Archive of Our Own ^beta

Geralt should have known better than to stop in the town, but he had been tired and injured and not entirely in his right mind. As soon as he’d entered the town, however, he’d been recognized. There was no rest for the wicked it seemed, and the Butcher of Blaviken was as bad as they came.

Townsfolk had screamed. The nearby guards had run over and seized Geralt before even confirming his identity. Someone said he should be executed. Everyone else agreed.

Geralt was thrown in the tiny town jail, waiting for them to finish constructing the gallows. He was weak from the injury he’d received the day before on a contract. More than that, he didn’t want to fight back. Every town he’d traveled to had been more wary than the last. Usually, townsfolk would stone him or drive him out of town. If they were feeling really generous or really desperate, they’d let him complete a contract first, but it always ended the same. Hostility seemed to be rising as the story of what he’d done made its way across the Continent. It was inevitable that he’d one day be put down for his actions.

The cell Geralt sat in was crudely made; with his back against the wall, his feet almost touched the bars. If he really tried, he could probably push his way out, but he didn’t. Geralt didn’t want to kill any more bystanders, and that would almost certainly happen if they chased after him. What would his escape even do? Add another crime to the figurative bounty hanging over his head? The consequences would catch up with him one way or another. He might as well accept his death now and atone for his sins.

Geralt passed the night quickly by meditating. At noon, the guards arrived, eager to deliver him to his death. They chained his wrists with thin metal cuffs that Geralt could have easily snapped and led him to the main square. A rudimentary gallow stood before him. It looked like a strong wind could blow it over, but it would serve its purpose first. 

Geralt was forced up the steps and onto a block. The unforgiving sun glared down on him like another angry spectator. A rope was draped around his neck and tightened. The executioner came forward to read aloud his charges.

“We stand here today for the hanging of one Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken,” the executioner began. The crowd was uproarious. When their jeering finally subsided, he continued. “For the crime of slaughtering the good people of Blaviken and endangering the rest of us, he is to be executed!”

There was more cheering. The executioner stepped next to Geralt. He would kick the block out from under Geralt’s feet and, if he was lucky, the rope would snap his neck immediately. The townsfolk were chanting something, but it was too uncoordinated for Geralt to understand. The executioner leaned in close and muttered, “Gods rest your soul, witcher.” Then, he lined up his foot.

“Wait!” a voice shouted above the rest. The chanting stopped as people looked around, confused by the interruption. There was a ripple in the crowd as someone pushed their way to the front. Finally, a man emerged. He was dressed in a bright blue doublet that matched his eyes, and his dark brown hair was ruffled as if he had been continuously messing with it. It looked like he had just arrived in town; a large travel pack was gripped in one hand and an instrument case was slung over his shoulder.

The executioner took a step back. He seemed just as confused as everyone else and gestured for the man to explain.

“I will marry the witcher!” the man announced. 

Geralt was sure he’d misheard, but the shock that ran through the crowd said otherwise. 

“You… will?” the executioner said. 

“I will,” the man said. “As per Temerian law, anyone can marry a man at the gallows in the hopes of reforming him. I will wed him and successfully tame the Butcher!”

The executioner scratched his neck. “Well, shit,” he said. The crowd shifted, unsure what to make of the spectacle. “The law is for humans, and a witcher ain’t human. But if a human is invoking the law, I suppose it still counts. Do you agree to marry this man, witcher?”

Geralt couldn’t. He would not tie a human to himself, even if it was the human asking to do it. The man was clearly deranged because no one with any sense would willingly put themselves in danger to help a witcher. It was better for Geralt to die and keep the man free from his own stupidity.

Before Geralt could tell the executioner to kick the block out already, another voice in the crowd spoke up. “The Butcher shouldn’t get a say! A witcher can’t speak on the laws of men!”

The executioner shrugged. “I guess you’re right.” He turned to the man and said, “This one’s your responsibility now, y’hear? If he commits any more crimes, it’s on your head too.” The man nodded. “All right then,” the executioner said and cut Geralt down. “The ceremony will be tonight under the gallows. May it serve as a reminder of what was to come.”

Geralt was led off the platform and to the man. The severed rope was placed in the man’s hand as if it were a leash.

It wasn’t that Geralt was thrown back in prison, but apparently he was on probation because he was never without a handler. The man tugged on the leash, although he was far gentler than anyone else had been, and directed him to the local tailor. He dropped a few coins in one of Geralt’s handler’s hands and instructed them to make sure Geralt was properly outfitted for the ceremony. He was given an ill-fitting doublet—the only one large enough for him. Then, Geralt was allowed to take a bath with a guard standing at the door. 

The ceremony was quick; it was clear no one wanted to spend more time on it than they needed to. The executioner took the place of a priest, and they used modified vows to fit the circumstances. Soon Geralt of Rivia and Julian Alfred Pankratz were wed.

The reception was slightly better. A table was laden with dishes, and a few people danced to the single flautist’s music. Geralt got the impression that everything would be a lot livelier if they had been here for anyone else’s wedding. Despite that, it seemed that the partygoers weren’t ready to call an end to the night. Wine and mead flowed steadily, and the music kept getting rowdier. Geralt was ready to leave far before the sun had set, and it seemed his husband thought so too. He made a show of bidding goodnight to the guests before leading Geralt to his inn room.

When they were finally behind closed doors, the man slid to the ground. With a dramatic sigh, he said, “I’m glad that’s finally over.”

If he’d been pretending to enjoy the party, he’d certainly fooled Geralt. Geralt stood in the center of the room, watching the man. What did they do now? What was expected of him as this man’s husband? The way they’d been talking at the gallows, Geralt wasn’t sure this constituted a real marriage; it was more like adopting a temperamental dog. 

As if remembering he wasn’t alone in the room, the man’s eyes widened and he stood back up. “But where are my manners! I’m Jaskier, soon to be famous bard.” He extended a hand to shake.

Geralt looked at him warily but eventually took his hand. “Geralt of Rivia.”

“I’d like to start by first apologizing for my earlier actions.” Geralt was confused but if Jaskier saw that, he ignored it and continued. “Please ignore all those things I said earlier about ‘reforming’ you and whatnot. I was worried even the law wouldn’t be enough to keep those ruffians from killing you, so I needed to speak in a way that would get through to them. I truly have no intentions of trying to ‘fix’ you or anything. We’ll sleep in the same room tonight, and tomorrow we can leave together and then go our separate ways. The townsfolk will be none the wiser once we’ve left.”

“Why?” Geralt couldn’t fully put into words exactly what he was asking. Why was this man endangering himself by throwing his lot in with a witcher? Why had he agreed to marry a criminal he’d never met before? Why was he so comfortable being trapped in the same room as Geralt, shucking off his first layer of clothes and giving Geralt easy smiles?

“Why what? Stop you from being executed?” Jaskier said it like it was supposed to be something shocking. Then he smiled again and migrated to the single bed. “You know, I’m not one of those people that think all witchers are monsters. The world is already desperately short on you lot, and I’d rather have as many monster slayers out there protecting us as possible.”

Geralt supposed that seemed reasonable. But there was still one problem. “But why me? I’m the Butcher. I deserve to hang for what I’ve done.”

Jaskier gave him a look so scrutinizing Geralt felt the urge to shrink under it. Finally, he said, “I more than anyone know how stories can be exaggerated as they travel the Continent. It’s sort of my job. But when I look at you, I can’t picture you doing all those terrible things. I’m sure you killed people, but I don’t think you enjoyed it. I think there’s more to the story, and I couldn’t sit back and watch you get executed if I wasn’t completely sure you deserved it.”

