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x-reader-theater · 4 years

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My Days Are Numbered, but so Are Yours {10}

Relationship: Geralt of Rivia X Male!Disabled!Reader

Summary: Endings are bittersweet, but the sweet outweighs the bitter.

Warnings: Cursing, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Endings

Word Count: 2995 words

A/N: Last chapter. What a wild ride this has been. I was supposed to upload this last night but I ended up spending time with my family, and playing The Last of Us Part II until like, one in the morning because I’m trying to platinum it. Also I may or may not have started writing something for Joel. (I have, but I don’t know if I’ll ever finish it loll). I want to thank my amazing editor, @mystic-writes for everything she’s been doing for me. Please donate to my ko-fi if you can. It really helps me continue writing. Please like, comment, and reblog. My work gets nowhere without reblogs. Now, without further ado, My Days Are Numbered, but so Are Yours chapter 10.

Take a Chance for the Nights are Short (Book 1) [1]

Hold me Tight for the Days are Long (Book 2) [2]

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

Chapter 10: The Final Battle

You look out the window from your bedroom as Ciri and Triss talk. Even from this distance, you can see they're on edge.

You take off your tunic, setting it aside as you open the chest at the foot of your bed. Your old studded leather armour sits neatly folded at the bottom of the chest, staring back at you, unthinking, unmoving. You almost expected it to have just been a hallucination you had conjured up over the years. But, there it lay. Quiet, covered in a layer of dust.

You hear footsteps walking toward your bedroom, and a voice starts to call out, but their feet stop, and so do their vocal chords. Turning around you see Geralt, standing in your doorway, staring at your chest.

He starts walking over slowly. You stand still. Geralt's cat-like eyes glance up and down the length of your torso. He reaches a hand out and places a few fingers on the scars set in your skin. You shiver under his touch, his fingers cold. He pulls away for a moment, but you grab his wrist, placing his hand flush against your chest. His fingers splay over your chest and you let go, watching as he reaches up with his other hand.

"All those arrows we found… the blood…" Geralt pulls away, his hands coming to rest at his sides.

You shake your head. "Those were the arrows that missed me."

"There's three scars here. From Arrows. And one…" Geralt turns you slightly, his fingers resting on your shoulder. "A scar. From a dagger." He leans in to inspect it, And you half expect him to kiss it, like so many have kissed his scars. You remember him grumbling about it years ago. You still haven’t forgotten that night. Not yet, at least. "You didn't follow your own advice. Could have used that poultice you said I should have used."

You laugh and grab your under-tunic for your armour, slipping it over your head. "Yes well. I didn't really have a choice. Triss was the one to find me, take care of me." You start strapping your armour on, buckling the chest piece in place first. "Ciri mentioned some songs Jaskier wrote after I died…"

Geralt sighs with a small smile on his face. "Yes, yes. It was a well of inspiration for him."

You smile as you don the rest of your armour. "What does the song sound like?"

"You want me to sing?"

You shrug. "Think of it as a battle song. Something to wish me luck."

Geralt sighs, but he sings anyway.

"Near the town of Jana A silver Jackal lay Respected at night by fauna And flora during day. He lay on on a bed of Wolfsbane Was clothed in Celandine. Our silver Jackal slain The end to his bloodline. And so our story ends Our song comes to a close, So listen close my friends To this tale of grandiose. Our silver Jackal may lay dead somewhere in the woods, But you’d do best to remember friends, he is nothing short of good."

It's rough, and he definitely doesn't hit the right notes, but there's something about Geralt's voice. It's not Jaskier's, not by a long shot. But it's rough, like Geralt.

You smile as you strap your swords to your belt. "That was beautiful," you say, placing your hand on Geralt's shoulder. "Thank you for that."

Geralt nods, and you walk out of your room, leaving the Witcher alone.

You make your way outside where Ciri and Triss are waiting, Ciri with her sword ready, and Triss with her arms outstretched, ready to cast when necessary.

As you walk up, Ciri looks over at you, from over Triss' shoulder. "Lookin' good," Ciri says, and you nod.

Triss looks over and smiles delicately, sadness and nostalgia in her eye. "I haven't seen you in that armour in years…"

You roll your shoulders and the plate mail clinks against the chains underneath. "I don't quite fit it anymore it seems. A bit tight in the armpits…" Ciri and Triss giggle, and you feel compelled to laugh along with them. It's like old friends meeting up again for the first time in years. "So. Today's the day, huh?"

Ciri stops laughing as you say that and frowns. Triss follows soon after and says, "It may not be today."

"Then what did I put my armour on for?" You ask.

Triss married her eyes at you. "Because, it could be today. It could also not be. We don't know."

You frown. "Well, at least they gave us enough time to prepare. A little convenient, don't you think?"

"Don't take anything for granted. If you do, you could lose your chance," Geralt says, walking up to your little group.

You look over at him and say at the same time as Ciri, "Vesemir."

