, “is my preferred outcome?” Before Jaskier could answer, Geralt was continuing, speaking quickly as if he couldn’t stop himself, or even knew what he was saying, “I don’t want Lambert or any of them in danger but they are equipped for it, Jaskier. They know it is part of this life. You, Jaskier, I’m supposed—”
He cut off suddenly, looking away. Jaskier blinked, surprised by the outburst but craving to know the rest. “What?” he asked as gently as he could.
Geralt’s sigh was loud. He still didn’t look at him. “I’m supposed to protect you.”
Jaskier blinked again, chest suddenly growing tight. “You realize that isn’t your responsibility, right?” he asked, tilting his head and wishing desperately that he would look at him. His only reply was a grunt. “Seriously, Geralt, I make the decision to follow you. You even tried to get me to fuck off early on. You can’t help that I’m stubborn.”
He smiled a little when Geralt snorted, the tight knot in his chest loosening a bit. They were silent for a few beats, Jaskier wondering idly what their next step should be but knowing Geralt already had a plan. He always did.
“I don’t protect you out of some kind of responsibility,” Geralt said gruffly. He side-eyed Jaskier. “I just want you to be safe.”
Jaskier ignored the warmth in his cheeks and smiled brightly. No matter how he felt at the words, he was going to appreciate them for what they were. He had thought naively, once upon a time, that eventually his feelings for Geralt would fade. After a few years, he had accepted his fate. At least he could be by his side.
“If I wasn’t by your side,” he said breezily, “I probably would’ve died a long time ago.”
Geralt snorted again and looked away.
*
Jaskier was a little surprised when Geralt scooped him up a little while later; blinking, he could only silently watch as Geralt paused for a moment, seemingly in thought, before placing him on his shoulder. He supposed he should’ve expected this, given that he couldn’t really keep up with Geralt at this size.
“I’m a parrot,” he announced as they walked out of his room.
Geralt’s jaw trembled, easy to see from his spot on his shoulder, and Jaskier was pretty sure that meant he was holding back a laugh. Pleased, he returned his gaze to the ceiling.
It was only once they were nearing the dining hall that the gravity of the situation started to sink in. How was he supposed to play his lute like this? Or even write? Jaskier flexed his hands; he didn’t think he had the strength to even hold a quill.
Geralt must’ve noticed, though he didn’t know how, because he shifted his shoulder, garnering his attention. Jaskier blinked up at him, eyes wide.
“We’ll fix this,” he said with a surety that was hard to question.
Jaskier only smiled as they entered the dining hall. He wasn’t surprised to find they were the last ones there. Lambert was the first to stand up, hands clenched into tight fists by his sides. He opened his mouth. Jaskier was quicker.
“Don’t apologize,” he said. Lambert’s mouth snapped shut. “I made my own decision.” And he’d do it again, and again, no matter the consequences, if it meant Geralt was happier. And despite his words earlier, he knew he’d prefer to lose Jaskier over Lambert.
He only wished the thought didn’t hurt so much.
Geralt walked to the table and joined them. Jaskier slipped down from his shoulder with ease, landing on his feet. “Could’ve at least cursed me with wings,” he muttered. His aim was to lighten the mood but one look and he knew that wasn’t likely.
Lambert was still tensely staring at him, Eskel silently studying him, Vesemir was—as Jaskier just realized—penning a letter. He perked up a little at the sight.
“The fairy has likely left and will have no interest in returning on their own,” Vesemir spoke finally, setting his quill aside. Jaskier could’ve known that without being told, but he doubted that was the end of it. Looking up, Vesemir steadied his gaze on Jaskier. “Our only option is a sorcerer strong enough to pull them back here.”
Jaskier stared back. He had a feeling he knew where this was headed. Inevitable, he supposed. With a deep sigh, he glanced at Geralt. “Invite her if you must.”
“Why are you looking at me?” he grumbled. “He’s writing the letter.”
Jaskier smiled. As much as it hurt, he had stopped his cruel ways a long time ago. If Yennefer was what Geralt wanted, he would support him, but that didn’t mean he was safe from some good old-fashioned teasing. “What? Have you not been keeping up with her?”
Geralt blinked once, mouth twisting oddly. “I—”
“The letter is finished,” Vesemir interrupted easily. Jaskier turned to look at him, watching as he folded the letter. “Unfortunately, there is no telling when or if she’ll come.”