The bard clearly didn’t understand how terrible of a person Geralt was, but Geralt decided to drop it. Nothing he said now would change Jaskier’s mind, that he was sure of. In the end, he supposed it didn’t matter. The bard wouldn’t be around him long enough to see his true colors. By tomorrow morning, they would never see each other again.

“We should get some sleep,” Geralt said. “I’ll take the floor.”

It looked like Jaskier wanted to say something as he looked at the bed he was sitting on, but after a moment he just said, “All right.”

Geralt assumed a meditative position on the floor while Jaskier readjusted in the bed. Geralt extinguished the candles, and the room was plunged into darkness now that night had finally set in. If he strained his ears, Geralt could still hear the revelers at their reception. The room was silent. “Goodnight, Geralt,” Jaskier said, facing the wall.

“Goodnight, bard.” It was best not to get attached.

The night passed far easier than Geralt had expected. He was worried Jaskier would be too tense to comfortably rest—and that his tossing would keep Geralt up—but the bard didn’t seem to have any qualms sleeping only a few feet from a witcher. Jaskier woke up far later than Geralt would have preferred, but he couldn’t bring himself to wake the man up sooner. Instead, he packed his bags until Jaskier stumbled out of bed close to noon. They ate a quick meal at the tavern, then grabbed their bags and checked out of their room.

Geralt wasn’t sure what to do now. They were heading towards the main road that left the town, but he didn’t know where it would lead him. It felt strange to know the man walking next to him was legally bound to him. They would never see each other again, and yet they were now tied together. Some part of him wondered if he would still know what Jaskier was getting up to when they separated, as if they were tied spiritually as well. Would he physically feel Jaskier’s absence when they parted at the first fork in the road?

There was a man standing at the edge of town. No, a guard. His armor was shabby and hanging at odd angles where he hadn’t managed to tighten the straps all the way, but he was clearly one of the local law enforcers. 

“Stop!” he said as they tried to walk past him. Jaskier jumped a little at the sudden command. “No one leaves.”

“Why not?” Jaskier asked. He scrutinized the guard before looking at his surroundings, as if he could figure out what was stopping them if he squinted hard enough.

“Last night, five people fell unconscious and no matter what we do, we can’t wake ‘em up. The alderman thinks it’s some new sickness. Until we know what’s causing it and who’s carrying it, no one goes in or out. We gotta make sure no one brings it out to the rest of the Continent.” The guard talked like he was reciting a memorized speech. Jaskier huffed but they turned around. It was hard to argue with him when this was clearly being done with everyone’s best interests in mind.

“I suppose we better head back to the tavern,” Jaskier said as they headed back to town. Geralt really just wanted to get away from everyone and hide in the woods for a few weeks, but that sounded like the second best option. 

Apparently everyone else had thought the same thing because the room was packed with every person that didn’t have a place to go. 

“We’d like a room with two beds please,” Jaskier said after fighting his way to the front desk. He added a blinding smile for good measure. Geralt was sure it worked on most people, but the woman standing at the counter clearly wasn’t impressed. 

“We only got one room left—the one you two just vacated. It hasn’t been cleaned yet so either you take it or we give it to someone else as soon as it’s ready,” she deadpanned. 

Jaskier looked back at Geralt with a questioning glance. It took Geralt a moment to realize he was asking if Geralt was all right with the situation. He gave a curt nod. “We’ll take it then,” Jaskier said as he slid a few coins across the counter. 

They dropped their things back in the room and headed back to the main tavern area. Geralt staked out a table hidden in the corner, and collapsed onto the chair. He was already done with the day and it was barely noon. What was Geralt going to do now? There were no contracts in the town for him to take, and he couldn’t leave to fight any monsters, if there were even any to take care of. He was used to whiling away the day while traveling from town to town, but at least those days still had purpose. Sitting in a tavern for who knows how long sounded like his worst nightmare.

After about ten minutes of sitting, Geralt left Jaskier to whatever idle talk he was making with the barmaid and headed back to their room. He wasn’t sure how long they would be stuck in this town, but he could at least use the time productively. First, Geralt sharpened his swords until the sides were wickedly sharp. Then, he mended whatever small tears he could find in his armor. Once that was finished, he started brewing whatever potions he was low on. By the time he’d filled all his empty bottles, it was still only midday. Resigned to his fate, Geralt returned to the dining hall. 

Jaskier was still sitting at the bar, although now he was talking to what looked like the tavern owner. The room was nowhere near full, but it looked like more people were arriving now that they were approaching dinner. One table was already full with a few men, several empty tankards of ale, and a rowdy game of Gwent. On the other side of the room there were two men sitting at a table and talking in hushed voices. One was dressed as a guard, and Geralt was fairly sure the other was the alderman. He strained to hear what they were talking about and just barely picked up mention of the mysterious illness.

Well that could definitely occupy his time. Geralt walked over to their table, trying his best not to turn heads. In his experience people didn’t typically like talking to witchers, but they especially hated it if the whole room was listening in. 

“I want to help with the disease,” Geralt said in lieu of a greeting. Both men stopped talking and looked at him.

“Excuse me?” the alderman said.

“You don’t know what it is, right? I can help with that. I’m not an expert in illnesses, but I have been trained to recognize some diseases.”

The guard looked at Geralt with undisguised disgust. “I don’t trust a killer like you to help us. And shouldn’t you be with your husband?” He pronounced ‘husband’ like he’d really wanted to say handler. 

Without thinking, Geralt looked over his shoulder. Jaskier was still talking with the owner, completely occupied in the conversation. If Geralt really did need minding, Jaskier was doing a terrible job of it.

“You know where to find me if you change your mind,” Geralt said. He tried for a diplomatic smile but he was sure it looked more like a wolf baring its fangs. 

Geralt started walking away before he realized he didn’t know where to go. He’d finished everything he needed to do in their room. There were no contracts to take, and he didn’t feel like going for a stroll through the market when the townsfolk had made it clear what they thought of him traveling unaccompanied. It sounded like his options were sit alone in the room or sit alone on the other side of the tavern. Then, Jaskier pulled away from his conversation and lightly touched Geralt’s bicep. He said, “Wonderful news, Geralt! I’ll be playing tonight, and if Jonah here thinks I’m good enough, I’ll be able to perform for as long as we stay.”

Geralt wasn’t quite sure why Jaskier was telling him this. While they were sharing a room and forced to be in each other’s company, Geralt hadn’t expected they would actually talk to each other. He had half expected Jaskier to kick him out as soon as he realized they would be living with each other for the foreseeable future. But he couldn’t deny that the radiant smile Jaskier gave him wasn’t genuine. 

“That’s good to hear,” Geralt finally said. He was a little stunned by Jaskier’s brilliance.

“I… well, I wasn’t sure if you had any plans for tonight, but would you like to hear me play?” Jaskier asked. 

Truth be told, Geralt had planned on eating his meal in the dark corner of the room, downing a few mugs of ale, and then sitting in the room until it was time to pass out. Maybe he could sneak out to the stables to give Roach a good brushing. As boring as his evening sounded, he wasn’t very tempted to sit in a crowded tavern surrounded by people who clearly hated him and listen to a—not to offend Jaskier—two-bit bard. But Jaskier looked at Geralt with such hope, like it wasn’t that he wanted a full crowd but that he wanted Geralt to listen to him. And with such barely contained enthusiasm, Geralt couldn’t find the strength to say no.

“Sure,” Geralt said. 

