Chapter Text
Jaskier had never felt dangerous before, he’d barely ever felt anything other than human. Until that moment on the mountain when Geralt’s words ripped through him and tore him apart. His heritage had always felt a part of him, but distant. And yet, somehow now, it was this moment that Geralt had managed to raise it to the forefront.
Magic, power, chaos .
It lit him up from the inside.
Rage. Devastation. Pain.
He barely had the mind to stop himself, to keep a grip on the power wanting to explode from out of him. He didn’t know what he was doing. But whatever he did or didn’t do, he couldn’t do it here. So, he channelled everything he had into a simple, ‘Not here’. And he vanished.
When he starts thinking again, it’s a stream of, he knows, he knows, he knows. And he doesn’t want me. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream. The cat was well and truly out of the bag and anxiety curled in his belly.
But really, how could that even matter anymore when the witcher clearly wanted nothing to do with him?
He landed in the middle of a forest. The power in him had eased from a surge under his skin to annoying little pinpricks. He fell to his knees. It was instinct that drove him when he laced his fingers through the grass and dirt and leaves. He pushed into the ground with his power. Magic flowed through him into the earth, at a trickle and then, after a moment or two, a fast-running river. Life exploded around him, grass grew, flowers bloomed, branches and bushes thickened.
Jaskier raised his head, no longer looking at the ground, but staring at what he’d done. The area was now so dense with lush foliage, bushes, trees, flowers, and nettles that the area could no longer be used for travellers without cutting their way through.
Irritation flooded him unexpectedly at the thought. He gritted his teeth and the irritation disappeared under the weight of fear. He drew his hand up from the ground and tentatively pushed his thumb to his teeth. The effect was instantaneous; he let out a pained hiss and drew his hand back – a tiny drop of blood welled from the small cut on his thumb.
He keened.
This was bad. This was really bad.
Dangerous.
And then Jaskier curled up into himself, unaware of the way the world he’d created around him tightened, as if trying to protect him from unwanted visitors.
Geralt knew he’d fucked up. It took a while to admit that to himself and even longer to realise he needed to find Jaskier. It had taken him so long because, instead of processing the feeling of guilt, he fiercely denied it to anyone should they ask; he’d gotten stuck on the troubling knowledge that somehow Geralt had missed a key fact about his bard.
He wasn’t human.
When it had happened and Jaskier, with his shining and teary eyes, had almost looked like he was glowing, Geralt’s wolf medallion, somewhat unhelpfully, had informed him of magic nearby as if he hadn’t already been aware of the power seeming to vibrate out of the bard’s skin.
His reflexes should have made him move faster but he had been frozen, unable to do anything but stare. And it hadn’t been even a few seconds before Jaskier just simply wasn’t there anymore. He’d completely vanished without even a portal.
Fuck.
How had he missed something so important?
Geralt didn’t like thinking about his emotions, so he violently shoved ‘Jaskier isn’t human’ and ‘he lied to me’ and ‘guilt, guilt, guilt’ into the back of his mind and downright refused to deal with them.
He put it so far to the back of his mind that he didn’t see Jaskier for several long years. And if that hurt him, he just didn’t admit it to himself.
Several long years later
At some point, Ciri decided she enjoyed being at Kaer Morhen. It had hit her by surprise when she found herself laughing at one of Lambert’s monster tales and she could see the way Geralt tried to hide his smile, small as it was.
Ciri found that Geralt’s brothers were far quicker to laugh and smile than Geralt was. Even his most genuine smiles were overlaid with sadness in his eyes. She had only really known him for a few months, and she wanted to know what was wrong. She tried to bring it up subtly (though subtlety wasn’t really her talent and really her attempt was not very subtle at all) and all she managed to get was a frown alongside a typical hmm for her trouble.
It was driving her nuts. Between training, sleeping and food, it had occupied her mind a lot.
She’d thought it was a witcher thing until she’d met his brothers. And sure, they weren’t exactly the happiest bunch, but they weren’t all, well, Geralt level unhappy.