Jaskier hummed. “She’ll come,” he said. As much as they had their differences, Jaskier had learned fairly quickly who Yennefer was. She would always help others, even if she was insulting them while doing it.
“We can hope,” Vesemir nodded, standing up. He exchanged a look with Geralt. “You will need to keep a close eye on him. He’s already at risk like this, but there could be more to this than we see.”
Geralt gave a curt nod. “Of course.”
“I’m going to be fine,” Jaskier said, turning to the others, fidgeting with his ring, which had conveniently shrunk with the rest of him. “Right?”
Lambert tilted his head. “Just stay away from the rats.”
At least the situation hadn’t taken away his sense of humor, even if Jaskier wasn’t laughing.
“It’s the middle of winter,” he replied, eyes on Geralt. “All the rats would be dead.” He paused, waiting for confirmation. “Right?”
Reaching out, Geralt hesitated for a second before gently patting his shoulder with a single finger, nose slightly scrunched as if he was only just truly realizing the size difference. “You’ll be fine,” he assured him. Jaskier frowned.
“That very much is not an answer.”
*
Jaskier didn’t realize how difficult the next few days would be as they waited for Yennefer’s response. Moving around was nearly impossible and took far longer than normal, resulting in him mostly staying in one place for hours at a time. He couldn’t play or write.
Worse of all he had been very clearly ordered not to step outside for anything, even to the courtyard where he used to enjoy sitting back with his journal to watch as the witchers sparred.
“I feel like a prisoner,” he whined.
Geralt let out a small huff, a sigh or a laugh, Jaskier couldn’t quite tell, as he placed a tray on the bed. Jaskier peered at the soup, already wondering how he would eat it. Never did he think he’d be struggling to hold a spoon. Not before he’d turned sixty, at least.
“You’re safe,” he said as he sat carefully as not to spill a drop of the soup.
Jaskier hated that he was right. “But I’m bored.”
“Your safety is more important than your entertainment,” he replied with a hint of amusement. Jaskier suppressed a smile because he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Pursing his lips, he gestured at the bowl. “How am I supposed to eat this?”
He expected some kind of sarcastic reply, as was normal between them, but Geralt just reached for the spoon and dipped it in the soup, only scooping up a small bit. “Here,” he offered. Jaskier stared at him, blinking owlishly. “Just take it.”
Startled, Jaskier forced his eyes away and leaned forward, sipping the soup off the tip of the spoon.
It was strangely intimate, being fed. Jaskier almost felt guilty for enjoying it.
“Are you really not angry?”
Jaskier’s eyes slid from the spoon to Geralt, who was already watching him, jaw clenched. He was pretty sure he knew what he was talking about. “At Lambert?” All he received was a curt nod. Jaskier hummed, thinking on it. “Are you asking because you think I should be, or because you are?”
“I—” Geralt frowned. “I’m not angry.”
Jaskier smiled. It was so easy to read him now it was hard to imagine he ever struggled. “Mistakes are mistakes,” he said eventually, shrugging. “I’ve made plenty of my own, as you know. He didn’t intend for any of us to get hurt, and that’s what matters.”
A low growl in the back of his throat. “But he was an idiot for getting into it with a—”
Jaskier reached out, touching the closest part of Geralt, his wrist, as he still held the spoon over the bowl. “Hey,” he interrupted, gentle but firm. Geralt’s mouth shut with an audible click of his jaw. “I would rather not be the reason you hold some grudge. If you have something to say, go for it, but I forgive him.”
Geralt stared at him for a long, silent moment. “You’re far too forgiving,” he said but his voice was surprisingly quiet, almost fond. Jaskier smiled.
“If I wasn’t, I don’t think we’d still be friends,” he remarked lightly.
It was meant to be a joke but he didn’t miss the small changes in Geralt’s demeanor, the corners of his mouth tilting down, eyes darkening. Jaskier debated what to say but it was too late; looking away, Geralt took a deep breath and started to speak,
“I regret it,” he said. “The way I used to treat you.”
Jaskier had already heard similar words, not long after their separation on the mountain, but his heart beat a little faster anyway, like he was hearing them for the first time. “You’ve made up for it,” he said, meaning it.