He expected Jaskier’s smile to grow even wider—he was, after all, acting a bit like a little kid being given a present—but instead he gave a cocky grin and said, “I’ll make sure to give you my best performance.” Then, he swaggered past and up the stairs, presumably to get ready for the night.

The beginnings of the dinner crowd started to trickle in, so Geralt secured a table in the far corner. A tentative barmaid came to take his order. He was ready to order when he stopped. Should he get something for Jaskier? Normally he wouldn’t bother, but it seemed like Jaskier fully intended to pay for their room, so it was the least he could do, right? Jaskier would probably be performing when everyone else ate, so it would be best to order food for him before the kitchen got too busy. In the end, he ordered two meals and two mugs of ale. 

He ate methodically, barely tasting the meat and bread he’d been given. Twenty minutes later, Jaskier came back down wearing a far more ostentatious outfit and holding his lute. As he walked by, Geralt grunted. Jaskier turned towards him and smiled when he saw who it was.

“I got you some dinner,” Geralt said as he gestured towards the plate.

“Oh, thank you!” Jaskier said and sat in the chair opposite Geralt. He immediately started inhaling the food. Geralt took his time, and Jaskier finished far quicker than him.

“Good luck,” Geralt said as he raised his mug in salute. I’ll be here, he didn’t say, but it seemed like Jaskier had picked up on it anyway.

“Much appreciated, but I don’t need it,” Jaskier said with a wink. He sauntered to an open clearing near the bar with his already tuned lute in hand. If the patrons noticed him, they didn’t seem to care. With an audible clearing of his throat, Jaskier announced, “I am Jaskier the Bard, and I’ll be your entertainment for the night!”

It was clear no one had heard of him outside of his unusual wedding, but that didn’t seem to deter Jaskier as he launched into his first song. It was one of the more well known drinking songs, and the crowd was clapping and singing along by the second chorus. Geralt sat unmoving in the shadows, but he had to admit he was enjoying himself. He could acknowledge that Jaskier knew how to work a room; a few people had started dancing, and even the most reserved folks were smiling. Eventually, Jaskier segued into what Geralt assumed were his original songs. The lyrics left something to be desired—Geralt wasn’t an expert but he got the impression that Jaskier had the right language to describe things, it was only that he was missing the lived experience to properly imagine them—but his voice was beautiful. It rang out strong and clear through the boisterous tavern. He managed to sing tenderly about moments Geralt was sure he’d never experienced, and even the raunchy songs were delivered with a sugared voice. It could have been all the ale Geralt was drinking, but he got a warm feeling in his chest every time Jaskier made eye contact with him. It was like his eyes were searching out Geralt, like no matter how far they strayed they would always return to him. He could almost pretend Jaskier was singing to him and him alone.

Jaskier finished performing late to a round of applause. He swept down in an over-the-top bow, collected whatever coins had been tossed his way, and walked back over to Geralt’s table. “So how was I?” he asked. His grin had turned cocky again, like he knew exactly what Geralt had been thinking, and he batted his eyelashes. 

Geralt grunted, not wanting to give Jaskier the satisfaction of being proven right. “Better than I thought you’d be,” he conceded. “You have room to improve when it comes to writing, though.”

Jaskier squawked. He crossed his arms and said, “I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class at Oxenfurt! I was writing circles around my peers!” 

“Were you the only one to graduate?” Geralt asked, although he let a smirk peek through as he did so. For some reason, he didn’t want Jaskier to think he was genuinely being mean to him.

Catching on to the teasing, Jaskier looked a little less affronted as he said, “There were fifty students actually. And before you ask, yes they were also talented. Just not as good as me.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Geralt said as his smile deepened. As he and Jaskier mounted the steps to their room, he was hit with the realization of the situation he was currently in. Here he was sharing a room with a man he’d met—and married —yesterday, bantering without any reservation. He really has no fear, Geralt realized as Jaskier started to change into his sleep clothes without any care.

Jaskier finished his nightly routine and laid down on the bed without blowing out the candles. “You wanted to investigate the mysterious illness, right? Do you have any idea what it could be?” Geralt hadn’t expected he’d be doing something as domestic as talking about his day with Jaskier. Then, his brain caught up with what Jaskier had asked him.

“What?” he said. He didn’t remember ever telling Jaskier he’d wanted to do that.

“Earlier in the tavern you were talking to the alderman and that guard. You said you wanted to help them in the investigation.”

Geralt had thought Jaskier had been in his own world as he flirted with various people throughout the day, but he’d really been paying attention to Geralt the whole time? He clearly wasn’t invested in his duties of babysitting Geralt, so why?

“I don’t have any theories yet,” Geralt answered. “Everyone seems to forget that killing monsters is only half of a witcher’s job. We also deal with curses. This ‘disease’ isn’t like any I’ve seen before, so I’m tempted to call it a curse. If they’d let me investigate, I could potentially break it in a day or two. And if it is an illness, I have a little medical training as well. I’m acquainted with a few sorceresses that know more than anyone else in this town, so I could also ask one to come take a look if things get dire.”

Jaskier nodded along as he listened. “Why are you so desperate to help? I haven’t heard anyone offer a reward yet, and these folk don’t seem too keen to compensate you after you’ve already helped them.”

“I just want to get out of here,” Geralt said truthfully. He didn’t add that he desperately needed something to do. A few hours with nothing to occupy him was already making him restless, and Geralt was sure that if he had to sit around for a few days when he could be helping, he would go insane.

“All right, I think I’ve got a solution,” Jaskier announced. There was a slight pause for dramatic effect. “Tomorrow we’ll go ask the alderman if we can investigate the illness together. It sounded like the guard was happy to remind you that I’m supposed to be watching over you. I’m sure the other townsfolk are the same. But if I vouch for you, they might be more willing to let you help.”

It sounded like a decent idea. With Jaskier’s backing, there was a good chance they’d let Geralt at least do a little investigating. Still, he said, “Are you sure? You must have better things to do than follow me around all day.”

Jaskier said, “I’d also like to leave this town sooner rather than later, and it sounds like you’re the best chance we have for figuring this out. Not to mention, I’m sure to get material for a new song! A true artist needs to be out in the world, in the middle of the adventure! It seems like adventure follows you around.” Geralt wasn’t sure how good a song about some sleeping disease could be, but he decided it was best not to comment on it.

Now that they had a tentative plan, Jaskier blew out the candles. They fell into an easy sleep, and Geralt marveled how it felt to have a partner willing to help him with an investigation. He was sure Jaskier had a far more glamorized idea of the detective work they’d be doing in his head, but Geralt couldn’t help but feel a little excited to be bringing him along. 

The next day Geralt was not nearly as kind to Jaskier and forced him out of bed at the bright and early time of nine. From his many sleep-addled complaints, it was clear Jaskier thought this was one of the worst crimes someone could commit. Geralt rolled his eyes as he grabbed some breakfast for them. As he’d predicted, Jaskier was already unhappy with their unrewarding detective work. Still, Geralt couldn’t bring himself to snap at Jaskier, nor did he leave without him. 

Their first stop was the alderman’s house. They were asking for his permission, although if Geralt was being honest, he’d still investigate even if the alderman slammed the door in their faces. He had truly run out of ways to occupy himself, and the only way he’d be getting out of here was if they found a cure. He didn’t really trust the competency of the local guards, which left this up to him.

After some insistent knocking on Jaskier’s part, the alderman’s door opened. He was wearing what looked like a dressing robe and he looked even more tired than Jaskier had been. 

