Work Text:
Music was everything to a bard. It was their livelihood, their soul, the very heart of their creativity. A talented bard could find music wherever they went, on the soft sighs of the breeze as it whistled through the trees, or the salty scent of the ocean, the sand warm between their toes. Every petal of every flower was fair game, the blood red roses, the thorns that dug into the heart, the bittersweet pangs of love, or the golden ears of corn that brushed against lovers’ thighs as they waded through the fields in search of the perfect spot to embrace under the warmth of the setting sun.
Yes, music was everything.
And yet, the bards themselves were rarely able to enjoy the fruits of their labour. The coin they earned was one thing, but Dandelion yearned to spend the evening in his lover’s arms, dancing under the moon and stars. It just wasn’t fair. When it wasn’t him entertaining the crowd so they could dance and laugh and sing, it was Jaskier. There was never a chance for the pair of them to dance together.
Dandelion sighed as he ran his thumb in circles against the soft skin of Jaskier’s hand in his. Their fingers were laced together as they strolled along the banks of the river. The moon was shimmering on the surface, lighting up their way as they walked in a rare silence, neither feeling the need to chatter as they normally did.
It was peaceful, and Dandelion’s mind was already weaving the perfect score to their moonlit amble. He could hear the delicate and yet oh so intricate melody as it was plucked from strings of his elven lute, accompanied perhaps by Essi on the flute, or Valdo on the fiddle. This sort of music didn’t require any vocals, the story painted by just the instrumental melody as it tugged at the heartstrings, the yearning in the wailing of the fiddle, the complexities of love shining with every pluck of the chanterelle, the beat of their hearts dancing as one soaring in the rich timbre of the flute.
A language only known to bards.
But Dandelion didn’t have his lute, and there was no band to accompany him in his exploits, so he had to make do with his voice. He brought Jaskier’s wrist to his lips and pressed a tender kiss to the exposed skin, two pairs of bright cornflower blue eyes meeting in the dark.
“Dance with me?” he murmured against Jaskier’s wrist.
He couldn’t quite make out the rosy blush on Jaskier’s cheeks in the dim light, but there was a sharp intake of breath, followed by a soft “Dandelion” that made his heart skip a beat.
“Please, darling, we never get to dance.”
Jaskier chuckled, his free hand cupping Dandelion’s cheek, and Dandelion hummed as he leaned into the touch. “Okay, dear heart, you lead, I’ll follow.”
And so Dandelion began to sing as his hand slid down Jaskier’s back, pressing their bodies together as Jaskier gripped onto his shoulder. It wasn’t the formal waltzes and other such dances that they’d learned as boys, more a slow gentle sway as they spun under the light of the moon. After a few bars of music, Jaskier caught onto the melody that Dandelion was weaving around them, and harmonised flawlessly, his rich tenor sitting nicely underneath Dandelion’s melody.
As promised, Jaskier followed Dandelion in both the dance and the song, their hearts and souls as one. Dandelion wasn’t sure that a perfect night existed, but if there was such a thing… then that night under the stars would be it.
Their perfect night. Their time to dance.