And maybe she was hyper focusing on Geralt’s issues so she didn’t have to deal with her own, but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t try to get to the bottom of it. After all, if she didn’t know, how could she help him?
She was running the Killer, as it was so aptly named, when she tripped. It wasn’t the first time and she doubted it would be the last. She tumbled to the ground and let out a sharp cry. She cursed and tried to push herself up from the ground, but a stab of pain went through her ankle, and she promptly sat back down on the cold snow-covered ground again. She swore again. It was going to be just awful going back up the trail again.
“That was a nasty fall, my dear,” a voice said suddenly from beside Ciri. The figure was crouched, hand under their chin and elbow resting on a bent knee.
She flinched and tried to shuffle backwards. And then she looked, really looked. The creature before her was almost human. Almost. His nails were dark, black even and shaped in deadly points, and his eyes were so blue, they seemed to practically glow, there were small antlers protruding from his head though the base of them was covered by thick brown hair. But the most concerning aspect of him was his teeth. They were sharp, very very sharp.
Ciri leaned away, wide eyed.
There was something else. Something that was making her stare. It was like she knew him or had seen him some place, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. He grinned at her, which was unnerving more than reassuring given his teeth, but Ciri wasn’t exactly sure he was even trying to reassure her.
One moment. Then two. And then all of a sudden it came to her in a memory of court.
She gasped, “Jaskier?” Relief flooded her like a tidal wave. She reached forward to pull him into a hug and she gripped him tight. It took Jaskier a moment to relax and hug her back, but he did after a few seconds. “Oh, Jaskier, I didn’t think I’d ever see anyone from court again!” Her eyes welled up and she swallowed around the lump that had formed in her throat.
She pulled back from him and took in his appearance again and frowned. “What happened?”
Jaskier smiled slightly. “Nothing. At least, not since you last saw me. I can’t always hold the glamour.” His grin brightened suddenly. “I’m so pleased you survived. I had wondered if Geralt and you had found each other.”
“You know Geralt?”
“Knew would probably be the more appropriate word.”
“Oh.” She tilted her head. “Do you want to see him?”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea, I’m afraid.”
Well, isn’t that curious, she thought.
“Well, someone needs to help me back to the keep and I don’t see any witchers around here, do you?” she asked, probably too innocently.
Jaskier arched his brow. “How positively rude of me.” He reached out a hand and placed it softly around the injured ankle. There was a sharp string that caused Ciri to grit her teeth, but she was proud she didn’t let the cry slip out. She was absolutely going to tell Lambert about that.
Jaskier helped her to her feet, careful he didn’t cut her with his claws, and Ciri tentatively eased her weight onto her previously injured ankle.
“All healed.”
Ciri blinked at her ankle and then at Jaskier. “That was magic!”
“Look at that!” he said, as if he was as surprised as she was. “And I think you’ll even manage your way back up to the keep.” He grinned as she scowled at him, and he bowed as if they were back in Cintra. “And now, Princess, I think I’ll take my leave.”
She shook her head before she even knew she was doing it. “No, wait!” She grabbed at his arm, but her hand never made contact. The bard was gone, as if he’d never even been there in the first place. She looked around frantically to see if she could catch a glimpse of him. But there was nothing.
She did her best impression of Geralt and murmured a single and frustrated, “Fuck.”
Geralt was sitting on a step leading into the keep and sharpening one of his blades. He knew Ciri had been running the Killer, so he wasn’t surprised when she came back covered in dirt and a new tear in his trousers where she’d obviously fallen. He frowned slightly as she got closer. She usually wore one of two emotions when she came back from training; frustration (which was most of the time) or pride. But today she carried something else in the tilt of her head and the way she was looking at Geralt, as if she were…curious.
She continued to stride towards him, fixed on him like a target. When she got a few metres away – that’s when he caught the scent. One he’d know anywhere.
Jaskier.