“Good morning,” Jaskier said with a forced brightness that made it seem like he had been awake for hours. When it became clear the alderman wouldn’t be returning the pleasantries, he wrapped his arms around Geralt’s bicep and continued, “My husband would like to help cure this strange illness. I’ll be watching over him, of course.”

The alderman narrowed his eyes. “Why would a witcher want to help us? I’m not offering a reward, you know.”

“I’m supposed to be reforming him, right? Well he wants to help this town out of the goodness of his heart. Witchers are known for their curse breaking abilities, after all, and I think this would be a great way for him to use his skills to become a better person,” Jaskier countered. His smile was so forced it hurt Geralt to look at, but the alderman didn’t seem to find it suspicious.

With a great sigh, the alderman said, “Fine. If you want to attempt to help, then be my guest. But I don’t want you two getting in the way of the actual investigators, so I’ll only allow it if you stay away from them.”

“Agreed,” Jaskier said as he removed one hand to shake. The alderman gave it a cursory shake before slamming the door shut. Jaskier led Geralt, his arms still on his bicep, and muttered, “Prick.” It caught Geralt off guard and before he could stop himself, he was snorting out a laugh. “Well he is one!” Jaskier defended himself, although he had started laughing too.

The courtyard where their wedding reception had been was sectioned off as it was deemed the scene of the crime. It was crawling with guards examining anything remotely suspicious, so Geralt and Jaskier decided to investigate the bodies first. The town healer had done his own examination, and the victims were now being held in his spare room.

Hearing about the illness was one thing, but actually seeing it was near unbelievable. The five people each lay on their own cot. Their expressions were placid, and their breathing appeared regular. They really looked like they were just sleeping. Geralt was sure if he shook them hard enough they would wake up, except for the fact that their family members and the healer had both tried that already.

Even with no obvious signs of an illness or a curse, Geralt went through his standard procedure. He looked over each person, checking for any visible wounds or markings that might indicate foul play. The first two were an elderly couple, husband and wife of fifty years according to the healer. Next to them were two women. One had dark skin and long hair that had been pulled back in many braids, and the other was far paler and had frizzy red hair spread out like a halo; both looked to be in their early twenties. The last person was a man so tall he barely fit on the cot. He was tanned and muscular, with long black hair pulled out of the way by a leather cord. 

“Aleyn Godwin,” Jaskier read aloud, looking at the tag that had been attached to his cot. “I think I remember seeing him at the reception.”

It was true. In fact, Geralt was sure they’d all been there. “If this is a curse, the caster could be targeting people that were there. I’ll need to investigate the crime scene to know for sure.”

The guards had left to break for lunch, so Geralt and Jaskier took the opportunity to explore the crime scene. The tables that had been brought out for the wedding reception were left untouched. Plates with half eaten food were scattered over the tables. Not knowing what could’ve caused the disease, all food and beverages had been kept pristine for examination. Geralt cautiously sniffed each plate, but the food seemed normal. 

If the table wouldn’t provide any useful information, they would just have to scour the rest of the crime scene. They examined every inch they could, but there was no hint of poison, nor were there any plants or animals nearby that might carry disease. Then, at the center of the scene, Geralt spotted an abandoned cup. It was rolled against the town well; it must’ve contained wine because the dirt under the cup was stained a deep burgundy. Careful not to touch any more than necessary, Geralt lifted the cup to his nose and sniffed. At first, all he smelled was the wine. Dregs of the heady alcohol still rested at the bottom, and it was nearly overpowering. But under it all, there was a sickly sweet scent that couldn’t have been from the wine. It was the residue of a potion.

“Jaskier,” Geralt called out. Jaskier, who had been examining the tables still, came over and looked at the wine cup like it might kill him. Well at least he was being cautious. “There was some sort of potion in here. Only a small amount remains, so I can’t figure out exactly what it is, but we were right. We’re dealing with a curse.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. “Can you tell who put the potion in there?”

Geralt shook his head. “There’s no town sorcerer that the culprit could have bought this from. Anyone with the right recipe could’ve made this. But one thing is for sure. The five victims must have been targeted. The potion would have affected a lot more people if it had been in the cask of wine, so someone must’ve put it in the individual cups.”

Jaskier nodded along, although a smile was starting to spread across his face. Geralt didn’t think this was really an appropriate thing to smile about, but it started to make more sense when Jaskier took out a journal and started jotting down notes. “So what’s our next move?” he asked.

“We need to talk to everyone that was at the wedding reception. We should also talk to the victims’ loved ones to see if there’s anyone with a motive,” Geralt said. “We’ll need to be discreet, though. If we start interrogating people immediately, we’ll probably scare off the culprit.”

At this point, people were starting to close their shops for the day. Geralt said, “No one will want to humor us this late in the day. We should head back to the tavern. Maybe we’ll overhear something after the patrons have gotten a few cups deep into the night.”

Jaskier agreed, and so they walked back to the tavern. In a repeat of last night, Geralt resumed his position in the corner, and Jaskier went to retrieve his lute. He scarfed down his dinner and then headed to the front of the room. As Geralt ate, he kept his eyes on Jaskier’s performance but an ear out for any gossip from nearby tables. 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Geralt didn’t hear anyone confess to the crime. A few people were speculating about the disease, although they seemed to be more in the dark than he was. 

“Did ya hear?” One voice caught his attention. It sounded like one of the guards from earlier. “Joshua found his parents asleep in bed this morning. He tried to wake ‘em but nothin’ worked. Sounds like they’ve been taken to the healer.”

A second guard responded, “A right shame. That makes four more today.”

So the culprit had struck again. And if they really had managed to sneak into someone’s house undetected to poison two people, they were more of a threat than Geralt had initially suspected.

Jaskier finished his set to another round of enthusiastic applause. Geralt had to tell him the news, but he felt his chest clench at the thought. Jaskier looked so happy after his successful performance, and all Geralt could give him was more bad news.

When they were alone in their room, Geralt said, “I heard the guards talking. They said four more people were found sick today.” He couldn’t look at Jaskier, couldn’t bring himself to see the crestfallen expression he knew was there. 

“Oh,” Jaskier said, his voice small. Even with his head turned away, Geralt could picture the way his eyes would scrunch up subtly and how he’d purse his lips. He heard Jaskier put his lute down and say, “We’ll just have to give it our all tomorrow, I suppose. Show that culprit that they’re no match for us.”

At that, Geralt looked at him. He was right about Jaskier’s expression, although now his brow was furrowed. He was determined to solve this case, and it was clear Jaskier hoped they’d do it soon. Geralt just wished they found a cure quickly. He couldn’t bear to see that hope disappear.

“We need to be subtle,” Geralt said. They had finished breakfast and were camped out in his designated corner of the tavern. “If we start going door to door to investigate everyone, the culprit will realize we’ve figured out it’s a curse. Instead, we need to get others to willingly give up the information without looking like we’re prompting them.”

“Leave that to me. Subtle is my middle name,” Jaskier said as he mimed cracking his knuckles. He was wearing a particularly garish doublet today in a hazardously bright eye-catching shade. Geralt raised an eyebrow.

“All right, perhaps I’m not known for subtlety,” Jaskier amended, “but I do know how to get people to talk. As any proper troubadour should be able to, I excel at looking past the exterior and encouraging people to bare their hearts. Separating the wheat from the chaff, so to speak. I can get these folks to spill their secrets, all while making them think it was their idea all along. And not to offend you, Geralt, but I think this might be more in my area of expertise than yours.”

