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Once, Ciri, a princess of Cintra, was immersed in the joy of reading. Her childhood was a tapestry of tutors and curiosity, contrasting her current reality as a witcher-in-training, where she is constantly pushed to her physical and mental limits, honing her skills in combat and magic. Now, her days are consumed by these demanding tasks, leaving her yearning for the leisurely pursuits of her past. This longing, shared by many who have experienced a shift in life's pace, resonates with Ciri.
When Ciri does manage to steal a moment with a book, it's typically related to her witcher training—detailed accounts of monsters and magical teachings, sometimes supplemented by Yennefer's guidance.
However, today was an exception. In Kear Morhen, a storm brewed on the horizon, its dark clouds threatening to unleash their fury. Sensing the impending danger, Geralt insisted she take a training break. With time on her hands, Ciri found herself in the library, drawn to a book of fairy tales. The tales, filled with magic, adventure, and moral lessons, starkly contrasted the harsh realities of her training.
Some stories were familiar from her childhood, evoking memories of simpler times. Yet, what intrigued Ciri most was the uncanny resemblance between characters in these tales and a newcomer at the keep, Jaskier. With his enigmatic qualities, such as his mysterious past and unusual abilities, Jaskier was a puzzle that Ciri couldn't resist. His presence sparked Ciri's curiosity, drawing parallels with fairy tale archetypes. It could be because they were both outsiders, or maybe it was something more.
Jaskier, Geralt's bard friend, puzzled Ciri. Despite lacking combat prowess or obvious magical abilities, he held a unique place at Kear Morhen. Geralt valued his presence, though the reasons remained unclear to Ciri.
Recently, Ciri realized that Jaskier might be the closest thing to a real-life fairy tale character she had encountered. He was basically like a Princess from a fairy tale, even more than her, that actual Princess.
It was mid-afternoon when Ciri entered the grand hall, her eyes immediately drawn to the scene before her. Eskel, Coen, and Lambert were engrossed in a game of Gwent at one table, their cards scattered across the surface. Across the room, Yennefer was sipping what appeared to be wine, her eyes flicking occasionally toward the game. The air was filled with their banter and the clinking of glasses, creating a lively atmosphere.
However, the strangest part of the scene was Geralt sitting calmly at another table while Jaskier braided his hair.
“What are you two doing?” Ciri asked, her voice tinged with confusion.
“Isn’t it great? Geralt’s letting me braid his hair again,” Jaskier replied, a smile lighting up his face. “He used to let me do this always on the path. It's a small act of trust and vulnerability that Geralt is showing, a sign of their deepening friendship and mutual respect.
“Braids keep hair out of the face; makes work easier,” Geralt grumbled, trying to appear indifferent as if the braiding were merely a practical necessity.
Everyone could see through his facade. It was clear Geralt was indulging Jaskier to make him happy, a gesture that speaks volumes about their relationship. This display of affection, even amid their rugged world, can evoke a sense of warmth.
“How you got him to agree, I’ll never understand,” Lambert said, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I can do you next,” Jaskier offered with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I might even find some flowers to add.”
“No way, bard,” Lambert replied, waving his hands defensively. “You may have gotten Geralt, but you’re not getting me.”
“You’re no fun,” Jaskier pouted, draping himself over Geralt's shoulder. “Besides, it was easy to convince Geralt. He might act like a big bad wolf but is a big softy.”
“Shut up, bard,” Geralt whispered, though his voice had a hint of affection.
Ciri watched the exchange with amusement. Taming a beast, just like in a fairy tale, she thought. Geralt wasn’t a wolf with giant teeth, but he certainly could sometimes sometimes act like one. Seeing him sit still long enough for Jaskier to braid his hair only confirmed her theories about the bard's unique influence over him.
Lil Bleater was screaming again. For such a small body, the goat sure loved to scream, and you had to watch out for your ankles if Lil Bleater was nearby. The screaming itself wasn't unusual. What caught Ciri's attention was that Jaskier was having a full-blown conversation with the goat.
"Yes, yes, I know," Jaskier said, carrying a bucket of feed for all the animals. He had agreed earlier to help Eskel care for the animals around Kaer Morhen. "I know you like apples, but I'm afraid none are available to you."