Geralt stood abruptly. He slid the sword into the sheath on his back and met her in stride and placed a hand lightly on her left shoulder.
“What happened?” He barely kept his voice from a growl.
It only took a minute or so for her to tell her story. His frown deepened at the description of his old friend as he stared in the direction of the witcher training path.
A sudden spike of fear laced into Ciri’s scent and he glanced back at her alarmed, but it was just him she was staring at. “Please don’t hurt him, Geralt. He’s not a monster, he healed me.”
“I know,” Geralt reassured her and then told her to go inside, which she reluctantly did while he headed down the trail. He knew with absolute certainty that Jaskier would never lay a mal intent finger on his child surprise, whether he’d attempt to harm him on the other hand, Geralt wasn’t so sure. His bard had changed, physically at the very least from Ciri’s description, but he wondered if he was still the same Jaskier just with an altered appearance.
He was certain he knew what Jaskier was; there weren’t many creatures that fit the description of what he could do or look like. It also meant he probably shouldn’t be hanging about near Kaer Morhen and the other witchers.
It didn’t take him long to find the place where Ciri had fallen, her scent slightly stronger here next to a large tree, the ground was more disturbed and most of all, there was still the lingering scent of Jaskier. His scent was different, it was still intrinsically him, but there was something other about it now. It was him, though, of that he was certain.
There was no trail of scent to follow but he hadn’t expected there to be given that Ciri had informed him Jaskier had just vanished into thin air. It was still frustrating though.
He didn’t want to return to the keep, not when Jaskier had been so close. He wondered if Jaskier was aware he was looking for him. Had he been tracking Ciri? It was no coincidence; he was sure of that.
He wandered deeper into the forest. He caught Jaskier’s scent again, it was much fainter and, unlike in the few moments he spent with Ciri, it didn’t just immediately disappear. He followed it, but it didn't lead him anywhere. It stopped at a bush with succulent looking red berries. Berries Geralt knew to be incredibly poisonous. It had been one of the first things Geralt had warned Ciri of. They certainly wouldn’t drop a witcher, but they would kill the young girl in five seconds flat.
Geralt tried a different technique.
“Jaskier, I know you’re here,” he bluffed, but was only greeted by silence. “Jaskier, please; I just want to talk.”
There was a sudden rustling, the wind picked up for no more than a few seconds.
“Well, that I can hardly believe.”
Geralt turned abruptly. And there he stood, Jaskier – just as Ciri had described though she’d failed to mention the somewhat unsurprising pointed ears – not unlike those of the elves.
It’s not intentional that Geralt took a minute to finally say something and Jaskier stared him down with a glower that Geralt would be proud of while he found his words.
“I’m sorry.”
The words crashed into the silent staring contest they were apparently having and Jaskier blinked. His posture was no longer as defiant and hostile. The shock had clearly broken through and now he stood, shoulders slightly more relaxed. His eyes had softened but they were by no means happy.
Jaskier shook his head – it seems more to himself than Geralt – and then he looked angrier than he was before. Geralt frowned.
“You’re unbelievable. Four years, Geralt, four years , ” he hissed, which is made more vicious as he bared his pointed teeth at the witcher.
“Jaskier,” he said, softly, and then he stopped ignoring the feelings he’d been suppressing for so long. Guilt, shame, sadness, longing. “I’ve never been able to forgive myself for what happened that day.” He took a small step forward towards the bard. Jaskier didn’t move but Geralt didn’t want to push his luck. “I should have looked for you. I truly am sorry. Can I make amends?” He wanted to reach out, to touch, to feel the warmth of Jaskier’s skin. He didn’t move.
Jaskier gazed at him, deciding, before he made a move and with a soft fuck it, he closed the gap between them, his right hand reached out and cupped a side of Geralt’s face and softly and slowly trails his fingers down to the witcher’s jaw. Geralt barely breathed. It’s not entirely unexpected; Jaskier had always been tactile, it was simply just who he was. And then he throws his arms around him in a hug that feels to Geralt as if the weight of the world had been lifted. He gripped Jaskier just as tightly back.
