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The garden was full of life around Jaskier. Bees buzzed from flower to flower, while butterflies meandered through. There was a nest in the apple tree, and a blackbird sang a melodic tune. A squirrel dashed down the trunk and into the bushes. The flowers were in bloom and the smell of daffodils and hyacinth permeated the air, mixing delightfully with Jaskier’s lavender perfume.
The sun beat down on them, but the cool breeze offered relief and promised that autumn would soon arrive. Yennefer lay with her head in Jaskier’s lap, her eyes closed and face tilted to the sun. She wore a simple lightweight black dress, the short sleeves pushed down off her brown shoulders. It was a rare sight to see her this relaxed, without her metaphorical armour. She was getting better at it, was trying for him, he could see, but she’d had so many years of having to have her guard up at all times, he understood why it was a difficult habit for her to break.
“I can hear you thinking, bardling,” she said without opening her eyes. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Rude.” He flicked her on the nose and she gave him a dark look.
“Is there any more apple juice left?” she asked.
“A bit,” he said and poured what was left in the pitcher into her glass.
She sat up and took a sip.
“I made you something,” he said and at her raised eyebrow picked up the crown of dandelions he had been weaving while she dozed.
She gave him a look that said, Really, bardling? You think I’m going to wear that?
“Humour me,” he said with a smile.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Dandelions? A little on the nose, don’t you think?”
“Oh, hush.”
He arranged the flowers in her hair.
“Beautiful,” he murmured.
“You’re sickening,” she grimaced and he laughed, before pulling her in for a kiss, tasting the apple juice on her lips.
They spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing in the grass, hands and mouths lazily exploring each other. Jaskier noticed, with no small amount of pride, that every time the crown of dandelions threatened to slip off Yen’s head, she righted it quickly instead of tossing them away.
*
“I’m off to see the hoi polloi,” he sing-songed later that evening, putting his lute case on his back. Since he’d been staying in this little town with Yennefer, he’d become a regular feature at one of the nicer taverns. He played there regularly and it earned him enough coin both in tips and pay from the tavern owner that he didn’t have to feel like he was scrounging off Yen.
She was working at the dining table, poring over two books with a frustrated expression on her face. He leant in to give her a kiss goodbye but she shooed him away.
“Tricky subject matter?” he asked as he perched on the chair next to her.
“Mm,” she replied without looking at him. “I can’t get this translation right. Go. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He got up to leave and quickly pecked her on the cheek before she could stop him, “Ha ha too slow!”
She gave him an exasperated look. “You know you ought to be wary of doing that to a woman who knows at least twenty-seven different ways to hex your penis off.”
“Oh please! That’s your favourite part of me, isn’t it? You wouldn’t dare.”
“You sure you want to test that theory?” she said, danger in her voice. She lifted her hand and he saw flames waver at her fingertips.
“Absolutely not,” he said and swiftly made for the door, calling over his shoulder, “Don’t wait up, darling!”
*
The next morning, he was rudely awoken by the sun glaring through a gap in the curtains and landing right in his eyes. He got up slowly, his head fuzzy from the drink last night, and made his way downstairs. Yen was bustling in the kitchen, unpacking a basket of produce from the table.
“Morning,” he said and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Been to the market already?”
“Mm, I was awake early,” she said absentmindedly as she studied a pumpkin in her hand. “Do you think this pumpkin is smaller than the one we had last week?”
He laughed. “Looks the same to me. You worried the locals are trying to swindle you with subpar squash?”
She rolled her eyes. “He tried to charge me the same price as the one last week which I’m sure was bigger. But when I challenged him on it, he nearly wet himself and gave it to me for free.”
Jaskier cackled. The townspeople got on well enough with Yennefer, they were grateful to her for solving so many of their problems and maladies, but she’d followed through on just enough threats that they were all absolutely shit scared to piss her off. Since Jaskier had become a somewhat permanent fixture, they were all extra polite to him as well. “So, what’s the problem?”
“I shouldn’t have had to challenge him on it! He should know he can’t try and con me.”
“With an ever-so-slightly smaller pumpkin than last week?”
She rolled her eyes again and he was surprised she hadn’t figured out how endearing he found it by now.
“It’s the principle!”
Jaskier stood behind her and put his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Darling, are you worried you’re losing your edge? Because I can assure you, you are still terrifying. I think the grocer nearly wetting himself proves that much.”
“You still find me scary? Even now?” she twisted in his arms to face him, a look on her face that he took to mean, I know exactly how terrifying I am but it’s still nice to hear once in a while.
“Yennefer of Vengerberg, you are and will always be the scariest, most utterly petrifying woman I have ever met.”