Geralt hmmed. He didn’t say anything else for a long while before finally turning back to him. “We’ll find a way to fix this.”
His heart stilled in his chest, frozen. “Yennefer, you mean. She’ll fix this.”
Jaskier was the worst of the worst, he knew, for daring to feel anything but gratefulness to the woman that was likely going to clean up their miss, but jealously had always lived behind his ribs just for her, flaring up at any mention of her name, even now, even after he’d accepted fate and knew she would always be Geralt’s first choice.
Even if they hadn’t seen each other for a while, he knew she’d show up and it’d be like no time had passed. That was just the way of the world.
“She is the best,” he replied easily, because it was true. Jaskier knew that and yet the words still stung.
Jaskier cursed himself mentally. He had gotten over this. “I bet you’re excited to see her.” Geralt blinked, tilting his head.
“Of course.”
Jaskier forced a small smile.
*
They never received a reply from Yennefer. Jaskier tried not to be hurt. Kaer Morhen was heavy with uncomfortable silence as the days went by. Finally it was Geralt that broke the cycle. On the morning of the second week, he entered Jaskier’s room.
“Come on,” he said.
Jaskier sat up, blinking slowly. “Um. Where, exactly?”
“You’re bored, aren’t you?” he replied without looking, arms folded over his chest. “The courtyard should be safe enough with all of us there.”
Jaskier brightened. It was early morning, which meant they’d be sparring as usual. Jaskier only wished he could bring his journal with him but it was still better than nothing. “My hero,” he sighed dramatically.
With a snort, Geralt finally looked at him as he approached the bed. He picked Jaskier up with ease, plopping him on his shoulder; Jaskier still wasn’t quite used to it, being handled like he weighed less than a piece of parchment.
Thinking on it, he supposed Geralt had had a right to be worried. A large bird could carry him off.
“Hold on,” Geralt ordered gruffly, and Jaskier startled out of his thoughts, gripping Geralt’s hair in two fists. He had always known Geralt’s hair was unfairly soft, given that he barely took care of it, but it was still always a bit of a shock.
The rest of them were already outside when they arrived. Well, most of them. Lambert stood with Eskel, speaking in low voices. Sometimes Vesemir skipped out and sometimes he didn’t. Jaskier didn’t question why. He had surely done enough to deserve some rest.
Eskel was in a middle of a sentence when he spotted them, trailing off with a frown. “Is it safe?” he asked. There was no wondering what or who he was talking about.
“He’ll barely be a few steps from us,” he replied but Jaskier could feel the way he tensed underneath him. He was having none of that. He was finally back under the sun, even if it was cold.
Tugging lightly on Geralt’s hair, he drew his attention and smiled brightly. “Just put me down over there,” he said, pointing to his usual spot on the steps. Geralt exchanged a final look with Eskel before nodding curtly.
Jaskier was beyond pleased as he was set on the steps. Geralt grunted, seemingly satisfied, before returning to the others. Jaskier watched, entranced as always, as they sparred with each other, both with their swords and with their fists.
It was like dancing, Jaskier had said once, and Geralt had surprised him by smiling. “Exactly like dancing,” he had said, and Jaskier had smiled back.
Jaskier was so enthralled in their sparring, as graceful and sharp as ever, that he barely noticed when he had moved too close to the edge of the step. Lambert spun suddenly, surprising Jaskier as much as his opponent.
That one small startle was enough to have him tumbling over the edge of the step. The pain was instant as he rolled down a couple of the steps before finally stopping on the last one, heart pounding.
“Jaskier,” hissed through teeth as he was surrounded. His vision was a little blurry but picking Geralt’s silhouette out of the three was still easy.
He smiled a little, blinking quickly. “That was—” he took a deep breath “—a good move.”
Jaskier heard a hushed curse and winced when he was moved, even if the touch was surprisingly gentle. Geralt turned them around and sat on the steps, Jaskier in his lap. His touch stayed gentle as he pulled his shirt up, eyeing his torso and pressing his thumbs around. Jaskier opened his mouth to say something, planning on a joke to wipe that frown on his face, but Geralt sighed before he could and nodded.
“You should be fine. Bruising is inevitable, but nothing seems broken.”
Eskel hmmed. “He’s lucky he didn’t hit his head.”