"How do you know he wants apples?" Ciri asked, curiosity piqued. By now, she had assumed that Lil Bleater screamed just for the sake of it, not for any particular reason.
"Well, he told me so," Jaskier replied, picking up the goat. "In a very rude manner, I must say." For a moment, it looked like Jaskier was scolding Lil Bleater.
"He told you?" Ciri's head tilted slightly, questioning what the bard had just said.
Jaskier paused, looking around to ensure no one else was nearby. "Alright, but you can’t tell anyone," he whispered.
Ciri leaned in closer, eager to hear the big secret.
"I can talk to animals," Jaskier explained.
"You can understand what all animals are saying to you?" Ciri's eyes widened in shock.
"The same as you and I are talking," Jaskier confirmed with a smile, setting the goat down. Once on the ground, Lil Bleater didn't take long to start running away. His ability to communicate with animals, a gift he had possessed since childhood, was a secret he guarded closely. It was a part of him that made him feel connected to the world in a way that others couldn't understand.
"Why don't you want me to tell anyone?" Ciri questioned as they started walking back inside.
"It's something I could always do since I was a kid," Jaskier explained. "You learn pretty quickly how people can label you as crazy for that."
"Does Geralt know?" Ciri asked.
"No, it's not that I’m hiding it from him, but it just never comes up," Jaskier said. "Can you imagine how jealous he'd be if I could talk to Roach and he couldn't?"
Ciri burst into laughter at the thought of a jealous Geralt. The idea of Jaskier being able to talk to Roach and Geralt, not knowing, was just another way Jaskier seemed like a character from a fairy tale. The irony of the situation, with the mighty Geralt being left out of the conversation, was not lost on Ciri.
Kear Morhen had been shrouded in panic for the past few days. It all began when Geralt discovered Jaskier collapsed in the hallway, a small nail with a prick of blood protruding from the wall nearby. What was strange, though, was that Geralt couldn't seem to wake Jaskier up.
Vesemir and Yennefer examined him for signs of illness, but Jaskier didn't respond. There were, however, hints of a curse. After meticulously inspecting every inch of Kear Morhen, they found no indication of any breakout. Upon closer examination, Yennefer concluded that the curse was old.
"It’s like the curse is tied into Jaskier's soul," Yennefer explained to Geralt, sitting beside the motionless bird. Since this began, Geralt had practically refused to leave Jaskier's side.
"Who would be capable of doing this?" Geralt demanded. Whoever it was, he intended to make them pay dearly.
"I’m not sure," Yennefer replied, shaking her head. "A sleeping curse is a rather simple spell but is more complicated. For it to be this tangled with Jaskier, someone would have to curse him as a baby."
"What kind of person would curse a baby?" Eskel asked as he entered the room with Vesemir and Ciri. Vesemir had been working on potions that might wake Jaskier up and had asked Eskel to come. Ciri, worried sick, had also come along, desperate to see Jaskier. Despite Vesemir’s efforts, none of the potions worked, and Jaskier remained asleep.
Geralt knew Jaskier had a talent for making people want to curse him; it happened so frequently that one might think Jaskier was cursed to be cursed. But for someone to curse him as a baby? That was unexpected.
"Yen, I need you to open a portal to Lettenhove," Geralt requested. To solve this mystery, he must return to where it all started.
"Where?" Yennefer asked, confusion crossing her face as she tilted her head. Geralt mirrored her confusion, as it seemed like Yennefer was looking at him as if he had asked her to grow a second head.
"Lettenhove, it's where Jaskier is from," Geralt explained, expecting clarity.
"There’s no such place as Lettenhove," Vesemir pointed out.
"No, there has to be," Geralt insisted. Returning to Jaskier's hometown was his only lead, and if he didn’t know where it was, it felt hopeless.
"Why would he lie about where he's from?" Ciri asked.
"Maybe it has something to do with why he was cursed," Eskel suggested.
"Then what are we supposed to do?" Geralt finally asked, his eyes never leaving Jaskier's face.
"Well, there is one more thing we could try. It's a bit unorthodox," Vesemir explained. He had read about something like this happening to a young princess long ago. "True love's kiss."