Unfortunately, he had a point. As much as Geralt wanted to take charge and demand answers, he was right about scaring off the culprit. And Jaskier was also right about Geralt’s difficulty in inspiring ease in others. It would be far less suspicious for Jaskier to ask around about the disease. “What should I do then?” Geralt asked. It seemed he was totally useless for the time being.

Jaskier thought it over for a moment. “Well, you can’t go wandering off on your own. I’m supposed to be with you at all times, and if someone sees you alone in the market, they’ll come to get me and interrupt our ruse.” He hummed a note, then said, “I know! You’ll stay here where you’re mostly hidden from view. Ideally, people will forget you’re here. While I’m talking, you can use those fancy witcher abilities of yours to see if anyone is acting strange.”

Geralt was positive Jaskier had no clue how his witcher senses worked, but it seemed a fair enough idea. At the very least, he would probably know if someone was lying. 

“All right,” Geralt said. With that, Jaskier headed into the more bustling part of the tavern and took up residence at the bar. He chatted with anyone who sat next to him and, thanks to two nights of well-received performances, it looked like people were more than willing to talk to him. Geralt listened in as best he could, and was pleased to see that no one seemed to be suspicious of Jaskier’s motives. He really was as good as he’d boasted. A simple question about someone’s profession, or a polite comment about a family member, and a person was more than willing to open up to him. The general fear of sickness had settled over the townsfolk, and they were nearly desperate to have a sympathetic person to talk to.

Jaskier went on for hours. Most of it sounded unimportant to Geralt, but Jaskier acted like every word could hold the answer to their problem. Hunger gnawed at Geralt, but he didn’t dare get up for fear of reminding people of where he was lurking. Finally, it was drawing close to Jaskier’s nightly performance. Jaskier ordered two dinners and quickly ate his with Geralt. They didn’t have time to debrief before Jaskier was asked by a few patrons to start his performance. Geralt watched with the same rapt attention he had the past two nights, and Jaskier made sure to send a steady stream of winks and smiles his way. There was more flirting with the tavern patrons than usual, Geralt noticed, and Jaskier spent his break talking to a few of the women that crowded around him instead of with Geralt.

There was a tightness curling in his chest, and he felt the slightest tinge of anger. Was this jealousy? Was he jealous that Jaskier spent time with his adoring fans instead of Geralt? It didn’t matter. Just because they were married didn’t mean Jaskier had to spend every moment of his time with his brooding, monstrous husband. It was clear the townsfolk barely respected their marriage, so they wouldn’t be surprised if Jaskier was looking for fulfillment away from his husband. Whatever. Geralt just needed to focus on finding a way to break this curse, and then he could be rid of this vile town forever.

After he’d finished his performance, Jaskier bid farewell to his adoring public and followed Geralt up to the room. “Did you happen to hear what those lovely women were telling me, Geralt?” he asked as he gently put his lute in its case. 

Geralt grunted.

Jaskier didn’t seem to notice anything off and said, “Well it turns out they know Odelle and Alisoun.” When Geralt still didn’t say anything, he continued, “The two young women that were from the first group of victims?”

Oh. Jaskier hadn’t been flirting with those women, he’d been asking about the illness. After watching a good performance and drinking a few mugs of ale, of course they would be more than willing to talk to a semi-popular bard. He’d been doing his job. The thought made that horrible tightness in Geralt’s chest dissolve.

“It’s not common knowledge, but apparently Odelle and Alisoun have been in a relationship for some time now. Most of the town would never approve, so they’ve had to meet clandestinely. It’s all quite romantic actually.” Jaskier looked like he’d like to compose a song about the star-crossed lovers. They really needed to focus on solving this mystery, or it would turn into an elegy.

Geralt hummed. Had the culprit known about their secret relationship? That could have been the reason they were targeted, or it could be a complete coincidence. “How do you think that relates to the case?” Geralt asked. This seemed like one of those moments Jaskier had talked about earlier, one of the rare times that a troubadour might be better at finding a clue than a witcher.

“The victims are all lovers,” Jaskier stated. It was really obvious when he said it aloud, but he didn’t make Geralt sound stupid for not realizing it sooner. “The victims can all be split into couples. Most have even been found in their marriage bed. Maybe the culprit is targeting people in relationships?”

But there was still something wrong. “We have an odd number of victims,” Geralt said. “What about the other one—Aleyn? After a day of listening to the town gossip, we haven’t heard any mention of one of the victims cheating with him. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think he was in a relationship with Odelle and Alisoun. That means he’s most likely single.”

Jaskier shook his head. “You’re right. I haven’t heard any mention of him dating anyone.” He groaned. “That means we’re back to square one, doesn’t it?” 

Geralt couldn’t help but snort at his dramatics. “We’ve still learned a lot today. And any theory we disprove still brings us one step closer to figuring out what the motive is. We now know the culprit isn’t targeting lovers.”

Jaskier flopped onto the bed. “Let’s pray there’s more excitement tomorrow. I still feel like we haven’t gotten any closer to finding a cure.” 

Secretly, Geralt hoped Jaskier didn’t get his wish. Excitement was the last thing an active crime investigation needed. He resumed his meditative stance on the ground and sent out a prayer of his own. Let us solve this without any more casualties. Geralt didn’t think his prayer would be answered.

Ten more victims. There were ten people who’d fallen ill yesterday. The healer couldn’t house nineteen people, so they’d been moved to the small temple near the center of town. 

“We can’t afford to keep investigating secretly,” Geralt growled. “If we don’t make real progress soon, half the town will be cursed.”

Jaskier nodded. Stealth had been his specialty, but it looked like he agreed that a direct approach was necessary now. 

“Let’s examine the new victims first to see if there are any new clues. Then we can start interrogating the suspects,” Geralt said. 

The temple felt more like a morgue with the pallets all lined up in rows. The victims were organized in order of when they were discovered, although Geralt didn’t think that was really necessary. A quick glance at the most recent victims showed they were worse off than the rest.

Their faces were much paler, and there were dark circles under their eyes. Geralt could see their chests still rise and fall steadily, although it seemed shallower than it should be. There was also a strange stillness to them; the first victims twitched, and their faces contorted like they would do when asleep, but these victims were nearly motionless. If the first people looked like they were resting, these looked comatose.

“The curse is getting stronger,” Geralt noted. He held his medallion up to the last victim, and it rattled slightly. Perhaps the culprit had started brewing the potion stronger, although Geralt couldn’t think of a reason why. 

Wasting no time, Geralt and Jaskier went to each house to start their interrogations. Jaskier’s note taking hadn’t just been for show, apparently, as he had managed to compile a comprehensive list of every person who’d been at the wedding reception. They would start by talking to each person on the list and if no one had any information, they would ask the entire town until someone finally spilled a secret.

As they made their way through the list, however, it was made painfully clear how little most of the people remembered. At least half of the guests had been so drunk that they could barely recall anything after the ceremony, and the other half chalked up any suspicious activity to said drunkenness. By the time they were halfway through the list, it was already time for dinner. Geralt knew the already reticent townsfolk would be even less willing to talk during their meal, so he called it quits for the day, and they headed back to the tavern.

Geralt wanted to pull at his hair with how frustrated he was. How could someone go so unnoticed, even with a witcher hunting them down? Geralt had looked at bedrooms where victims had been discovered, and could find no inexplicable scent. He’d started interrogating a little more aggressively as the day drew on, but no one cracked under his angry glares. There were no clues left behind, nothing to track, no suspicious conversations to delve deeper into. He didn’t think a person existed on the Continent that could cover their tracks so thoroughly, but how else could he explain the rapidly worsening epidemic on their hands?

