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Yennefer wasn’t entirely sure when or even how it happened. She couldn’t quite discern any logical explanation as to how she’d gone from looking at the bard with pure irritation to calling him a bitch whenever he stole too much of the blankets at night. Maybe it was simply just the two of them realising that there was more to each other without the barrier of Geralt between them. That, or complaining about the same ex proved to be a surprisingly effective bonding activity. But unlike the bard - her bard - Yennefer held no desire to rekindle her old relationship. Whilst she would gladly help to raise Ciri (and the girl was her daughter far more than blood could ever dictate) but she didn’t have to be a fortune teller to see that her love with Geralt would always be a fractured love.
Loving Geralt of Rivia was as intoxicating as it was frustrating. Understanding the man as anything other than the heartless Witcher he continuously claimed to be (despite Jaskier’s surprisingly successful attempt at offering him some good PR) was a monolithic task. But to those who managed to seep through the cracks, Geralt wasn’t a bad man. He wasn’t the best but he wasn’t awful. There was a hidden kindness to him; a dry humour and gentleness when he seemed it necessary. A hidden something that had been enough to draw in both Yennefer and Jaskier. But, as wonderful as Geralt was, he’d broken their hearts without question. He’d pushed them both away, and Yennefer? Yennefer was not one to offer her forgiveness freely.
Jaskier was…complicated in the most insufferable way a person could be. Yennefer wasn’t always one to lie and would admit that, for the longest time, her most delightful meeting with the bard had been when he was unconscious on her bed choking on his own blood. There had been a twisted sense of competition between them; a sense of jealousy in the fact the other could be Geralt’s closest confidant. Looking back on things, it was fucking ridiculous of course, but when had love and all the emotions that belonged to it ever been logical in the slightest? Then Geralt had pushed them both away. He’d declared them both as equals in the worst way possible.
After that, she’d hoped it would be it! She hoped that she would never have to deal with the bard again! Even if everyone tavern across the continent knew his songs. Even if most other performers (excluding one Valdo Marx) found a way to sing his praise. She could block them out, at the very least or offer to pay whatever local performer had picked up Toss A Coin or whatever new ridiculous song that had spread like wildfire to just…stop for the night and this grant her the peace she deserved. Then Jaskier had helped save her life. As much as he disliked and detested her, he still hadn’t turned her away and that made him particularly hard to hate.
If anyone asked, both would claim that what grew from that wasn’t friendship. It wasn’t friendship when they laughed at each other’s shitty jokes. It wasn’t friendship when they both played Gwent together only to realise how god awful both of them were at it. It wasn’t friendship when Yennefer found herself standing between Jaskier and drunkards that got a little bit too critical of him, magic dancing on the ends of her fingertips. And it certainly wasn’t something more when the two found themselves sharing a bed together.
“You know, if this makes you uncomfortable, then there are other sleeping arrangements.” The bard stared across at her with a smile that was a little bit too sweet. “Just because this was the only room available doesn’t mean we have to share a bed.”
Yennefer couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. “How gentlemanly of you, Jaskier. Are you offering to take the chair?”
“What? No! I’m suggesting you take the floor!”
“…I’m going to suffocate you in your sleep.” Despite her words, she found herself joining in his laughter as it echoed throughout the room. Neither would admit it, but that night was the most peaceful either of them had slept in a long time.
After that? Sharing a bed just became a habit. It was cheaper and more practical to rent. Or at least, that’s what the two of them kept telling themselves. Though, that excuse didn’t work out too well when trying to explain why they woke up in each other’s arms. That was something neither of them could explain particularly well. Not whilst looking each other in the eyes at the very least. The two of them didn’t acknowledge that they were friends, so why would they acknowledge when they became something more? They just…were.
Then they bumped into Geralt and Ciri. That was when things got shaky . Whilst Yennefer was more than content to ignore the Witcher entirely, her bard had other ideas. Too many other ideas, if she was being honest. But even as the two fell into their old song and dance, Jaskier was adamant on making sure she was wanted; making sure she knew she had a place by his side. Besides, Yennefer was more than content to distract herself with Cirilla. The girl needed someone other than Geralt in her life, after all and there was still that selfish part of Yennefer that wanted children of her own.
But as much as she was content to ignore him for as long as she could, there were still several things Yennefer needed to confront Geralt about which led to their current predicament. Jaskier was playing for the tavern they were in, singing Toss A Coin for what had to be the first time in months whilst Cirilla watched him with adamant glee. Finally, the Witcher and the Sorceress were left alone to talk.
Neither said a word at first, glancing across the table as if daring the other to start conversation.
“Yenn, I-“
“Don’t you dare ‘Yenn’ me, Geralt!” Even as she tried to keep her voice down, there was no hiding the venom that laced her words. “I’m not Jaskier. You will not earn my forgiveness so easily.”
At the very least, Geralt had the decency to try and look ashamed. “I did say I was sorry?” And of course, this was Yennefer’s mistake for thinking a witcher could have any sort of emotional capabilities. Actually, that was most likely offensive to other witchers. This intensity by all means was a Geralt problem. “…I’m bad with words and emotions. Ciri helps. I think.” She couldn’t help but snort at that. “I thought I was doing the right thing. Pushing you both away. Jaskier…Jaskier has a mortal life. How could I let him waste the rest of it travelling with me?”
Yennefer couldn’t help it. She laughed at that. She laughed harder than she had in a long time. “So your response to that was to piss me off and abandon Jaskier on the side of a mounting. Truly, the most genius of responses!” Geralt wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Besides, in the decades you’ve known Jaskier, have you actually seen him age?”
He paused for a moment at that, staring at her with a mouth so wide she was surprised he didn’t catch flies. “…What?”
“No. I refuse to believe you don’t know. You’re a witcher and you didn’t even know your boyfriend wasn’t human?” Gods above and below, what exactly had either of them seen in the witcher. There was dense and there was this . “Neither of us know what. We suspect his mother had an affair with something and our dear sweet Jaskier popped out as a result.”
“But he’s a viscount.” Yennefer was about two seconds from slamming Geralt’s head into the table.
“If anyone knows how to have an affair, Geralt. It’s nobility.”
He let out a grunt in response to that. “I just assumed humans aged like that or it was just a Jaskier thing”
She just shook her head at him. “Regardless, I just wanted to remind you that should you hurt my bard again then I will make sure you forget it.”
“Your bard?”
“My bard.”
“…Which of us has he written more songs about?”
“Oh please. We both know mine was better.”
“Hmm.”
“Shut up, Geralt.”