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The dagger smelled like hot ash and sulfur.
It lay among the scattered leaves and dirt, inches from the hand of the bandit that wielded it. The group of them quite literally fell out of the trees and descended upon them in a flurry of chaos confusion. Geralt had no problem dispatching most of them, even trusted that Jaskier could handle the two that broke off to gang up on the seemingly defenseless bard.
Blood was already in the air and with it stunk alongside old sweat, piss, and some homebrewed alcohol. So once Geralt ran his sword through the last of them he was surprised to see Jaskier curled in on himself. His brows pinched tightly together, grimacing as his form steadily listed to one side. Then he was falling with the weight of the world.
Geralt ran to him, the dead men beneath their feet brushed aside. The dagger was pulled out and maybe that was better because now he could smell Jaskier’s blood burned with the sulfur. He could smell whatever the dagger was tainted with.
Fucking poison. And they were in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, too far away from any civilization let alone an apothecary or wisewoman that could help.
Jaskier coughed, “Wow, well that hurts like a bitch.”
Geralt lunged for their dropped bags, rifling through them with stumbling fingers, “Shut up.”
He needed their medical bag. He needed his potions. If he diluted them, they might be able to delay the poison from progressing. And, while it’d hurt like a bitch, he’d have to sew Jaskier without any alcohol because he wasn’t sure how White Gull would interact with whatever the dagger was coated with—
“It’s no use, hafta to get to it before–” Jaskier starts to crawl in the direction of the treeline, almost desperately, muttering deliriously under his breath about, "No time, have to get it before—"
Jaskier hisses as he shuffles along the forest floor and that breaks Geralt out of his reverie in time to see Jaskier still attempting to sit up, wound in his side steadily oozing blood, that starts to look less like blood and more like ink, seeping into his doublet and pants.
Geralt drops the bag and he tries to pull Jaskier back and keep him still. Moving will only elevate his heart rate and that’ll only make his blood flow faster and that’ll—
The poison’s already been in his body long enough, and it’s not like a snake bite.
The poison will get to his heart if he keeps writhing around if it hasn't already. And how the fuck is he still alive? Geralt could smell whatever disgusting shit they slathered that rusted dagger with.
There was probably a shard lodged in Jaskier's side on top of the already worrying poison. Why not drop internal bleeding in the mix of imminent death?
While Geralt panicked trying to settle Jaskier into a better position, the bard managed to at last reach whatever the fuck he searching for and—
"Really Jaskier?!"
The bard, true to his nature, pulled out his fucking lute and started plucking at it. One hand clutched to his side.
"Geralt please just–"
An eerie twang rang through the clearing, sharp and off key.
Geralt winced, reaching forward to move Jaskier's hands from the strings. Splattered with tiny flecks of blood—
"No, Geralt- fuck- I have to–"
"Jaskier please let me help–"
"I-I need to–" another pitiful twang, less sharp but all the more echoing in the silence, rings out from the lute.
Damn, this bard. If Geralt lets this go on any longer, the witcher will end up killing him over his own dramatic stupidity, before the poison ever got the chance to set in.
Geralt reached forward again, "Jaskier–"
One final twang, louder than the first two, rings through. The sound seems to keep going, echoing off the trees, reverberating off of Geralt’s ear drums and Jaskier slumps into the dirt. The bard still clutching his side, panting from exertion.
Geralt wants to yell at him, probably go back for the abandoned dagger and finish the bandit’s job, for something so asinine. But Jaskier continues to pant for long moments between them and says through stuttering lips, “There, that ought to do it.”
Geralt huffs in annoyance still fumbling with their bags, ignoring the shake in his hands, “Do what?”
Jaskier lets his head fall back into the patchy grass underneath them, he takes a breath with effort, “Now we can–”
Then the ground begins to shake and Geralt can’t think of how this day could get any more fucking worse.
The trees shiver from the rumble and birds scatter from their perches in fear as the thumping comes closer to them. Each thump getting faster and faster, Geralt can feel it in his knees on the ground.
Geralt clenches his jaw.
Now? Of all times? Now? Getting ambushed just wasn't enough but Destiny saw it fit to dump another problem.
Geralt shifted up from his knees, abandoning the medicine, lunging back for his swords. It’d do no good against whatever was coming. And as ideas of what it could be ran through Geralt’s head passed through the thumping grew louder and louder until it was almost on top of them–
When it stopped.
Geralt turned to the tree line, silver sword in hand, could feel the presence of the creature. It was big. Looming as large as the trees themselves. He still couldn’t tell exactly what it was–it didn’t come that close. But its steps were soft now, as if trying to sneak up on prey that was already aware it was caught.
Then the first step emerged through the brush, and towered over them both. Geralt cursed at himself because he was too far from Jaskier. The bard lay prone in the middle of the clearing right in the path of the leshen, staring right at him.