“My witcher,” Jaskier murmured into Geralt’s neck, so softly that Geralt rather thinks Jaskier was not even talking to him and frankly he’s too relieved his friend didn’t seem to resent him anymore to think too hard about how lovely that sounded coming from Jaskier’s lips.
When they pull back, there’s something suspiciously close to a smile on Geralt’s face. “I missed you.”
Jaskier grinned. “Well obviously. I’m very lovable. Honestly, Geralt, I’m surprised you lasted this long without me.”
Geralt snorted.
Jaskier’s playful grin started to fade. “I still need time.”
The witcher nodded his understanding. He ignored the heaviness in his chest and instead focused on his friend. A fae.
A fae living, Geralt could only assume, in close vicinity to witchers.
“You can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous. If any of the others see you, they’re likely to run you through and ask zero questions later. More bragging, I expect.”
Jaskier’s eyes lit up and he didn't even try to stifle the gleeful tune of his laughter. When Geralt just stared at the bard, Jaskier gave him an amused smirk.
“Darling, I’d love to see them try.”
A chill ran down Geralt’s spin.
Jaskier had changed.
Vesemir was waiting for him outside of the keep. His arms were crossed, and he looked decidedly unimpressed.
“I hope you killed it.”
Geralt didn’t falter. “Ciri.” Evidently, he’d made the mistake of not telling Ciri to keep her story to herself.
“She’s lucky. I’ve never heard of a fae residing so close to Kaer Morhen.”
“He would never hurt her.”
Vesemir narrows his eyes, “The fae are dangerous.”
Geralt said nothing.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Wolf.”
The next week Geralt was distracted. He was distracted at training; that got him pinned by a smug looking Lambert. He was distracted when Lambert was telling him a story that he’d intended to be funny. It hadn’t been. But then, Geralt had only half listened. He was distracted when he was cleaning out the stable and never noticed Eskel leaning against the wall until he cleared his throat.
“I heard Lambert got you pretty good earlier.”
Geralt fed Roach a carrot and she headbutted him playfully. He stroked down her face and her ears twitched.
Eskel sighed. “Vesemir keeps giving you those looks.” Geralt snorted. “Yeah, you know the ones. He swapped duties with me today, and went into the forest to hunt.”
Geralt froze.
“Call me paranoid but between you being distracted, Vesemir being grumpier than usual, and Ciri staring at you like she’s trying to dissect your mind and honestly can’t blame her for that one, I’m thinking something’s going on. Care to share?”
“Vesemir back yet?”
A beat, then, “Yes.”
Geralt let Eskel follow him as he tracked Vesemir down in the keep. Eskel didn’t say a word, merely silently strode after him. It didn’t take long to find the oldest witcher; he was skinning his kill. A deer.
The knot that had formed in Geralt’s stomach eased, though by scent alone he’d known it couldn’t be Jaskier.
Vesemir didn’t acknowledge them as Geralt swung the door open a little too forcefully that was strictly necessary.
“If you break that door, you’ll be spending tomorrow fixing it.”
“You went hunting.”
Vesemir didn’t look at him, but he could see him raise an eyebrow. “I did,” he confirmed as he continued to remove the fur pelt.
Geralt spoke plainly, “I won’t let you hurt him.”
Vesemir sighed heavily. “Yes, I’m starting to get that.” He finally peered up from the table where the deer lay. Vesemir’s look was weighted, “A single notion of harm or ill intent, he’s dead. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.” Geralt’s posture relaxed and he turned to Eskel who was frowning harder than he was earlier.
“We have a resident fae.”
“What?” Eskel’s face darkened, his voice sharp.
Geralt continued, “He lives…around, I guess. His name’s Jaskier.”
Eskel furrowed his eyebrows, “Wait. Your bard?”
“Hm.”