Jaskier performed to a much emptier room that night. A few regulars had fallen ill, and it seemed like most of the town wasn’t in the mood to listen to lighthearted drinking songs when they knew returning home that night could mean their doom. Still, Jaskier valiantly acted as if nothing was wrong and did his best to lift their spirits. Even with the difficult case plaguing him, Geralt felt himself relaxing just a bit as Jaskier sang. Most of his songs were about triumph and finding victory at unexpected times, and he kept making eye contact with Geralt as he sang. There was surety in his expression, like he had complete faith Geralt would solve the mystery and find a cure, even when Geralt himself worried there may be no saving the town. 

When they entered their room, Geralt immediately took his position on the floor. He was tired after multiple days of meditating without real rest, and he wanted to pass the night as quickly as possible and return to the interrogations. He heard Jaskier readying himself for bed, as well as the dip of the mattress as he sat down, but after multiple minutes the candles were still lit. He cracked open an eye to see what was holding Jaskier up.

Jaskier wrung his hands. When he saw Geralt looking at him, he said, “Why don’t you sleep in the bed tonight?”

Geralt could imagine the hours of bemoaning a sore back from Jaskier if he were to sleep on the ground. He was sure the bed would be far more comfortable, but Geralt would stay on the floor if it meant not having to hear Jaskier’s complaining. “You’re paying for the room,” he said instead. “You deserve the bed.”

“No—” Jaskier cut off. As if working up the courage, he took a deep breath. “No, I mean we could both sleep in the bed.” Geralt raised an eyebrow. With an eye roll, Jaskier said, “It’s a large bed. We can both fit with room to spare. And I feel bad seeing you sit on that hard floor all night.”

“Really, I’m fine down here,” Geralt said.

Jaskier crossed his arms. “Then I won’t sleep. If you insist on making yourself more uncomfortable for no good reason, then so will I.”

Now that was a threat. Geralt did not want to imagine the nightmare it would be to deal with a sleep deprived Jaskier while trying to solve this ever-evolving mystery. After a moment, he let out a weary sigh and said, “Fine.”

He walked to the other side of the bed and climbed in with rigid limbs. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever shared a bed with an acquaintance like this before. He’d been in quite a few brothels over the years, and he’d shared beds with his fellow witchers before the trials, but this was different. Jaskier was not being paid to allow Geralt into his bed, but he’d also only met a witcher for the first time a few days ago. If he were a reasonable man, he’d be wary of Geralt, afraid of him even, but he wasn’t.

Geralt laid completely still, his hands pressed firmly to his sides. Jaskier didn’t have the reservations he did, and sprawled out as if he was sleeping with an old friend. He didn’t encroach on what was now deemed Geralt’s side of the bed, but he took up the remaining space, perfectly at ease.

Geralt hadn’t planned on sleeping, but it seemed like the mounting exhaustion had caught up with him. Sleep came quick, easier than it ever had before.

He woke to the birds chirping outside the window. Judging by the way the sun filtered into the room, it was later than Geralt typically woke up but still well before noon. An unfamiliar weight rested on his chest, and he looked down to see Jaskier using him like a pillow. He wasn’t sure how Jaskier had managed to grab onto him during the night, but he wasn’t too surprised. Jaskier seemed like the clingy type, and he certainly had the audacity. Geralt should have been shocked— would have been a week ago—but Jaskier had proven time and time again that he didn’t care about rumors of how horrible witchers were. 

They really should be starting their investigation, but Geralt found he didn’t want to move. Jaskier was sleeping so peacefully. And if he was being honest, a selfish part of him wanted to enjoy the touch while it lasted. No one had ever dared to be so gentle with Geralt before, and this could be his only chance to have a modicum of normality. But as ten minutes went by and then twenty, Geralt knew they needed to get going. He estimated there were only a few days left before most of the town was infected, and then the investigation would become infinitely harder. That was assuming Geralt—or gods forbid, Jaskier —didn’t fall prey to the curse.

Jaskier roused without much difficulty, acting like he hadn’t done anything strange over the night. There was a sense of routine now, and the two of them got dressed and ate with a speed only familiarity could grant. Before noon, they were already searching for the next person on their list.

If yesterday had been bad, today was absolutely demoralizing. There was still no useful information to be found, but they were now both painfully aware of how few people were left. As useless as it had been, this was their only real lead. Trying to find the culprit without it was an unpleasant prospect.

Rumors spread quicker—Geralt bitterly thought that was because there were less people to pass secrets between—and they learned that eight more people had fallen asleep since they’d started investigating for the day. Two were the engaged couple he and Jaskier had spoken to at the start of the day; one was a married woman, along with the lover that she’d apparently kept hidden from her husband for years; the fifth and sixth victims were the newlywed couple four doors down, also known as the next ones on Jaskier’s list; and the last two victims were both no more than fourteen. Geralt clenched his fist. The culprit was growing bolder. Instead of working under the cover of night, or at the very least when Geralt was on the other side of town, now they were poisoning people right under his nose. And there was still no trace Geralt could find. 

Still, there was nothing they could do until they’d confirmed that no one at the wedding reception was responsible. They worked through the list quicker but by the time there was only one person left, it was nearly dinner time. They could manage a quick investigation, but then they’d need to quit for the night and if the questioning proved fruitless, they’d be back to square one.

Selah Weaver was, predictably, the town’s best weaver. She was well-known in the town and had plenty of friends, but her family had always lived at the edge of town near the forest, so she didn’t appear around town as frequently as the other women in their twenties. Still, she’d had more than one marriage proposition—Jaskier had been intrigued to hear that she was waiting for true love and didn’t think it would come to her in such a backwater town—and her friends spoke highly of her. Geralt had remembered seeing her at the party with a group of women, although it was true she acted as if she’d resigned herself to a life as a spinster.

Much to their surprise, Geralt and Jaskier had been invited into her home when they’d told her they wanted to ask her some questions. She seemed a little suspicious of them, although Geralt thought it was a healthy amount to have when two strangers showed up on your doorstep. The house was really just one big room, with a stove and table pushed into one corner, a few chairs in another corner, and a wall that only extended three-quarters of the way to the other side of the room. If he had to guess, it was probably there to provide a little privacy for her to sleep behind. In the center of the room was a massive loom and a well-worn stool. The wood looked ancient, and Geralt assumed it had to be an heirloom. 

Selah herself looked to be in her early twenties. Her skin was a warm brown and her long black hair was held back by a sage green scrap of cloth. Her dress was made from fine cotton, not like the roughspun cloth most of the other townsfolk wore; she’d probably made it herself as a testament to her skills.

“So what can I do for you?” she asked once they’d all taken a seat.

Geralt had learned being direct was the most efficient way to rule out suspects in this town. “We’re trying to cure this mysterious disease,” he said. “Did you see anything suspicious at our wedding reception five nights ago?” 

There was no nervous tic that would suggest she’d been the culprit. Instead, she made a humming noise as she thought. “That’s a bit tricky to answer, I guess. I can’t remember anyone being obviously suspicious but if that had been the case, I guess they’d be caught already, yeah?”

“How about you walk us through what you did at the reception?” Jaskier suggested. The people of this town were painfully unaware of how investigations normally went, so Jaskier had started asking broader questions in the hopes that Geralt would pick up on something no one else did. It hadn’t worked yet, but he was steadfastly hopeful that it would eventually.