Geralt nodded, never taking his eyes off Jaskier. Now that his vision was clearer, he felt a little suffocated by the look in Geralt’s eyes. He couldn’t place it, but it wasn’t a look he was familiar with. “I’ll take him back to his room.”
It was only once they were back at Jaskier’s room that Geralt spoke more, Jaskier propped up comfortably. If he ignored the dull ache in his side, he felt surprisingly fine.
“I thought I couldn’t worry about you more,” he said gruffly, perched on the edge of the bed with a twist of his mouth.
Jaskier smiled because he just couldn’t help himself. “You’re admitting you care about me so openly?” he teased. “Talk about character development.”
Geralt snorted, looking down. “I—”
They were interrupted by a loud sound, like gushing wind, and suddenly it wasn’t just the two of them. Jaskier blinked owlishly, wondering if he had hit his head. Yennefer arched an eyebrow, glancing between them.
“Am I interrupting?” she asked lightly. “I can come back later.”
Jaskier tilted his head. “You didn’t reply.”
“I’m a busy woman,” she said with a wave of her hand, eyes trained exclusively on Geralt, searching and narrowed. Jaskier felt like he was intruding. “How peculiar,” she muttered before shaking her head. “Well, do you want my help or not?”
Jaskier didn’t think it was even a question. “It’d be appreciated, yes.”
With a slight smirk, she lifted a single finger. “I just have one condition.”
Jaskier should’ve predicated this, really. Frowning, he glared at her.
“Has nothing to do with you, bard,” she said easily, quickly, walking up to Geralt and placing a hand on his shoulder.
He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Of course,” he said. “Don’t mind me.”
Yennefer didn’t, because she never did. With a sly quirk of her mouth, she looped arms with Geralt and walked out of the room, speaking to him in a hushed voice. As they left, Jaskier caught sight of Geralt’s face for just a second. He couldn’t quite read his expression, but he was obviously displeased to some extent.
*
Jaskier was frightened of Yennefer under normal circumstances; being in her presence at this size was just outright terrifying. Staring down at him, arms folded loosely over her chest, she sighed.
“Even the best can’t undo fae magic, as it is intrinsically different from chaos,” she said, which Jaskier was already aware of. He exchanged a look with Geralt, who was standing off to the side with the others, all looking equally tense. “But I can summon the one who did it,” she continued, nodding at the circle she had drawn in chalk around Jaskier. “Once I have, we can make a deal to undo it.”
Jaskier pursed his lips. “Is that really smart?” he asked. “It was a deal that caused this in the first place.”
She arched a dark eyebrow. “Unfortunately, we have no other choice.” Crouching down, she smiled prettily. It shouldn’t have been as unsettling as it was. “Don’t worry; I plan to do the negotiating.” She stood up. “And it isn’t like you’ll be conscious to witness it.”
Jaskier stared up at her, wide-eyed. “That isn’t very comforting,” he muttered but he wasn’t going to argue. He trusted Geralt, who was present, to keep him safe.
“Well,” she said once she had returned to the chalk circle with a small bowl of paste, a concoction of flowers Jaskier hadn’t been able to recognize and other ingredients he didn’t want to think about. “No time is better than the present.”
He side-eyed Geralt, holding his gaze, as Yennefer knelt and drew a symbol with the paste in the circle.
“You’ve never done this before,” gruffly spoken by Geralt.
Yennefer hummed. “Are you doubting me?” she asked, sickeningly sweet. Jaskier shuddered.
“No,” he replied evenly but Jaskier caught the clench of his jaw.
With a sigh, she finally glanced in his direction. “I’ll keep your bard safe,” she mused. “Stop your worrying.”
Jaskier ignored the thump of his heart at the way she so easily and surely said your bard, like it was simply a fact of life. To be fair, she had said the same thing long before he had felt like an unshakable constant in Geralt’s life, but now it felt true. Important. He cursed mentally, forcing himself to look away from Geralt and focus on Yennefer, so close and towering over him.
Once she was finished, she put the bowl aside and paused, staring down at him. Jaskier held his breath.
“You two deserve each other,” she muttered, and Jaskier blinked, eyes widening, but it was too late. She was already back on her feet, clapping her hands together and turning to the others. “I do hope I can count on your help.”