Before Geralt could move, the leshen crouched over Jaskier’s prone form. Silent as the grave, peering its eyeless deer skull along Jaskier’s body. The bard, Geralt hoped, was either scared into stillness.
He prayed to any fucking god willing to hear that he have a chance to check.
Geralt was frozen as the leshen continued to stare, its giant head swaying back and forth. The creature hadn’t spared him a glance, and the witcher started to worry as the time stretched on if it even cared that a witcher was in its forest. Wondered, as he continued to think in the seconds turned minutes, if they’re earlier scuffle was distraction enough to lead the beast here.
Geralt took a step forward, boot crunching dry leaves and soil as the bard breathed out a quiet groan.
Jaskier was going to die , he needed to move. But if he moved too fast the beast wouldn't hesitate to trample over him in the clash of battle.
Before Geralt could come up with anything, the leshen swiftly reached out and picked the bard up. Jaskier's head lolling to the side, blood dripping down his middle into the dirt below.
“Jaskier–!”
The creature stood with all its height over them and stepped back into the tree line. Geralt dashed forward to follow them. The bard’s arm slipped from the leshen’s hold and dangled, dripping blood onto the floor as wind swirled around them, grass and leaves sprouting from the epicenter of where the leshen stood. Until light finally burst through the canopy above as the wind picked up faster and faster–leaves and other debris getting caught up in the current. The leshen turned and Geralt saw Jaskier’s mouth move–
Geralt—
Geralt flinched as the roar of the wind and the blinding light combined and peaked to push him back and he stumbled. He blinked hard to push through it, but the second it was there pounding in his ears, it was gone.
He looked up into the trees but saw nothing but canopy. He rushed forward to the spot the leshen and the bard vanished.
Left behind was nothing but a neat ring of bright colorful mushrooms.
An hour passed.
Then two.
Then five.
Then as the sun slowly started to dip between the trees painting the forest floor in a dusky orange glow, Geralt knew that there was no point in waiting any longer. Still he stared at the ring of mushrooms that sat in the dirt. The grass that popped up underneath the mushrooms was dotted with little splatters of blood that seeped out of the bard before he blinked out of existence. And, madly, Geralt tried to blink back the bard, the leshen, anything. Maybe if he kept blinking, he’d blink them back.
But the sun continued to set and in the stillness, the smell of the bandits death permeated the air. Geralt and Jaskier’s horses started to wander around the empty space. Even coming to sniff at the mushroom ring.
Geralt couldn't seem to breathe. He still couldn’t believe what he saw. He blinked and both the bard and leshen vanished. Nothing but mushrooms…and fresh grass. A mimicry of spring surrounded by the death of autumn.
2 more months.
They planned to make it to Kaer Morhen in two months just before first frost.
Jaskier wanted to stay ahead of the snow he was sure would slow their path. Geralt figured in the spirit of saving time, they could find a shortcut off the main road.
They were 2 months away from Kaer Morhen.
Geralt wrote ahead as a courtesy for the human he was allowing into their home. Requested to have his room aired out. Requested to provide an extra room if the bard saw fit to make his own space instead of sharing.
Destiny really knew when to rear her ugly head.
He could no longer feel the ground under his knees, taste the blood in the air, hear the wind pick up and smell the rain on the horizon. All he could see was the circle of grass surrounded by mushrooms and the image blurred every time he blinked.
A small part of him feared he’d miss Jaskier pop back into existence if he looked away. He didn’t want to keep staring, but feared just one glance was all it would take and the mushrooms would too disappear into nothing.
Still the clearing grew darker, and his eyes started to burn. He finally shut his eyes, standing on sore shaking legs.
Funnily enough, the mushroom circle never moved. But nothing else changed either.
He took a breath and stood and stepped over the circle into the treeline behind it. He could hear a stream just a ways off, the gurgling coming closer as he trudged forward through the brush. The numbness in his legs turned into prickling pain as he marched onward.
He bent down to take a long drink. The cool water easing his dry throat. He took another handful and wiped his face. It dripped down into his shirt, almost unnoticeable in the dark of the fabric. But it must have had blood on it because the smell of it was back, probably rehydrated by the water. Some of it had to be the robbers'... most of it had to have been Jaskier's.
He took another breath because breathing was better than choking on the smell of blood. Oddly he could still smell the leshen. Could still smell Jaskier through the blood smell. If he stopped moping he could track them both and find and kill the bastard.
And if he was too late, he could at least bury Jaskier.
The thought made another breath stutter in his chest. He took another long drink from the stream. It settled heavily in his too empty stomach.
They were jumped in the early morning while Geralt went to hunt them breakfast.
Jaskier had tried to stall and wait for Geralt to come back. He had made it back just before the bard got his throat slit for talking too much. There were too many of them for just the bard, so he chose speed over accuracy. He didn’t have the time to rethink which was better.