With a swift, determined movement, Yennefer spun around to face Geralt upon hearing the plan involving a true love's kiss. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she demanded, her foot tapping impatiently. "Get kissing."
Geralt's gaze darted nervously between Yennefer and Jaskier's still form. With gentle deliberation, he ran his thumb through Jaskier's hair, his touch tracing the bard's lips. "Jaskier loves many, nearly everyone he meets. He doesn't love me," Geralt almost stammered, his voice betraying a hint of uncertainty.
"He's followed you for decades," Yennefer pointed out sharply.
"For his stories," Geralt argued back, feeling the weight of everyone's expectations in the room.
"If that were true, he could have chosen anyone," Yennefer countered firmly. "But he chose you. So, as I said before, get to kissing."
"What's the worst that could happen?" Eskel interjected a hint of humour that did little to ease the tension.
Ignoring the mounting pressure around him, Geralt focused solely on Jaskier, absorbing every detail of his beloved bard. "I hope this works. I need you to wake up," Geralt whispered, leaning down to press his lips against Jaskier's.
One second, two seconds, three seconds passed as Geralt withdrew, his eyes fixed anxiously on Jaskier. Then, unexpectedly, Jaskier drew in a deep, dramatic breath.
"Geralt," Jaskier murmured, his eyes fluttering open. "What happened?" The last thing he remembered was exploring the ancient keep and, against his better judgment, touching something he shouldn't have.
"You're awake?" Geralt's smile broke through his relief, and he leaned in again to pepper Jaskier's face with kisses, each reassuring that his bard was truly awake. "That's all that matters."
"Let's give these two some space," Vesemir suggested knowingly, nodding towards Geralt and Jaskier, who were now wrapped in a moment of undeniable joy and affection.
As Ciri was gently ushered out of the room, her mind raced with a flurry of thoughts. It felt like she had stepped into a page torn from a fairy tale — the sleeping princess awakened by a kiss. If anyone were to ask Ciri, she would declare that's precisely what had just transpired.
Meanwhile, Geralt and Jaskier found themselves confined within their quarters for the better part of a week. Despite the close quarters, Geralt occasionally slipped out to procure food or check on Ciri, much to her initial protests. She insisted she was fine, but Geralt was adamant about ensuring her well-being, and Jaskier was surprisingly agreeable to the arrangements.
By the fourth day of their self-imposed seclusion, Yennefer and Vesemir had made their way to their door, curiosity burning brightly in their eyes. They sought answers regarding the curse that had befallen Jaskier — who had cast it upon him as an infant and, more intriguingly, why he had fabricated the existence of Lettenhove.
The atmosphere within the walls crackled with unanswered questions, each adding a layer of complexity to the already mysterious circumstances surrounding Jaskier's life.
Later that day, Yennefer sat down with Ciri to reveal the answer to the lingering mystery of Jaskier's curse. According to Jaskier, the curse originated from a moment of social snobbery during infancy. Born into a family that loved flushing their wealth and status, Jaskier's parents had thrown an extravagant name-day celebration, inviting everyone of importance except one particular woman.
This woman, possessing knowledge of magic and perhaps a touch of vindictiveness, felt slighted by the exclusion. In response, she cursed Jaskier: that one day, he would prick his fingers and fall into a death-like slumber. To protect himself, Jaskier had grown adept at avoiding potential hazards that could cause such a prick, always ensuring he wore a thimble when necessary.
However, Kaer Morhen, with its ancient stone walls and occasional disrepair, presented unforeseen challenges. Despite Jaskier's precautions, he found himself in a perilous situation where a loose nail nearly led to the fulfillment of the curse. Fortunately, thanks to Geralt's swift actions and Jaskier's resilience, they were able to thwart the curse's intent.
In the aftermath of this ordeal, Geralt and Jaskier experienced a profound moment, described by some as True's love kiss. This event marked a turning point in their relationship and provided closure to the unspoken questions that had weighed heavily upon them.
Now armed with the truth behind Jaskier's curse, the air around Kaer Morhen seemed a bit lighter, the shadows of uncertainty dispelled by the clarity of understanding.