Jaskier watched her closely, words echoing in his ears, as she began. He was still unsure of what she meant by the time his vision started to fade in and out, a tightness around his throat like he had to fight for each breath.
The last thing he saw was the fairy materializing out of thin air, wings flapping aggressively, before his vision faded to black and didn’t return.
*
Jaskier opened his eyes with a pained groan. “Am I dead?”
“If you were, asking me probably wouldn’t help.”
He knew that voice. With a sigh, he turned his head and peered at Yennefer by his bedside. “Am I—?” Before he could even finish his question, Yennefer grabbed his wrist and lifted his hand into view. That was all he needed to see; his hand was larger than Yennefer’s, but only by a bit. Back to normal. “What deal did you make?” He dreaded the answer, thinking of endless possibilities, but she just smiled.
“Did you really think I’d settle for a deal?” she replied, dropping his hand like a rock. “Once Lambert apologized, it was surprisingly easy to convince her to revert it.”
Jaskier’s eyes widened. “He apologized?”
“With some gentle encouragement,” she answered, waving her hand. Nothing about Yennefer was gentle, but he refrained from commenting.
Jaskier glanced around the room. Even without having to say it, Yennefer seemed to read his mind. Maybe literally, he remembered with a shiver.
“I forced him to get some rest,” she said. “I told him I’d wake him as soon as you woke up.”
He nodded, relaxing a little. “And what about your deal with him?”
“I’d wait to ask him about that,” she replied as she stood up. Jaskier watched her, eyebrows furrowed, not understanding. He thought of questioning her further, totally lost, but he knew he probably wouldn’t get an answer.
After she left, Geralt showed up just minutes later. Jaskier suppressed a smile at his hair, messy and loose, cascading in knots down his shoulders. Once he was feeling a bit better, he’d offer to help him with that.
“You’re awake,” he said dumbly as he walked to the chair that had been Yennefer’s. Jaskier did smile at that.
“Would seem so,” he agreed, moving to sit up a little more. Geralt watched him like a hawk. It was both unsettling and endearing. “I can’t believe the solution was so easy.”
Geralt snorted, twisting his hands in his lap. “I think the fairy was just charmed by Yen’s wits.”
It was truly selfish, he knew, to feel a stab of jealously at her name, as if she hadn’t been the one to help him.
“I suppose she is quite charming,” he replied. “When she wants to be.”
Geralt nodded, and they both fell into silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, never really had been with Geralt, not for over a decade, at least. Jaskier couldn’t dampen his curiosity, though, no matter how hard he tried.
“Your deal with Yennefer,” he said. Geralt visibly stiffened, and Jaskier nearly didn’t continue, no longer sure if he wanted to hear the answer. “What was it?”
With a sigh that sounded almost painful, Geralt glanced down at his hands, tightly gripping them together. Jaskier watched, afraid to even breathe. “She always has been annoyingly observant,” he muttered, just loud enough to hear. “She pretends like she doesn’t care, but she does. In her own way.”
Jaskier squinted, still lost. “She wouldn’t have helped me if she didn’t,” he admitted, because even he knew that much. She wouldn’t help if she didn’t want to.
“Right.” Geralt looked up. “Which is why she mentioned that deal, because she knew it was the only way.”
If he was lost before, he was drifting at sea now, struggling to make sense of anything Geralt was saying. Thankfully he didn’t have to ask anything; Geralt met his gaze head-on, holding it.
“I love you, Jaskier.”
Jaskier blinked. Once, twice. Geralt steadily held his gaze without looking away. If this was a joke, he wasn’t laughing. If this was a dream, it was the most detailed one yet. Slowly he slid his hand to his arm and pinched, as they always suggested to do.
He was still here, now just with a small sore spot on his arm.
“I don’t understand,” was all he said finally.
Geralt finally tore his eyes away and laughed, though it was lacking any real humor. “It’s been nearly a decade,” he confessed. Jaskier did the math as quickly as he could; since shortly after the mountain, then. “At first I didn’t realize what I was feeling, but eventually I did. I never planned to say anything.”
He still couldn’t quite believe it. “What does that have to do with your deal?”
Geralt glanced at him again. “She told me to tell you how I felt or she wouldn’t help. That I was an idiot if I didn’t at least try.”