He killed them all so fast. Too fast and not fast enough because by then Jaskier had already been stabbed and Geralt was stupid enough to not pay attention and he was most likely already long dead now because Geralt just kept sipping stream water and couldn't get his shit together—
Track him. Them. Both of them.
He took another deep breath, slower this time and–
And got a lungful of nothing but the bard.
Fuck. He'd gone insane.
He took another breath. No blood, just bard.
He sighed and tried again only to get the same smell. Coming from behind him. Back toward their half-packed camp. He turned and—
Jaskier was right there.
And he looked terrified . Geralt didn't know why–he didn't care. Jaskier was right there! Geralt levered himself to stand, so fast his head rushed. He took a step toward him—Jaskier took a quick step away.
Geralt's brows pinched.
He took another breath.
He smelled Jaskier…and fear .
He took another step. Jaskier took another back.
Geralt wondered if something was behind him. Maybe the leshen. He couldn't risk taking his eyes off Jaskier though to check behind him. It didn’t seem to make any sense that Jaskier would be afraid. Geralt also wondered if his mind had finally gone, and this was the last straw.
He raised his hand out to the bard, "Jaskier?"
The bard whimpered, pulling his shoulders up and falling in on himself, taking another step away from him.
"Jaskier, how–?"
The bard put his hands in front of him, placating, "Wait, Geralt please–"
Geralt stepped forward quickly, three long strides. His sword gripped slightly in his hand, "Jaskier–" when more than fear and Jaskier... he smelt magic.
He paused.
Jaskier was almost never afraid. He was cautious in the face of monsters. He was stupid in the face of men. He barely flinched at bumps in the night. The bard once told him that he’s had a long time to stop being afraid of things, and now that he walked side by side with a witcher–he knew what to really be afraid of. Jaskier was almost never afraid. Especially when Geralt thought he should be.
Months, and if Geralt is willing to admit, years ago–Geralt thought the bard should be afraid of him.
And he never was.
So now…
Of course it was too good to be true. Because Jaskier was never afraid. Least of all of him.
Geralt's lips pressed into a thin line and he growled at the creature wearing Jaskier's skin. His face. His everything.
The fear scent spiked, "Geralt, wait–!"
Fuck that. He lunged forward pressing his sword into the creature’s throat, he watched the creature writhe and whimper. Good. He was already angry enough. Stoke the flames more.
"And tell me why I should! Give me one good reason not to run you through."
As much as he felt the burn of anger, this close to a mimicry of his bard eased the pain he felt before. This could be a way to find the bard, best not to kill the creature wearing his skin. But scaring it into speaking was a good enough plan to start with.
After all, it was still Jaskier's face he screamed into. And a part of him felt bad for being so angry at it, but then another part remembered the bard reaching for his lute while dying from a poisoned dagger so…
Geralt held the blade between them as the creature opened and closed its mouth, hesitant to speak.
Geralt was close enough to see more of this…mimic. A doppler? He could smell him and now there was no mistaking the chaos overlaying the familiar smell of Jaskier .
It was so close. Smelled just like Jaskier, but somehow it still got it wrong. The tinge of magic, ozone and metal, mixed with musk and expensive perfume–it couldn’t be Jaskier. The more he let himself examine the more he was sure the creature was a fake.
Maybe letting it speak would be a bad idea.
But guiltily, he wanted to hear the bard’s speak, even as mocking as “last words” could be. Anything to forget the whispers of his name on the bard’s dying lips.
"I can explain, I swear! Geralt please I didn't mean to scare you–Or summon that leshen. That was an accident. I’m not sure how long I was gone but I made sure to come back as fast as I could. I didn't want to leave. I swear, please Geralt, it's me. I promise!"
The creature was damn convincing.
Geralt narrowed his eyes, "You vanished into thin air."
"Jaskier" grimaced, "I had to get help."
Geralt grit his teeth, " I was helping you."
"Jaskier'' huffed, " Geralt... I was dying. Whatever that poison was, was lethal and would've killed you faster than it tried to kill me."
Geralt should really not be entertaining this farce, but the tension between his shoulder blades lessened with every word out of this false bard's mouth. So he continued, "You're already dead Jaskier."
The creature's brows rose to Jaskier's hairline, outrage and concern all at once. Whatever this thing was, it was disturbingly close to the real Jaskier.
"I am very much alive,” the mimic matched the bard’s indignance very well, “It takes much more than that to kill you, much less a being like me Geralt."
Geralt shook his head, "No. No, you're dead.” The mimic’s brows pinched and Geralt felt his chest tighten because he was going to have to kill this bard, fake or no.
“That leshen picked you up and vanished into nothingness and now something has stolen your face in an effort to taunt me,” his voice cracked but he continued to yell at the mimic, “Stolen your smell. Your body . Your likeness–and now…Now I'm just letting it string me along."