“Since when is he fae? You said, and I quote, Jaskier is the most annoying human I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.” Eskel was doing his best Geralt impression and Geralt, for one, did not find it funny, Vesemir clearly did; he huffed out an amused laugh.
“That was a long time ago. Without asking him, I assume his fae nature was triggered.”
“What could have triggered that?” Eskel asked.
Geralt decidedly didn’t answer.
When Eskel realised that Geralt was going to say nothing more on the matter, he grinned and said, “I have got to be there when you tell Lambert.”
Geralt glared at him.
Jaskier had said he needed time, so even though he wanted to, Geralt didn’t go searching for him in the forest. If Jaskier wanted to see him, he’d let himself be seen. So, he saw and heard nothing for two weeks until suddenly he did.
Geralt’s medallion vibrated against his chest as he approached his bedroom after he returned from Ciri’s room. He couldn’t smell anything usual which suggested nothing had come through his door. And that left, almost undoubtedly one person. He pushed the door open and peered inside.
His bard was sat cross legged on his desk and staring intently and grumpily at Geralt’s room. His scent was pine with hints of the aftermath of a rain shower. The antlers on his head had been cut right down so there were only a couple of inches left. The witcher noted it but didn’t ask. Despite his unhappy expression, Geralt could tell nothing was seriously wrong.
A small smile pulled at Geralt’s lips, “Jaskier.” Geralt closed the door behind him. It wouldn’t do much for privacy with everyone’s sensitive hearing but at least it gave the illusion of it.
“Where are your flowers?”
Geralt blinked, “Flowers?”
“Yes, flowers and plants and just nature Geralt, where is it?”
Geralt stifled a laugh. “Outside, if I’m not mistaken.”
Jaskier levelled him with a glare that is not in the least bit threatening. He hopped off the desk and started running a hand over the wall, his nails scratching into the stone. Geralt’s medallion began vibrating again as Jaskier used his magic to start growing ivy along the walls. It grew rapidly until two of the bedroom walls and part of the ceiling were covered. Jaskier sighed, happier now.
“That’ll do for now.”
Geralt had never met a fae before Jaskier. He’d read about them, of course, and Vesemir had warned them as boys about them. Lambert claimed to have killed one who’s taken to luring young children into a forest and given that Lamber wasn’t prone to lying, certainly not surrounded by other witchers, Geralt was inclined to believe him. He wasn’t entirely sure, therefore, how normal this behaviour was to, well, the fae.
Jaskier turned back to him, his eyes lit up with playfulness and a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“For now?” Geralt asked, starting to remove his gear from the day and readying himself to sleep. He removed his weapons first, then his armour.
The bard shrugged and Geralt didn’t push for an actual answer. He wanted to ask if Jaskier had forgiven him, if he’d already taken the time he’d needed. Or if it was still too soon for them to go back to the way things were before when they had been friends. Instead, he asked, “How long are you staying?”
“I don’t know,” he said, honestly. His smile turned sweet and genuine. “I missed you.” Then his face turned a little slyer and he added, “and I think it’ll be easier to forgive you if I don’t spend my time avoiding you.”
Geralt winced and sat on the bed to remove his boots. “I don’t know what to do with that, Jaskier,” he said, also trying out honesty.
“That’s fine. And listen, I’m sure it’ll take no more than four years. No more, no less.”
There was a long pause until, “Bad joke,” he grumbled out and shook his head admonishingly.
“Too soon?” Jaskier teased.
“No. Just bad.”
“I’m sure I’ll be able to find someone in Kaer Morhen who’ll appreciate my jokes.”
Geralt did let an amused snort at that. “Good luck.”
“I can’t tell who you’re insulting there, darling.”
Geralt pointedly ignored the way the pet name made him feel; like warmth and affection, like peace and home.
He replies to Jaskier with a typical, “Hm.” And tried and failed not to show the laughter in his eyes when Jaskier hit him with a pillow and called him a little shit.