“Yennefer?” he asked in disbelief.
He cracked a small smile, and Jaskier ignored the way his heart fluttered at the sight. “I think you’ve misunderstood, Jaskier. We haven’t felt that way for each other in a long time.”
“Misunderstood?” He let out a sudden laugh. “Can you blame me?” he asked, flapping his arms wildly. Geralt watched him with what looked like unabashed fondness, his heart beating louder and faster with each passing second until he was sure Geralt could hear it. “It isn’t like you told me that.”
Geralt nodded, looking solemn suddenly. “I know,” he replied. “I wasn’t—” His eyes flickered to the side, mouth twisting. “I didn’t know if it’d be worth it.”
Jaskier bit the inside of his cheek, waiting, resisting the urge to ask one of the many questions piled high in his head. He knew how this worked; he knew Geralt would share more once he was ready, even if the wait was atrocious.
“You should’ve left a long time ago,” he continued finally. “I’ve had many companions, but none like you.” Geralt turned his gaze back to him, weighted and heavy. “You are—weak,” it wasn’t spoken like an insult, and Jaskier didn’t feel insulted. “You could die at any second and yet you still stay by my side. I could never understand why. Even this,” he gestured largely, vaguely, “we were lucky it wasn’t worse or you might’ve…”
He didn’t finish his sentence. Even so, it was maybe the most he’d ever heard Geralt say at once and so earnestly. Jaskier ran his tongue over his suddenly very dry bottom lip.
“I suppose if you’re confessing a long-held secret, it’s only fair if I return the favor with one of my own.”
Geralt arched an eyebrow, silent and waiting. Jaskier looked away, fidgeting with his ring that had conveniently sized with him.
“That first day I approached you, do you remember?” He didn’t look at Geralt, knowing he did. “At the time, I just thought the fellow brooding in the tavern was quite attractive.” He still didn’t dare to look at him, clearing his throat. “I never expected who you ended up being, or what kind of person you were, but.”
But he would do it over and over again, and be satisfied every time.
“I’m glad I approached you,” he continued, “if only because you taught me something I never thought I’d know.”
Now Jaskier took a deep breath, forcing himself to look at Geralt. Geralt, who was watching him with a blank expression. Jaskier knew what he was doing, preparing for the worst, hiding his emotions behind a carefully constructed mask.
“Love,” he said, knowing how lame it sounded even to his own ears. At least it seemed to crack an unexpected smile out of Geralt, who coughed once.
“You’ve had plenty of lovers, before and after you met me.”
His voice was like steel, steady and lacking any emotion. Jaskier smiled a little, tilting his head. “Lovers, yes,” he agreed, “and I thought I’d been in love, surely, but.” He sighed. For all he knew of poetry, he found himself struggling. All the pretty words he had ever used with any of those lovers died on his tongue, now, as he looked at Geralt. None of them were enough. Sincere. Just flattery he had grown accustomed to using. “It was never real. All brief and fleeting. What I feel for you is different.”
After all, even after years of trying to squash his stubborn feelings, they were still as present as ever. As much a part of him as anything else.
“I—” Geralt stopped, looked away. “I didn’t consider this.”
Jaskier understood with a delighted grin. Suddenly a weight was off his shoulders, one he hadn’t even realized had been there, making him feel daring and free enough to reach for Geralt, taking his hands. His eyes were drawn back to him.
“Didn’t consider the possibility that your feelings might not be one-sided?”
Geralt just grunted, staring at him for a long moment. When his eyes flickered down to his mouth, Jaskier felt a fire spark in the pit of his stomach.
“I can’t believe now I’ll have to thank Yennefer now,” Jaskier grumbled. They both knew he wasn’t talking about the fairy.
Geralt snorted. “You’re getting too old to pull off being a brat.”
Jaskier gasped in false offense and squeezed his hands. “Well, I have reason to believe someone is quite fond of it.”
“Mmm.” Geralt leaned in close, staring at him so intensely Jaskier’s toes felt like they were burning. “I’m sure.”
Jaskier didn’t bother with a reply. Not of the verbal kind, at least. Kissing Geralt was everything he had dreamed of, and yet nothing like it at all. His lips were rough, like expected, but he kissed with a softness that was surprising. As soon as they stopped, he was already looking forward to doing it again as soon as possible.