"Jaskier's" brows pinched, the hands gripping Geralt's bicep loosening as his body slumps into the tree.
"Geralt–"
Geralt felt himself slump into the creature, the grip on his sword slipping. His head hung staring at the bard’s shoulder, "I'm so sorry, Jask. I let you die and now I'm losing my mind talking to a mimic."
The creature stood with Geralt in the quiet for some time. Geralt took the moment trying to convince himself that he’d have to kill this creature. He couldn’t let it get away. But then it said, "You don't think I'm really here."
Geralt leaned forward. Inhaling more of the magic tainted scent. If he died, this might be the last he’ll get to see Jaskier. Maybe this creature would grant him that, tainted as it is.
"You're not."
"I am . Fuck! I–I should have told you years ago. I don't know why– no. No. I know why I didn't. But, I still should have told you."
Anything this creature could say–
"Geralt, do you know how the continent came to be?"
Geralt blinked. Odd question to jump too but... In for a coin, in for a crown.
"Yes."
"Then you know that as the spheres conjoined, creatures and other beings of all shapes and sizes sprang from the collision?"
Geralt sighed. This creature had better have a point, "Yes."
"Do you know which creatures oversaw the cataclysm?"
Geralt frowned. Oversaw? He thought back to the texts he poured over back in Kaer Morhen. Nothing in them ever referenced a creature overseeing the conjunction. It mentioned gods, sure. But not creatures. Only the times before the conjunction or during and the creatures thereof.
Stumped he shook his head, "No."
"Fae," “Jaskier” breathed, like it was a secret.
And it had to be. Fae Folk were as close to myth as the gods themselves.
"Fae?"
“Jaskier” nodded, "Yes."
Geralt had yet to move his sword from the creature's throat, slumped over as they were, "What does that have to do with you?"
The bard smiled, "I am but one Julian Alfred Pankratz in a long line of bastard men of the same name from a small Viscounty off the coast of Kaedwen.”
Geralt and Jaskier had spoken of his heritage the last time a notice followed them requesting his presence. Geralt nodded for the creature to continue.
“My family was not privy to...affairs of the otherworldly sort. My mother was only one of the female heirs that refused to feminize the name. And she waxed poetic about how she met my father one beautiful spring evening and they– danced the night away. Only, she was of course betrothed to another.”
Geralt raised an eyebrow. At least the creature was able to mimic Jaskier’s storytelling capabilities as well.
“You can imagine the stink her intended made on their wedding night to find her already with child. The debacle that transpired when they found out who, or rather what, my mother had me with..."
He took a breath, squaring his shoulders, "He was a fae archduke of the Springcourt."
Geralt didn't know how he's to take that piece of information, but before he could figure it out the bard continued.
"What makes matters worse, was to find that my mother was also part fae. But of the Summer court. And because of that–well it caused quite a stir. I was the product of the union with no court to claim. So I was shunned out and forced under a glamour. The glamour does nothing but force me to appear human. So I was really and truly shocked to find in the midst of pubescence being able to flick flowers and trees from nothing."
"Really, I hadn't thought much about it and I knew we were running out of time. That poison, whatever the hell it was, locked my jaw– "
That would’ve been the rust from the dagger–
"–and we needed help. I-I thought that whatever I summoned would take us both. I didn't mean to leave you alone, I swear."
The story itself wasn't all that convincing but the performance was...
"Say I believe... any of that. What's to say you haven't been lying just to kill me? How can I be sure you are what you say?"
The creature sighed heavily through its nose, looking as though it was pulling out the last card in its deck, "Geralt, fae can't lie. As much as a bastard I am, it physically pains me to do so."
Geralt called bullshit, "You do lie. You lie all the time."
Jaskier blushed, "Lies of perceived belief! Ugh- how do I explain it. Uh– the sky."
He– it pointed upwards.
"What of it?"
"Well we both know the sky is blue."
Geralt looked up and back at the not-bard, unconvinced and unimpressed.
Jaskier smirked, "But it isn't just blue. The color shifts and bends. Changes throughout the day and shifts throughout the year. Some days it's red as dirt. Some days it's blue as the sea. Some days it's as gray as Pegasus after a day of riding. Sometimes it black with tiny specks of white glowing through. And sometimes, maybe, streaked with the blessings of a rainbow. It's never constant. And they're all true in their own way. That is how the fae can bend their words. We can't lie . We can just choose which truth to tell and when."
Geralt wasn’t sure if he wanted to be convinced, "Hm."
Jaskier laughed and groaned at the same time, stressed as he scrambled to explain again, "It's like–ah, when I compare the ever present glint of your eyes to shimmering gold. Sharp enough to pierce any heart."
Geralt pursed his lips, and Jaskier laughed, "But you'd be the first to tell me they're piss yellow and to never compare to anything as flowery ever again."