Once the light-hearted attack was over with and they’d settled down for the night (Jaskier had apparently decided he was sleeping in Geralt’s room tonight, Geralt breathed in deeply, taking in the bard’s scent. He allowed it to relax him, the way it had all those years ago even though Geralt would never have breathed a word of that truth to anyone – least of all Jaskier.
Jaskier only remained still on his side of the bed for a minute or so before letting out an exaggerated sigh and throwing his arms around the witcher. He rested his head on Geralt’s chest. It wasn’t like he and Jaskier hadn’t slept next to each other or even held each other while sleeping, but that had very much been a, I best make sure Jaskier doesn’t freeze to death outside in the middle of the forest or if Jaskier doesn’t stop shivering I’ll never get any damn peace. And that had been back when Geralt had falsely thought his bard was human, and as far as Geralt’s concerned, he mostly was. So now Geralt was very much confused.
“Jaskier, what are you doing?”
Jaskier tightened his hold and pushed his face into Geralt’s neck, sighing happily. He then draped a leg over him and hummed. “I’m cold.”
It was a very obvious lie. “Jaskier.”
“Yes, Geralt?” Jaskier asked as if he didn’t know where this was going.
“I don’t mind admitting I’m hardly an expert on the fae but I’m almost certain fae are unconcerned with temperature.” In fact, he’d seen Jaskier when they’d reunited in clothes no sane person would wear in the middle of winter. The material had been far too thin.
Geralt felt Jaskier’s lips curve into a grin against his skin. “I’ll have you know I’m one quarter fae and three quarters of me is cold.”
“Jaskier.”
“Geralt.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“Shh I’m asleep.”
Geralt sighed and let it go and continued to let Jaskier clutch onto him and use him as a pillow. He could admit to himself that it wouldn’t be awful if this became a habit – not that he was hoping for it.
When Geralt awoke, he quickly realised his bedmate had gone. The scent of Jaskier still lingered and it was still warm in the place where he’d slept. Jaskier’s disappearance was not at all surprising and yet Geralt felt the disappointment seep through him, casting a shadow over the sliver of peace he'd experienced the first second of his awakening. He wondered when Jaskier would next stop by. Geralt pushed his face into the imprint in the pillow where Jaskier had laid. He could get drunk off it, the scent. A part of him didn’t want to move, wanted to stay and wait for Jaskier to return. How had he gotten so attached so quickly? Decades alone on the Path should’ve made him immune; he didn’t need anyone.
But he ached for his friend, his bard, his Jaskier.
Geralt sighed. This needed to stop. With a grunt, he pushed himself out of bed and readied himself for the day and tried to quiet his mind of Jaskier related thoughts. The others would likely be having breakfast. Just the thought made his stomach growl.
It was only when he’d left his room to head to the dining hall that he took in the howl of laughter that must have come from Ciri.
Geralt smiled softly to himself as he approached. His heart warmed at the sound of her delight. He knew she’d recover from her trauma with time, but it was always satisfying to hear her laughter, giggling and childish. It was only when he turned the corner that he realised just who could have caused such amusement, if only in one person.
Jaskier whirled round, energetic and flamboyant - as was most natural to the bard. He had a huge grin on his face that seemed to light him up from the inside, almost like he was glowing. He was positioned next to a chair that Geralt thought he’d probably been sitting on until he’d gotten too animated not to be standing. He was opposite Ciri who, for all intents and purposes, looked to be having a fantastic time.
He was also glamoured. Geralt could sense the magic dripping off him keeping up his human disguise. It had been so long since Geralt had seen this version of his bard that he found himself unable to take his eyes off him. It was somehow more jarring to see him like that than as his fae form.
“This, my dear,” Jaskier said to Ciri, “is what I call befuddled Geralt.”
Ciri giggled.
“It’s one of my personal favourites,” Jaskier continued, humour threaded into every word. “Look at those magnificent eyebrows.” The bard sighed as if he couldn’t imagine anything better and collapsed back onto his chair.
Geralt watched as Ciri tried not to choke on her breakfast. When he glanced up from her, he noticed the unfriendly expression Vesemir was wearing and the wary looks Jaskier was getting from Eskel and Lambert.