“Good,” she grinned and kissed him. “Gods, your breath is terrible.” She playfully pushed his face away and stepped out from his arms, going back to sorting her basket of produce.
“Ooh, what are the flowers for? They’re pretty,” Jaskier asked as he noticed a bouquet of flowers tied with a brown string lying on the table: a mix of lavender, lilacs, and baby’s breath. Yen had a few plants around the house, but they were all ones with medicinal or magical uses. He’d never seen a bouquet of flowers in the house before.
Yen looked suddenly nervous. She was deliberately avoiding his eye.
“Yen?” he asked.
“Um…” she started and he didn’t think he’d ever heard her say the word before. She was always so sure in everything she said and did. “They’re… Igotthemforyou,” she said in a rush, almost accusingly, and turned to the windowsill to start pruning the herbs she kept there.
He was stunned. And absolutely touched. This relationship between them… they’d never labelled it, had never really discussed it even. It had just sort of happened. They’d both been at low points in their life after the mountain and had somehow fallen into bed together and then had inexplicably kept running into each other over the course of the next year. Then Yen had settled in this little town and Jaskier had turned up on her door one night last winter. He’d mentioned the next morning not knowing what to do. He didn’t enjoy travelling as much without Geralt and he didn’t feel like going back to Oxenfurt yet, and he actually hadn’t been hinting, had really just been musing out loud but she’d said “Fine! As long as you don’t get in my way and you shut up when I tell you to, you can stay in my spare room. A fortnight. And then you’re gone.”
They’d fallen into an easy routine, albeit with a few heated arguments, but a fortnight swiftly became two, then four and now it was practically autumn. And while technically the spare room was still his room, he hadn’t slept in there for months, and she hadn’t mentioned it. He knew if she’d wanted him gone, she would have had no qualms about telling him so, or just tossing him out on his arse, so he’d never felt like he was overstaying. What had started out just being something physical between two people who hadn’t really cared for each other, had become more. A lot more. A terrifying, wondrous more that felt not unlike being swept out to sea on a riptide.
“For me?” he asked quietly. He wanted to make sure he’d heard her correctly, because this was something she’d never done before. Yes, she was kind, kinder than he’d ever realised in all those years when he’d been so jealous of her. But her gifts always came with plausible deniability. They were always something useful, something she could claim was selfish. Like the hairbrush with the handle inlaid with some opalescent stone because I’m sick of finding your stupid hair in my brush, or the pair of thick, obscenely soft socks she’d thrown at him because if you put your disgusting, clammy cold feet on me in the middle of the night once more, you will lose them, bardling, or the almond pastries she bought regularly that she didn’t like very much but claimed will keep your mouth occupied so I can get some peace and quiet.
“Don’t make a big deal out this, bardling. They were just there, okay? And I know they’re not buttercups or dandelions but I thought you might like them. It’s not imp-“
“I love them,” he interrupted.
He wanted to tell her how much he loved them, wanted to tell her that from now on whenever he saw these flowers, he would always think of her, wanted to compose a song about it. But he knew if he made a big deal of it, she would get defensive and annoyed and her walls would come up. He would thank her in other ways. He also wanted to tell her that he thought he was falling in love with her. But he stilled his tongue – though that was more to protect himself.
“Thank you,” he added. He gave her a quick kiss on the temple and then asked, “So do you have any exciting plans today?”
He watched her shoulders relax from where she’d been holding them tensely. “I’m still working through that translation. And we’ll see what so-called problems the townspeople lay at my door today.”
He chuckled. “Make sure you tell me all the gossip later.”
“I always do, don’t I?” she smiled wickedly. “Now put those bloody flowers in water. I didn’t spend my hard-earned coin on them just for you to neglect them!”
“Yes, ma’am!” he said with a smile and saluted her, leaning in to give her another kiss. He pulled away to look at her, those beautiful violet eyes piercing him where he stood. He couldn’t believe he’d ever hated the sight of those glorious eyes. When he leaned back in to kiss her again, she shoved a sprig of mint leaves into his mouth, causing him to splutter.
“Your breath is vile, bardling. I can not only guess what you drunk last night but also how many you had of each. And never call me ma’am again if you want to keep that pretty voice of yours.”
“Yes, my wicked witch of the west?” he ventured after taking the sprig of mint from his mouth.
“Better,” she smiled and swept out of the kitchen and he heard the door to her study closing a moment later. He chewed on a couple of the mint leaves and picked up the flowers from the table, inhaling the lilac and lavender scent. A scent that was both hers and his. He wondered if she’d picked them deliberately. He couldn’t help the feeling of joy that bubbled in his chest at the thought.