"Hm."
"I may not agree with your comparison–but our statements hail from the same true constant. Your eyes."
Geralt sighed then, "So then I should I should ask you to lie?"
Jaskier grimaced, "I'd like it if you didn't."
And I'd like to believe you, Geralt thought.
Geralt strengthened his resolve. If all went to shit, this creature didn't have the strength to fight him anyway. Hope fluttered underneath his breast bone even as he picked up his sword to hold it to the bard’s throat, "Lie."
Jaskier sighed, brows pinched upward as if already in pain at the thought of it, "Let me tell the truth first! Two truths and one lie ought to do it, yes?"
Even with this façade, Geralt couldn’t say no to the bard, "Pick your truths wisely."
Jaskier huffed, licked his lips and rubbed his thumb across the tips of his pointer and middle fingers. Thinking through what he was to say before speaking.
Like he'd done this morning as he faux ordered breakfast between Rabbit aaannnndd… Rabbit .
"We met at a crappy as hell tavern in Posada. Horrible food. Horrible service. Horrible performance as well, if I recall."
"You were performing."
"And it was a shit show all the same,” he winked. “I sang it on purpose. Before you got there I'd run out of money and was hungry, so... I sung a shit song to get food thrown at."
Jaskier shrugged, "Not my proudest moment but, needs must."
Geralt narrowed his eyes, "One." Technically two…but Geralt wasn’t counting.
Jaskier took another deep breath to think again. Silence stretched between them. Geralt's sword still pressed into Jaskier's–not-Jaskier's neck.
"You spend more coin on your horse than yourself."
"That doesn't count–"
"And to make matters worse, you spend more on me than yourself as well. I notice when you plop what you call “well-used” boots in my lap. Or when you buy needle and thread that matches my outfits to mend them, whenever I stupidly trip or tumble into something. Or—"
Geralt felt his face heat, he wasn’t sure what the creature was capable of. Dopplers were versatile, and anything could read minds and could try to use the memory against him, "Two."
"Ah," Jaskier bit the inside of his cheek. His thumb, still rubbing circles into the tips of his fingers as he thought of his last statement.
Whether Geralt would commit to his threat was still up in the air but—
Jaskier took a steady breath, set his jaw and looked right into Geralt's yellow eyes.
"I hate you."
Geralt's eyes widened as Jaskier began to choke and cough. His head slamming into the tree as he tried to breathe through whatever was shuddering through him, blood started to drip from his nose when Geralt dropped his sword from the bard's throat.
"Stop!"
"I could never–"Jaskier choked. Voice raged and dry as blood spilled on his chin.
"Make it stop, Jaskier."
The bard chuckled as he coughed again. Spitting out what looked like a chunk of flesh from his lips, "Fuck- why did I say that? Of course I could never hate you Geralt." Then he muttered, "Why couldn't I say anything else? Something less dramatic."
Dramatic indeed. He dropped his sword and took the bard's face in his hands, "Jaskier."
Jaskier looked up in trepidation, "Please tell me you believe me. I'd rather not do that again but–"
"Don't! Don't–just," Geralt pulled Jaskier into his arms.
Fuck. Maybe they'd cut the Path short this year and head up the mountain early. He needed a break.
"Geralt?"
"I need a minute."
"I just want to know if–"
"Jaskier, I thought you died . Just–" and he could feel the tears break through, "Gods, just a minute. Two. Anything , please."
Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt's middle pulling them flush together, "Oh, darling. I'm right here I promise."
As if to emphasize, Jaskier started to rub his hands into Geralt's back. Letting their bodies slouch on the tree behind them.
Geralt dipped his head into the juncture of Jaskier's neck and shoulder. Refamiliarizing the smell. Jaskier mentioned a glamour.
"Why do you smell different if you look the same?"
Because frankly, while he believed Jaskier at this point, it never hurt to have all the bases covered.
"Oh! Well, I'm making myself look like I did before. I'm not sure you'd...I don't think you'd like to see it."
No, Geralt thought, he wouldn’t. But…
"Not yet."
Jaskier's eyes widened, "Yet?”
Geralt nodded, "Yet. Just–" he huffed, disbelieving. Tears still stinging his eyes, "You're here."
Jaskier nodded and brought his forehead to Geralt's, "I'm right here."
They stood there, leaned against one another in the quiet forest. Wind howling softly, with birds and other forest critters jumping from tree to tree.
Jaskier let out a shuddering breath, "Gods, I'm sorry Geralt. I'm so sorry. I never–"
"Shh– It's alright. You did what you had to. But, next time?"
Jaskier looked at him, eyes red and face blotchy.
Geralt huffed, "Next time, tell me."
Jaskier nodded earnestly, giggling as his forehead bounced against his, " Everything ! From here on out!"
He paused and back tracked, "Unless of course it might hurt or kill you, but other than that–then yes . Everything other than that."