Getting a hold of himself, Geralt grabbed for his own breakfast and sat on the bench next to Jaskier, somewhat blocking Vesemir’s view of his bard.
“I’m so glad you invited Jaskier, Geralt!” Ciri said before shoving some bread into her mouth as if she hadn’t spent years in court as the lion cub of Cintra.
“Hm.”
This was news to Geralt; he hadn’t even thought Jaskier had wanted an invite. The fae seemed to do what he wanted when he wanted. He’d just appeared in his bedroom last night; he’d hardly invited him. He kept his face blank when he fixed his gaze on the man sitting next to him.
Jaskier placed a warm hand on Geralt’s thigh, and it took all his control not to show it how it unbalanced him. Heat seeped through his clothing, and he didn’t know whether he wanted to throw the hand off him or pull Jaskier in closer and feel his heat against his side. As it was, he did nothing other than remain blank.
“How do you two know each other?” Geralt asked after a few mouthfuls of food.
Ciri happily took the lead, “Jaskier performed for us in Cintra sometimes. He wrote a song for my birthday feast once. I loved it, though I think my grandmother was less pleased.” She said lightly but there was undisguisable sadness in her eyes.
“You have much better taste, my darling Ciri.” He winked at her and won a small grin from Ciri. It was a delicate and brittle thing, but a smile nonetheless.
Lambert was suddenly by Ciri’s side, he was openly sizing Jaskier up but either Jaskier didn’t notice or simply didn’t care because he didn’t even spare the man a glance when he spoke, “Time to start training, princess.”
She sighed as if put upon, though Geralt knew full well she enjoyed learning how to fight. “Not a princess Lambert, I’m a witcher!” She shoved her empty bowl at Geralt and attempted a pitiful wide eyed plea.
Though amused, he didn’t let it show. Ciri dropped his head back and sighed once again.
“Fine,” she groaned and picked it up herself to wash. “Sorry Lambert but I’m going to lose precious time training so I can go clean my pots.” Eskel laughed and Lambert rolled his eyes.
When she’d left with Lambert in tow, Jaskier answered the question he knew had been on Geralt’s mind, why had Jaskier gone to Cintra?
“I had to keep an eye on your child surprise, cast a protection charm or two since you didn’t seem to care. I’m glad that changed.” He patted Geralt’s thigh with the hand still resting on it. “Shows growth.”
Geralt ignored the jab and focused on the gratitude, fae magic was strong and Geralt knew a protection spell was no small thing. “Thank you.”
Jaskier frowned, it seemed genuine. “For what?”
“For watching over her when I wasn’t.”
“Well, clearly I didn’t do a very good job of it,” he said, referring to the massacre of Cintra.
“She lived, survived two weeks by herself before we found each other. I’m not saying she would have died without your spells, but they probably increased her chances.”
“Wolf,” Vesemir called out gruffly. “Perhaps don’t thank the fae.”
Geralt shot him a look. It was well known that the fae liked to take words of gratitude far too seriously, but this was Jaskier. Mistrusting Jaskier was just simply an unknown concept. Naturally at the beginning of their relationship, it wouldn’t have been so farfetched, but now even after years apart, Jaskier was still one of his most trusted allies.
“He’s right,” Jaskier piped up.
Geralt’s eyes widened a fraction and he turned back to Jaskier who had lost his playful edge. Vesemir seemed as surprised as Geralt was, and Eskel just appeared to be enjoying the show.
“Well, he is. You need to be more careful but fortunately I would never take advantage of you, my witcher,” his smile returned, easy and soft and he placed the hand on his thigh and cradled Geralt’s face before letting his hand drop. Geralt heard a spoon clatter into a bowl with a jarring clang that echoed through the hall.
