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Time is a cruel mistress, that is a well known fact. Nothing can escape the passage of time. Seasons come and seasons go. Years, decades, centuries all fall away into the dust and eventually even the sorceresses of Aretuza fall into the afterlife.
That is just a fact.
Jaskier had come to terms with this and even grown fond of the poetic potential that time afforded him. The falling leaves of autumn, the frosted chill of winter, and the rebirth of spring. If time was a cruel mistress, then love was a fucking tyrant, and when time and love joined force, they left only death and destruction in their wake.
Jaskier sighed, his fingers squeezing the hand in his. If he were in a better mood then he would have written that down, but instead he preferred to sulk.
“Jaskier, my dear,” Dandelion said with a soft musical laugh, “do try and cheer up. There’s no death sentence awaiting us.”
Jaskier scoffed, rolling his eyes. There was a lump in his throat but he was an expert at holding back tears. The Viscount de Lettenhove did not cry. That was what his father had always told him.
“Oh honestly, darling, have a little faith in Yennefer. She’s saved both my life and Geralt’s on more than one occasion, and don’t even try to tell me that hasn’t done the same for you and your witcher.” Dandelion’s sharp tone surprised Jaskier. He was one again reminded that despite their similarities, their lives were so very different. Dandelion was older, and Jaskier knew that there were things the poet had hidden from him.
But Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder how Yennefer had gained his loyalty after all the troubles they’d had over the years of their acquaintance.
“She’ll figure out the portal, my dear Jaskier,” Dandelion cooed almost wistfully, digging a knife deep into Jaskier’s heart. “And I’ll be able to go home.”
Jaskier sniffed and tried to pull his hand away from the poet’s. He didn’t want Dandelion to go home. He loved his newest friend, and he loved him deeply, in spite of everything. And yet, Dandelion was eager to leave, to return to his Geralt and his world. The stolen kisses under the dark cloak of night meant nothing to Dandelion. They meant the world to Jaskier. He didn’t have a Geralt to fall back to. His witcher had made it quite clear that they weren’t even friends. It was a miracle that Yennefer was helping at all. It was probably some ploy to gain power, bragging rights that she could make portals in between worlds.
“Don’t be like that, Jaskier,” Dandelion whined, gripping his hand tighter and pressing a kiss to his cheek, blond curls tickling against Jaskier’s skin. “We always knew this was a finite affair, but we can still love every second we have. Come now, bard, nature is truly magnificent tonight, ethereal, magical. Melitele is doing her best to give us the very best send off, a beautiful night under the stars, in the shadow of a great willow tree.”
Jaskier pouted and turned his face to bury his nose in Dandelion’s neck. The soft scent of lavender would forever remind him of the poet. An irreversible mark that Dandelion had left on his life, just like all of Jaskier’s lovers in one way or another. “But I love you.”
Dandelion sighed and pulled Jaskier into a tender kiss, slow and lazy as their tongues brushed together. Jaskier moaned softly as he threaded his hands into Dandelion’s hair, the curls tangling around his fingers. When they broke apart, Dandelion bumped their noses together, their lips barely separating as he spoke “And I will hold you in my heart until I die, sweet buttercup.”
“Dramatic sap,” Jaskier mumbled before capturing Dandelion’s lips in another kiss. The poet was right, they had limited time and Jaskier intended to make the most of every second.
“I am a poet, Jaskier. You of all people should know that.”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
The night was quiet as they became lost in each other, hands roaming, lips never parting for more than a breath, and there were only the soft sounds of whispered words and promises made to be broken. The two men almost missed the melodic giggles of the fae above them in the trees, until Dandelion gasped and looked up with wonder sparkling in his eyes.
“Oh darling, look,” he breathed almost silently.
Jaskier glanced up to see the sky alight with fireflies. A dozen glowing blue eyes were watching them, from the branches. Jaskier wondered whether he should be afraid, but these creatures were children, just children curious about a world they didn’t yet know. He looked back down at Dandelion, who was now trapped underneath him, lying back on the ground with his curls fanned out around his head like a halo.
“It’s beautiful,” Dandelion sighed wistfully, the softest smile on his face, peaceful and divine.
Jaskier couldn’t tear his eyes away from the man who would soon be ripped away from him forever. He had to commit every detail of Dandelion’s face to memory. He never wanted to forget the poet’s beauty. Oh the ballads he would sing, a tribute to this extraordinary event that had allowed the two of them to meet.
“Beautiful, yeah,” he murmured, cupping Dandelion’s cheek and pressing their lips together once more.