“Well, I wasn’t really paying attention to the ceremony,” Selah started. “Sorry,” she added a little sheepishly. “I was mostly there for the party, so me and a couple a friends met up. We had a drink and some food, mostly staying away from the crowd. It was real rowdy, and we wanted to talk, right? But then this guy Aleyn Godwin—” she spit out the name like it was venomous—“started talking to me. I’ve seen him around a few times but he lives deep in the woods on account of him bein’ a huntsman. I only talked with him once or twice, but he came up to me like I knew him.

“He hands me a cup a wine, right? I always thought he was a pretty nice guy, so I took it. He kept watchin’ all eager like so I took a small sip to get him to go away. But then he grabbed my head with both hands an’ kissed me! Well I wasn’t gonna let that slide, so I threw the cup at his face, but it barely even hit him. I stayed close to my friends the rest of the night, but he didn’t try anything else. I think he got real drunk, though, and his friends took him to one of their houses for the night. When they tried to wake him up in the morning he didn’t,” she said with a shrug. “It’s a shame what happened to everyone else, but I can’t say I feel bad for him. Served the bastard right if ya ask me.”

It didn’t seem like Selah had been the one to curse the town, even if she was happy about Aleyn’s current state. But there was one thing bugging Geralt. “I just have one more question for you,” he said. “Do you remember where you were standing when Aleyn Godwin gave you the wine?”

She thought for a moment. “Near the well, I suppose.”

Geralt nodded. He thanked her for her help and motioned for Jaskier to get up. When they left Selah’s house, the sky had started to darken. There would be no use trying to investigate further tonight. 

Ever-astute, Jaskier asked, “What did you figure out?” 

Geralt hoped he was wrong, but the dread building in his gut told him otherwise. “The cup we found at the crime scene—the one with the potion in it? It was intended for Selah.”

It didn’t make any sense. He assumed Aleyn had to be the one who’d put the potion in Selah’s cup, so why was she fine while he rested, sick in the temple? And how had the rest of the town gotten cursed when most of the victims had fallen ill while he was unconscious? Was someone else using the same potion to infect the town, and if so then why? But worst of all, their culprit lay in his sickbed with no answers to give.

Picking apart the clues wouldn’t help him find anything new, not when he was tired and couldn’t investigate the crime scene until tomorrow morning. It was time to call it for the day, even if he was loath to give up now when it felt like he was on the verge of solving the case.

Jaskier refused to let his spirits dampen; in fact, they seemed to be even higher now that there was new information to work with. He played with even more fervor despite the fact that almost no one was in the tavern to listen. Geralt had to admit he looked entrancing. Jaskier was wearing the powder blue doublet he’d worn to their wedding, and it matched his eyes perfectly. A wide smile lit up his face, and it seeped into each word he sang. His neck and face were flushed from exertion, and the color contrasted with the doublet’s low neckline nicely. He was beautiful. How had it taken Geralt so long to notice?

Almost no coins were given to him for what Geralt considered was his best performance yet, but Jaskier didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps performing for an audience—even one so small and lackluster—was just as much to soothe him as it was to help the struggling townsfolk. He happily led Geralt back to their room. He gently closed the door and put his lute down in one smooth motion, but Geralt had not moved further into the room so when he turned around again, Jaskier and Geralt’s faces were only a foot apart.

Geralt was filled with the overwhelming urge to kiss Jaskier. How would his songs taste against Geralt’s lips? If Jaskier seemed so willing to be this close to Geralt already, perhaps he’d be willing to go a step further. Geralt leaned in a little closer until they were breathing as one. He looked at Jaskier’s lips and then met his gaze, a silent invitation. Jaskier’s eyes burned a radiant blue, and it was only now that Geralt realized how gorgeous hope looked on him.

Jaskier surged forward, closing the gap between them eagerly. The kiss was passionate. It was better than anything Geralt had experienced before. He could taste a bit of salt from all the exertion of Jaskier’s earlier performance, as well as the ale they’d both had. His very chest buzzed, and it was like he could sense all of Jaskier’s joy, the same joy he felt echoed back to him.

After a moment, Jaskier pulled away. His lips were a bit redder, and his flush hadn’t gone down. With a triumphant smile, he said, “I’ve been waiting to do that since the day I saw you.” The idea that Jaskier had loved him, even just a bit, since he’d first laid eyes on Geralt created a heady feeling in him. It sounded unlikely, but he could unpack that later.

Then, Jaskier blinked. It was languid, like Jaskier was fighting against his own body. “Geralt, I don’t feel so good,” he slurred. Suddenly, it was as if all strength had drained out of him, and he slumped forward. Geralt caught him without a thought, instead trying to figure out what was happening. With mounting horror, he realized the buzzing he’d felt against his chest was his medallion as it hummed a warning that magic was nearby.

Jaskier’s eyes slipped shut. “No!” Geralt shouted as he shook him. “Don’t fall asleep, Jaskier!” But it was too late. Geralt stood there a minute longer, cradling Jaskier’s limp form close to him. Finally, he broke out of his stupor enough to move Jaskier to the bed.

Once he was arranged properly, Geralt got a good look at Jaskier. This was by far the worst case of the curse yet. In only a minute or two, Jaskier had taken on a deathly pallor. It didn’t look like he was breathing, his chest staying entirely still. Geralt held a dagger under his nose but only the faintest amount of air clouded the blade. His pulse was sluggish, far slower than a human’s should be. This wasn’t a peaceful sleeping curse, this was a corpse waiting to make its final transition to the afterlife.

Geralt was stuck in place, torn between what to do. He had to find a cure now —the next victims from the curse really might die instead of simply falling asleep, and who knew if Jaskier’s condition could worsen—but he wouldn’t be able to do anything in the middle of the night. Geralt could feel the curse working its way through his system as well. If it weren’t for his quick healing, he might very well be in the same situation as Jaskier. As it was, he could feel a fog settling over his brain, and his limbs were heavier and took longer to respond. He feared that if he went to bed now, he really wouldn’t wake up again. He did need to pass the time quickly, however, because waiting until the sun rose would drive him insane.

It was unnerving to see Jaskier so still. The logical part of Geralt’s brain knew that Jaskier’s condition was currently stable, but the rest of him panicked every time he saw what looked like a corpse. Instead of meditating on the floor like he normally would, Geralt lay down next to Jaskier. He didn’t dare touch him, too worried that when he did, the skin would feel cool and bloated, but the mere presence of Jaskier in the same bed quelled his fears a little. It was a light meditation, easy to pull out of if he sensed Jaskier’s health declining, but it helped pass the time quicker.

As soon as the world first started to lighten, Geralt was out of bed and running to the crime scene. His eyes threatened to shut permanently, and a deep exhaustion plagued him, but Geralt did his best to ignore it as he made his way to the well. 

The cup was still where he’d left it, in nearly the same position as it had been found. It must have been the one Selah threw. The facts weren’t lining up, so Geralt started from the beginning and rechecked everything again. He picked up the cup, sniffing the faint remaining scent of the potion. After a week, there was barely anything left, but Geralt tracked it with single-minded focus. There was the slightest trail left, and he followed it desperately. He tried to picture Selah throwing the cup at Aleyn. Based on where the cup had ended up, it was safe to assume Aleyn had stood with his back to the well. Geralt could smell the potion-laced wine on the ground, all the way up to the well. Tracking it further, he realized it went all the way up the stone siding of the well. His stomach dropped. With numb fingers and heavy limbs, Geralt pulled up a bucket of water and tentatively sniffed it.

There was the faintest whiff of the potion.