Geralt chuckled and let his head fall back into Jaskier's shoulder, mumbling, "A leshen Jaskier? Really?"
Jaskier squawked, jerking in Geralt's hold but not pulling away, "It was very short notice and I doubt you'd liked the actual fae taking the both of us somewhere unknown so I went with something you knew. I didn't think it'd leave you behind!"
"Such a smart bard," he mocked.
Jaskier laughed into Geralt's hair, hugging him tighter, "Oh fuck off. Let's just be glad this didn't end in a completely horrible turn of events."
Geralt nodded. Taking another deep breath, the smell of Jaskier was familiar and yet. Sweat, perfume, natural musk, the bard's ever-present chamomile oil and lute varnish... all overlayed with the metallic tinge of magic. Less the tang of blood and more of freshly pressed metal. Something Geralt usually smelled on Eskel, now that he let himself analyze the smell more and more.
Today was a lot.
He was glad that it's over.
Epilogue + smut
Later, they gathered themselves to continue their journey. With a plan to stay on the main road and suffer the longer trip to Kaer Morhen.
Along the way to their belongings Jaskier asks if he’s still allowed to the keep. Given the circumstances.
Geralt wants to laugh, and after the day he’s had feels like it’s warranted. Instead he assures the bard that as long as he doesn’t plan on eating anyone’s trousers or pissing on the rug, everything should be fine. Which leads Jaskier into a humorous flurry of questions that involve Eskel’s pest of a goat …and Lambert’s pest of a Cat.
In the process of repacking their scattered medical supplies, and piling up the bodies to burn, Geralt remembers what Jaskier had said in between one thought and the next.
I was the product of the union with no court… I was shunned out… forced under a glamour.
He worries over the thought, turning it over and over again. Thinks more about what Jaskier had said because as much as he listened, seeing Jaskier in more blood was just as jarring.
I hate you.
That had been his lie.
Lies, more often than not, work in opposites. So if he said he hates him, then it stands to reason that... But no, he couldn't.
Geralt can’t be sure of the latter theory he’s continuing to turn over in his head, but he still thinks back on Jaskier’s ancestral deluge. Something the bard brushed over in his storytelling.
“Jaskier?”
The bard nearly jumps and drops the bag he was sifting through, “Hm?”
“Earlier you mentioned your mother.”
“Earlier…” Jaskier’s brows pinch for a moment before remembering, “Oh! Yes, earlier. What about her?”
Geralt smiled fondly at the familiarity of Jaskier’s mannerisms, and continued “You said something about the summer court…but then your father, was of the spring court?”
“Yes.”
“How would that be a problem? It’s still faecourt.”
Jaskier laughs at that, going back to rifle through the bag, “You’d think so wouldn’t you.”
He sighs as puts the bag in the satchel of their horse’s carry on, dusting off his hands, “You’d think so, but no. The courts are their own kingdoms...or at least like factions of a larger kingdom.”
Geralt didn’t think something like fae’s mingling between each other would be as complicated as shooting an arrow to a target…but he didn’t understand human court either, so.
Jaskier continued, “Fae politics are their own separate beast and it’s difficult enough to explain human politics as it is; but what’s important to know is that there are four courts. One for each season. They all are distinctly separate and set their unions amongst themselves in a similar fashion to that of the Continents’ kingdoms when they choose to call “truce”.”
Geralt hums in understanding. Those truce pacts are just as effective as a bandage on a gaping wound.
Jaskier smiles, and nods “Yes, as magical as the fae are, they still get into petty squabbles that require peace. And just like humans are stupid enough to do so through marriage, they also do so; or worse conduct some other inane tradition.”
“Only…their unions, I’d wager, are more likely described as royally adjacent. Or of the same import.”
Geralt nods, “So when your parents had you…?”
“It was like a spit in the face of both their courts. Now, the courts don’t mind if their ranks have children with others. Humans, elves, dwarves. But, a different court ? Absolutely not.”
“Hm…”
“Of course the fae banished him and it spiraled into chaos from there really.”
“Banished?”
Jaskier nods, “And then they had my mother struck from our books and reclassified me as an orphan they decided to take in until my mother heralded another child more…acceptable.”
“So, I never was fully human. Any part of fae is enough to claim you as their courts. But I don’t have one to claim. So, I can’t. But they couldn’t let me die. Their realm works differently…I was there for 3 days, Geralt. They told me that I wouldn’t be gone long from you. I didn’t believe them. I still hoped that nothing would happen while I was gone. They told me that my parents may not be absolved from their actions, but I could have a chance to join a court. I refused. And so they banished me too.”
Geralt’s eyes opened at that, “You can’t go back?”
Jaskier shrugged, “I don’t think I’d want to anyway.”
Geralt nods again. Satisfied learning about something so…foreign.
But still.