Embarrassment wasn’t an emotion Geralt spent much time with, it was pointless and achieved nothing, but he felt the weight of the men he considered his father and brother on him. Wisely, neither of them breathed a word. He didn’t want them to read too much into this; Jaskier was simply a tactile creature. What he really didn’t want was for the other witchers to think he was compromised – which he wasn’t – and conclude that Jaskier had done something to him.
“I know.” It was true and he knew it to be so because the only person who’d done any damage to the other in this relationship was Geralt.
The unnatural blue of Jaskier’s fae eyes shine through his glamour before he blinked and covered them back up again. Geralt could hazard a guess as to why Jaskier had begun wearing glamour and it was pointless to tell him it didn’t matter; just because the others could only currently see his human glamour didn’t mean they would trust him any more. They knew what he was – no glamour would change that.
“I best leave before your family has a collective aneurysm,” he squeezed Geralt’s shoulder and blinked out their reality without giving Geralt the chance to protest.
The silence lasted for several minutes, and Geralt savoured it and used the peace to finish his breakfast. The others had already finished. He was aware that the situation was unusual; a fae bard friends with a witcher – if Geralt wasn’t said witcher he’d have assumed something was amiss and then he’d run the fae though with iron. They just needed to realise that Jaskier was harmless – no, harmless was the wrong word and it was taking some getting used to the idea that Jaskier wasn’t a fragile human. Jaskier was, like all fae, powerful, but they needed to see that he was good . Far better than Geralt himself.
“You’re absolutely sure about him?” Eskel finally said.
“Yes.”
“Then I trust you.”
“And you?” Geralt asked Vesemir.
His mentor didn’t respond immediately. “Trusting you is not the issue. I have seen what the fae are capable of. What they do when even mildly offended. They can wreak havoc and destroy entire villages without batting an eyelid. You will forgive my concerns that we have one of them within our fortress.”
Geralt sat back in his seat and processed the information. It wasn’t news as such, Vesemir had taught them and divulged such stories to them. He would be unwise not to heed the warnings in them, but this wasn’t some run of the mill evil fae that needed the attention of a witcher. He hadn’t found Jaskier because he’d hurt or killed anyone – just the opposite.
“Jaskier healed Ciri on the Killer. Not a major injury, nothing she couldn’t handle. But Jaskier fixed it anyway. I admit that we were separated for some time, but I know him. He’s a ridiculous flirt, falls in love with everybody and anybody. He followed me on the Path for more than a decade and within a short space of time managed to reverse the reputation I picked up in Blavikan. And I repaid all his help by berating him constantly and telling him that , if life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands ,” Eskel winced but Geralt bore him no mind. “It triggered his fae genes and he disappeared.” It was clearly Eskel’s turn to label him with a disapproving frown, but he ignored it and finished, “What happened to him is my fault. He’s like this because of me. If he decides to punish me for that, I wouldn’t blame him; it’s nothing less than I deserve.”
Once again absolute silence stretched out through the hall.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” Eskel told him, once again breaking the silence.
“It’s been said.”
Eskel snorted.
Vesemir, on the other hand, didn’t look amused nor disapproving – he looked thoughtful. “I have been complacent. I did not listen when you said before, I’d assumed.... He was human?”
“I had no idea of his fae blood. Said he’s a quarter fae.”
Vesemir brushed a hand over his mouth and down along his white beard. His gaze was intense when he met Geralt’s, “Hypothetically would he want to reverse what was done?”
Geralt’s blood chilled and he tempered his reaction to his expression blank.
“That’s possible?” Eskel butted in, surprise lacing his words.
“Potentially.”
There was no doubt that Geralt should want what Vesemir was offering – the possibility of returning the bard to his former self. There'd be no more need for glamour. But there was a part of him that had sung with relief at the knowledge that Jaskier wouldn’t age, his fragility a thing of the past, his mortality no longer an intrusive thought that told him not to let his bard get too close.
“I don’t know. I’d have to talk to him.”
Vesemir shook his head. “Not yet. Allow me time to do some research. No need to create false hope.”
“Yeah,” Geralt agreed absently.