Geralt dropped the bucket, and it fell back into the well with a splash. He felt even more lightheaded and sat down before his legs could give out. There hadn’t been a mysterious culprit poisoning each victim individually. When Selah had thrown the cup, the wine got into the well and while it would have been greatly diluted, a week of drinking the tainted water was more than enough to make up for that. The closest fresh body of water was miles from the town, so everyone got their water from the well. They were all cursed, waiting for the activator to put them under.

But what could have activated it? Geralt had only started to feel the effects of the curse after he kissed Jaskier, but he doubted it was as simple as that. There were plenty of people in town that had kissed with no problem, and Selah was unaffected when she would have had the strongest dose of the potion. There had to be something more to it.

Aleyn was his best chance at figuring things out. Since he wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon, Geralt went with the next best option: breaking into his house. 

Aleyn’s house was deep in the woods, but luckily it didn’t stray too far from the path. Breaking in was no problem, and Geralt could have sobbed in relief when he saw a recipe for a potion right in the open on a large table. It was surrounded by all of the ingredients Aleyn had used and hadn’t bothered to clean up. 

The potion itself wasn’t all that complicated. Right away, however, Geralt could see that it had not worked as intended. It was a love potion of sorts, although he had to admit it wasn’t one of those cheap ones that materialized feelings out of nowhere. Instead, it was supposed to be drunk by your target and when you kissed them, your love for them was mirrored back at you, thus creating genuine romantic feelings in them. Because the potion replicated your feelings for the target, they needed to be your one true love.

So what had gone wrong? Geralt scoured the recipe, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. It was only when he looked at the ingredients piled on the table that he realized a few of them were incorrect. Some of the flowers required for the spell needed a far nicer climate than the forest Aleyn lived in could provide, and it seemed he’d used a few local flowers that looked very similar instead. Based on the open foraging guide next to the potion, Geralt guessed Aleyn didn’t know his plants nearly as well as he should for a woodsman and had simply confused a few. 

Among the flowers, Geralt saw lavender and valerian. Aleyn must have accidentally found flowers that looked like the ones he’d needed for the potion, and those flowers happened to have sleep-inducing side effects. The wrong ingredients had twisted the outcome of the potion and on top of that enhanced the flowers’ properties until they were strong enough to send the victims into magic-induced comas.

Geralt just needed to figure out what the potion had actually done. If he had to guess, it must have switched things up so that when you kissed your true love, you were affected by the potion instead of the target, and you fell into a deep sleep thanks to the flowers. That would explain why some people had been able to kiss their spouses without any issue. Geralt thought about how affected he and Jaskier both were, and his heart fluttered a little at the implication.

With the potion recipe in front of him and all of the ingredients already gathered, Geralt could finally fix the problem. Thank the gods he’d been forced to spend hours learning to brew potions in his youth because Geralt knew exactly how to synthesize an antidote.

It took multiple hours to brew an antidote and fill every bottle Geralt could find. He drank one first and was relieved to feel the weariness lift off his shoulders like a literal weight being removed. He placed all of the bottles in a satchel and ran to the alderman’s house.

The door nearly broke off the hinges with how hard Geralt was knocking, but finally the alderman slammed the door open. He was clearly furious at Geralt, but he didn’t let him get a word in. Instead, Geralt said, “I’ve found a cure!” He took a few bottles for himself and shoved the satchel into the alderman’s hands.

“And why should I believe you?” the alderman asked, his eyes narrowing.

Geralt would have loved to smack him and be done with it but instead he growled out, “My husband fell ill. It seems his efforts paid off, because I’d rather see the town cured of disease than let it rot. Now take those to the chapel and start administering them to the victims. Then tell everyone else to drink from the well. It’ll protect them from getting the disease in the future.”

The alderman was obviously unhappy to be ordered around, but Geralt didn’t give him time to complain. He turned and left, hoping the alderman had enough sense to do what was right.

Geralt wanted nothing more than to cure Jaskier, but he knew there was something else he needed to take care of first. So, he ran to the well and poured two bottles of antidote in. After a minute of letting it settle, Geralt pulled up a bucket of water and tested it. The potion had been neutralized. There wasn’t enough antidote to give one to each person in town, but a drink from the well should keep them safe.

Finally, Geralt allowed himself to sprint to the tavern. He took the stairs three at a time and burst into their room. Jaskier didn’t even flinch at the noise. In fact, it looked like he hadn’t moved an inch since Geralt had placed him on the bed.

Geralt approached Jaskier slowly, almost like he was walking towards a wounded animal. He knelt on the bed and gently supported Jaskier’s head with one hand. Uncorking the bottle with his teeth, he let the antidote trickle into Jaskier’s mouth. When the bottle was empty, Geralt put it down and prayed.

Jaskier surged to life with a sputter. He coughed and breathed in deeply, violently. When he had settled down, he looked around with wide eyes. He only calmed when he saw Geralt still kneeling next to him.

“Wha?” was all he managed to get out.

“We were cursed,” Geralt explained. “I was able to fight it off and found a cure.”

Jaskier grinned like he’d always known Geralt would be able to fix the problem eventually. Then, his smile dipped a little. He groaned and said, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! I spent a whole week gathering material for a song and at the climax I fall asleep?”

Geralt huffed out a laugh. It looked like Jaskier was fine indeed. “I’ll tell you the longer version later, but first there’s something I’ve been meaning to do.”

“And what is that?” Jaskier asked.

“This.” Geralt closed the distance between them, planting a small kiss on Jaskier’s lips. Jaskier didn’t even seem surprised—the cheeky bastard—and immediately pulled Geralt in for a much longer one. It was a euphoric feeling, to know they could keep doing this forever without the threat of a curse looming over them. 

Hmm, forever. Geralt liked the sound of that.

The town had rejoiced at the curse finally being lifted. They barely even sneered at Geralt when they saw him, and Jaskier performed an especially rousing set of songs well into the night. They went to bed that night with no fear, confident they’d wake up the next day.

Morning came, and Geralt was ready to leave. Now that the quarantine had officially been lifted, he felt more restless than ever before. His fingers itched to swing his sword at something, and he preferred it to be a monster. It seemed Jaskier had the same idea as his bags were packed without Geralt having to say anything.

They walked out of the town together, even if Geralt didn’t think the townsfolk cared about their marriage façade anymore. They had gone back to hating him, making it clear they wanted him gone quicker than he was already leaving. No one offered up payment for finding a cure. Geralt didn’t ask for one; leaving this terrible town was reward enough.

Geralt and Jaskier walked through the town gates and onto the main road in silence. They hadn’t talked about their future plans, or the relationship forming between them. Finally, they reached the first fork in the road. Geralt had heard of a monster contract to the left. Oxenfurt was to the right.

“Well, I’m heading this way,” Geralt said as he indicated the left path.

Jaskier made a show of mulling over his options. “You know, I think I might join you.”

Geralt tried to hide how his chest soared at the thought. “Really?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

“Why of course!” Jaskier said with an impish grin. “You still haven’t told me exactly how the curse was lifted. The people need to hear the song of the heroic bard that saved the day! With the help of his husband, of course.”

“Of course,” Geralt said with a laugh. “And I suppose you’ll make me listen to it?” Secretly, he was thrilled at the thought of having Jaskier serenade him with a song written for him, but it was best not to let Jaskier know that. He suspected Jaskier would make it big someday, and he needed Geralt to keep his ego manageable.

“Oh you’ll get a private performance,” Jaskier promised. “Now let’s get on with it. No need to be standing here all day.” Jaskier started marching down the left path, strumming a few experimental chords on his lute.

Perhaps being married to Jaskier would be a bit insufferable at times, but Geralt thought he was willing to suffer through it anyway. After all, what were husbands for?