Finally, an eternity later, Geralt and Jaskier emerged to join the others for dinner. As they entered the dining hall, they walked hand in hand, their expressions a mix of contentment and a hint of mischief. There was an undeniable sweetness in their closeness, a bond that had deepened during their time together in their shared quarters.
The rumours among the inhabitants of Kaer Morhen had been swirling, fueled by the sounds that occasionally emanated from their room. Geralt and Jaskier's interactions had not been subtle, their presence and activities speaking volumes to anyone within earshot.
Yet, despite the knowing glances and whispered gossip surrounding them, Geralt and Jaskier seemed unperturbed. Their connection was palpable, a testament to the bond forged through shared experiences and newfound understanding.
As they settled at the dinner table, the atmosphere seemed to hum with curiosity and admiration. Once an unlikely pair, the bard and the witcher now stood together with quiet confidence, their journey together revealing depths and nuances that had surprised even themselves.
At that moment, amidst the clinking of utensils and murmurs of conversation, Geralt and Jaskier's unspoken declaration echoed through the hall, a testament to the resilience of love found in unexpected places.
It was Eskel's turn to serve dinner, the hearty aroma of stew wafting through the air as he deftly distributed food bowls. From Vesemir to Lambert, then to Yennefer, Ciri, and finally to Geralt, each serving was accompanied by a simple "Here you are," with Eskel adding a playful twist by appending "Princess" to the end of the sentence.
When Eskel reached Jaskier, his usual routine was momentarily interrupted. "Here you go," he began, hesitating momentarily before posing his question. "Am I supposed to call you Your Highness?"
Jaskier's response was laced with self-deprecating humour. "No, it's fine. I haven't been anything close to royalty in years," he replied with a smile, accepting the bowl. Yet, his casual remark triggered a revelation in Ciri's mind, like the final puzzle piece falling into place.
"I knew it!" Ciri exclaimed, her words drawing the attention of everyone in the room. "You're one of those princesses from the fairy tale."
A whirlwind of questions swirled through Ciri's thoughts, each one clamouring for attention. What fairy tale was Jaskier from? How did he end up here? Would they ever need to send him back? But before she could voice her inquiries, the room erupted into laughter, diverting the conversation differently.
"Um, well, you got the fairy part right," Jaskier responded nervously, rubbing the back of his neck absently.
"And the princess part," Lambert interjected, earning an annoyed glance from Jaskier.
"I was a prince, but it hardly counts," Jaskier retorted.
"Wait, you're a prince?" Ciri's eyes widened in surprise, her memory briefly flashing back to tales of Jaskier's nobility, though she had always assumed he was merely of aristocratic lineage. "If you're a prince, how..."
Jaskier's gaze flickered around the room before settling on Geralt, silently seeking reassurance. In response, Geralt offered a small squeeze of Jaskier's hand, a silent affirmation of support.
"It would be better if I showed you," Jaskier replied slowly, removing a ring from his finger. A soft, warm glow emanated from him before dissipating, leaving Ciri momentarily speechless.
What stood before her now was a transformation beyond her wildest imagination. Two small horns protruded from Jaskier's head, his once brown hair now adorned with highlights of blonde, his ears elongated into elegant points reminiscent of elves. Delicate white freckles dotted his face, his eyes shimmering with a blue hue rivalling the sky. But perhaps most astonishing of all were the wings that unfurled from his back, a testament to his otherworldly nature.
"You're a fairy," Ciri breathed in awe.
"Fae. 'Fairy' is just the term humans have given us in their tales," Jaskier corrected gently, readjusting his glamour and seeking refuge closer to Geralt's side. "I'm Prince Julian of the Spring Court," he introduced himself, a hint of vulnerability softening his features. In response, Geralt leaned in, kissing Jaskier's temple tenderly.
In that moment, Ciri's perception of reality shifted. She realized that even if her assumptions about fairy tales were misguided, a kernel of truth was buried within the stories. As she observed Geralt and Jaskier, their bond palpable and their love undeniable, she couldn't help but wonder if perhaps happily ever afters were more than just mere fantasies.
In the warm glow of the dining hall, amidst laughter and camaraderie, Ciri contemplated the possibility that, in a world filled with magic and wonder, the concept of a happily ever after might not be so far-fetched after all.