I hate you…
Fuck.
Jaskier smiles and shakes his head, “Why did you want to know more? Going to go there and demand they give you all their books on little beasties?”
Geralt huffs, “Just…curious.”
Jaskier scoffs incredulously, “You? Curious? And tell me, dear witcher, what sparked this curiosity?”
Geralt huffs and barrels headlong into suspicion. He hopes he doesn’t fuck this up, “You said you can't lie.”
“I cannot.”
Jaskier looks a bit nervous at that, despite the air of smugness he lets out. And Geralt's already come this far might as well get this over with.
“You said you hated me.”
“Yes and I lied. We both saw what happened Geralt and I'd rather not repeat the experience–”
“You said you hated me,” Geralt repeats.
Jaskier hesitates, “Yes...?”
“And you lied.”
Jaskier raises an eyebrow, confused but insistent, and says, “ Yes . What are you–?”
Geralt cuts him off, “So then if you don't hate me–”
It’s then that realization dawns on Jaskier's face, and Geralt can see the blood fall from his cheeks and the tinge of fear permeate the air. Geralt almost loses his resolve, but clenches his jaw and persists because now…now he needs to know.
“If you don't hate me…” he almost whispers, “How do you feel about me?”
Jaskier hesitates, “Well I don't hate you,” before whispering back shakily, “I–well I like you?”
It comes out like a question and Geralt can see Jaskier wince through it.
A lie maybe. Or does he believe he's lying? Or is he really telling the truth and genuinely doesn’t want to piss off a man that held a sword to his neck not an hour ago.
Complications be damned he tried again, “Jaskier?”
Immediately the bard is scrambling to save face, “I-I, well, you see–” he starts in fits and bursts trying to answer Geralt’s question. Gesturing in the open space between them, “Geralt I like you well enough!” he boasts proudly, “I could never hate you. Do you think a man can write an entire song cycle about someone he hates–?”
“You singing of my deeds and liking me are two very separate things.”
Jaskier dithers at that, “Are they really?”
“Yes.”
And Jaskier deflates a bit, eyes darting back and forth as if he’s searching the clearing for something else to say and Geralt realizes he doesn’t want to hear anything else but the truth. Whether or not it might hurt him. Either of them.
He stands from crouching over their bags, “Jaskier–”..
Jaskier shuffles in place looking at anything but him, “Geralt, please I really–”
“Don't lie to me.”
He didn’t mean to be so harsh, but Jaskier flinches all the same so Geralt tries again, softer, “Don’t lie to me.”
Jaskier clenches his jaw and groans loud enough to scare some smaller birds around them, “I'm not lying, I just–” he puts head in his hands he mutters through his fingers, still loud enough that Geralt can hear from a stride away, “I don't want you to be angry with me all over again.”
“What makes you so sure I'll be angry?”
Jaskier’s arms fall to his sides, “You will be…” then he turns to him, like a man facing fate at the gallows as he takes a breath.
“Jask–”
And Geralt really should have tried harder to stop the bard, because then Jaskier shouts, “I love you, alright!”
And… while the suspicions confirmed are a lot less scary than Geralt had feared, because the rock in the pit of his stomach that he tried to ignore transforms into a weird mixture of nervous anticipation and shock, he finds that whatever else the bard has to say is moot.
But, it seems, the bard has yet to reveal the power of telepathy because he keeps going.
“There!” Jaskier yelps, and barrels on to fill the silence between them, “That's why I reacted so badly. I-I don’t know why I chose the most dramatic way to prove a point when I could've said literally anything else–!”
Geralt's not sure when he moved forward to kiss the bard quiet, but he doesn't care. He cups Jaskier's head and pulls him forward angling their mouths to slot more comfortably against each other, as he lets his hand caress Jaskier’s cheek–and wow this is way better than he thought it'd be.
The shock of Geralt’s forwardness is short and nearly ignored as Jaskier immediately presses back, responding to each peck with more eagerness. Somehow turning the kiss Geralt intended to keep chaste, into a swirling of tongues back and forth. Warmth surging between them.
Geralt opens his eyes, doesn’t remember when he closed them, really. He sees the flush rise high on Jaskier’s cheekbones, complimented nicely with the evening light. It reminds Geralt that he should probably start a fire because they will need to make a thrown together camp before nightfall, but…
Geralt can also see Jaskier’s hands tremble, see the slight downturn of his brow. The bard’s worried for some reason. Probably nervous. Geralt hopes he’s just nervous; he never wants to smell fear on Jaskier ever again.
But he doesn’t smell fear. Just trepidation, nervousness, and– arousal . Heady, fragrant and musky, a perfect blend of Jaskier and the beginnings of lust.
Jaskier’s hands trail from Geralt’s biceps up, up, up. Dragging delicately across his arms leaving behind heat that trails up Geralt’s spine; his heartbeat kicking up , his eyes blowing wide.
One of Jaskier’s hands ended up cupping the back of Geralt’s neck and the other situated pleasantly in the middle of his chest. They pull away just enough for Geralt to notice the placement of his own hands, cradling the back of Jaskier’s head and the other firmly clutching his waist; pulling them flush together.
He realized, abruptly, that their hips are also slotted together and fuck, he has never been this hard in his life after a short round of kissing.
Jaskier’s small huffs brush against Geralt’s mouth, stuttering aborted through something sounding like seduction. And Geralt wants nothing more than to hear more of Jaskier's attempts at seduction thwarted by nothing but kisses.
He kisses him again and again and again, each one becoming more desperate and feverish. Jaskier’s eyes shut in bliss, swaying with the wind. Their hips brushing into and away from each other in a meandering build of pleasure. Geralt can’t close his eyes, he’s never been this greedy before. Now that he has, he thinks he’ll never be able to stop.
Probably wouldn’t want to anyway.
They fall back into another tree, grinding, groping and kissing. Geralt turns them around, Jaskier's back hitting the tree as Geralt's arms braced on either side of the bard’s head, boxing him in.
Jaskier moans into Geralt's mouth, taking an arduous effort to tug at both their trousers. Geralt chuckles at Jaskier's fumbling but continues to kiss him anyway, effectively distracting the bard further.
But after a few quiet moments of grunts and huffing, he manages, fumbling them both out. Pulling himself and Geralt into each of his hands, both of them hard and insistent.
Geralt rolls his hips, rocking into Jaskier's hand and realizes that the bard’s grip just barely circles his girth. The bard doesn’t have small hands by any means but still. And seeing Jaskier’s hand encircle him is what sparks him to drive his hips into Jaskier. The bard chokes on air and pumps their cock faster, pressing a thumb underneath his crown and Geralt’s hips jerk at the sensation.
Jaskier moans and thumps his head back into the tree, never breaking his gaze from Geralt’s cock, as if entranced by the sight of him. Inadvertently exposing the long corded line of neck that Geralt wants his mouth on, yesterday.
Geralt takes the opportunity to suck a bruise underneath Jaskier's jaw and the bard pulls Geralt forward between his legs by the lip of his trousers.
Jaskier fits them both side by side, stroking all the while, pressing their lengths together; root to tip. Like this they barely fit around both of Jaskier’s hands. It's tight and it’s dry. It’s hot and it’s sweaty. And Geralt couldn’t give a rats ass. His hips jerk at the contact and he grunts into Jaskier’s neck like a wild thing possessed.
Jaskier moans into his ear and he wants desperately for Jaskier to be loud, just now. Wants more of his sounds of pleasure and sex and his smell. Jaskier is writhing as much as he's panting for more and meeting Geralt's hips with his own jerky motions.
Jaskier takes a moment to drool out of his open mouth, groaning while Geralt doesn’t stop his hips from moving.
The bit of slickness was enough to ignite their stunted rocking.
Geralt gasped and Jaskier kissed his breath into his bones. Their cocks slid in between lute calloused and spit slick fingers. Pressing tighter with each thrust to the point of madness.
Geralt looks at the disheveled, wild look in Jaskier's eyes as his rhythm doesn't falter, he leans into his ear and groans, “Say it again.”
Jaskier moans confused and aroused to hell and back, stuttering his hips and he looks up at Geralt. Their hair wild and the heat between them cutting off the seeping autumn night air.
“Say–Say what?”
Geralt's hip stutter, he's close. Been close for a while he thinks, but he needs to hear him say it again.
He kisses Jaskier, grinds into him once, twice... kisses the moans out of his mouth as the bard keeps his steady grip and pace.
He breathes hot into Jaskier's ear, “Tell me again, bard. Don't lie to me, tell me again.”
Jaskier gasps on a groan and tightens his grip, Geralt grits his jaw and holds on. Just a little longer just–
“ Oh , Geralt. I love you.”
And Geralt moans, hips moving faster to meet Jaskier's. His precum dribbling down their shafts.
“Geralt, dearest. I love you–ah—always. Love, gods. I'm gonna–”
“Fuck, Jaskier–”
And that's it. That's all it takes for him to spill over Jaskier's hands and cock and almost ruin both their trousers.
But then, a second later, the bard's coming and he’s still fisting both their cocks in a cum slicked hands. Geralt bites the bard's lip, groaning quietly into his mouth as they shudder away from that amazing high.
They pant in unison as cooling cum drips down the bard’s fingers. And a feral thought crosses Geralt’s mind to bite the bard but he ignores it when Jaskier's giddy, almost manic laughter cuts through the quiet.
“You bastard,” he smiles as he says it.
The insult's further eased as Jaskier pulls him into yet another deep kiss immediately and Geralt would take being a bastard if this was what he got for it.
~