Geralt nods and stands next to Ciri, placing a hand unconsciously on his silver sword. You have your own sword in your hand, prepared for anything. The glade falls silent as your party stands, waiting, listening for something, anything to happen. Wind whips through the tall grasses, and it sends a shiver up your spine. The air around you makes the hair on your arms stand on end, and you watch your breath cloud from your mouth. Looking to the forest, you see a few winter wolves stepping out, the fading sun glinting off their crystal forms. Behind them, is a large man in grey armor, riding an equally armored horse. Frost mists off them as they walk toward your group. As they fully emerge into the clearing, you see five wolves walking alongside their silvery rider. They unsheath an axe, pointing it at your group of fighters. The wolves growl and bound forward. You and Geralt step off to the right while Triss and Ciri walk to the left. Three leap toward Triss and Ciri, while only two rush up to you and Geralt.

One leaps for your throat and you bring your sword up, blocking it while turning out of the way, sharp claws miss your throat by mere centimeters. If your left arm were still there, perhaps it would have dug into it. But it's not there.

You ready yourself again as Geralt lashes out, slamming his blade into the crystalline armour of the beast. It screeches in pain as the other comes up around you. You take one, and Geralt takes the other. You slash and dodge, rolling out of the way of claws and maws, and you come to Geralt's side, taking a defensive stance. You look over to him, and he nods. You nod back, and the two of your deftly switch animals. You block an incoming strike and move away from Geralt, pirouetting out of the way, getting the wolf alone. You lash out and pierce the wolf’s shoulder with the tip of your blade, driving it in and twisting it around. It howls and falls to the ground. You wrench your sword from the wolf’s shoulder and swing your sword into the air and drive it down into the creature’s heart. The wolven creature gives one last pathetic whine before dying. Almost instantly, as if by magic, the ice melts away leaving only the crystal and rock of its hide to fall to the ground.

You turn and see Geralt still battling it out with his Wild, and you call out with a smirk, "Take your time, old man."

He rolls his eyes, but you see a small smile form on his lips. He looks like he's about to retort, but his eyes grow wide, and he instead shouts out, "Behind you!"

You roll out of the way just in time as a large mace lands next to you in the mud. Looking up, you see a helmet covered head, with a skull where the face should be. A chill runs up your spine as you look up at the being, but before you can do anything, you're knocked to the ground by a heavy blow. The wind rushes out of your lungs and stars fill your vision. You gasp in a breath as your vision comes back to you, and you see the growling face of a wolf in front of you. Its exhale comes out in a cold cloud, and you try and push it off, but its claws dig into your arm and shoulders. You scream out in pain as you reach up with your sword and bat weakly at the stone hide.

Suddenly, a blast of fire hits the wolf in the face, an inch away from your face.

You scramble away from it as the creature falls to the ground with a yelp, and you watch as Triss comes over and offers you a hand.

"Where's Ciri?" You ask as Triss fires another fireblast at the wolf.

"Helping Geralt with the big dude," she says, tilting her head in their direction.

The wolf finds the courage to bound up, and you swing down at it, lodging your blade in the middle of it's back. "You killed your wolves already?"

Triss walks up and blasts fire right through the neck of the wolf. "Of course I did. They weren't that hard. You're just getting slow, old man."

"I may be slower, but I can still kick your ass," you grumble to yourself as Triss turns to face Geralt and Ciri who are fighting with the man who was on the horse. He has since dismounted and is now swinging his maul about.

Wolves come tearing across the clearing at you and Triss, and while she sets them ablaze with her fire, you lop off their heads one by one. One of the wolves jumps for your left, but you dodge out of the way and smack it with the flat of your blade, sending it to the ground with nary more than a whine before stabbing down with your sword into where the heart would be. It melts into the grass, the armoured plates scattering on the ground. You and Triss fight your way over to Geralt and Ciri who are fighting with the large man. Ciri rolls out of the way and pirouettes as she dodges a swing. Geralt goes in for a swing with his blade, the armoured fighter holds up an arm and Geralt's blade glances off. The two work like a well oiled machine, using moves both of them knew. But watching, you can tell some key differences between them. Geralt's moves are practiced, perfect, like he's run them over and over again, both in his head and with either a dummy or a monster. While Ciri on the other hand… well… her moves are less than perfect. But, she makes them work. She ducks and dodges for every part Geralt makes, and that works for them. Ciri's quick. Geralt's strong.

You and Triss bound over, you stabbing with your sword up between the plate armour, but the… the thing doesn't so much as cry out. It doesn't even flinch. It just looks back at you and lashes out with a fist, sending you flying into the grass. You grunt as you get up, your head still spinning from your previous altercation with him. Triss and Ciri and Geralt are all battling him at the same time, and when he thrusts his maul into the air to strike down, you see it. Underneath the plate mail, right above the kidneys, a weak spot.

Bingo.

You lunge over, piercing into the cold, blue skin showing underneath. You hear him grunt in pain, clearly striking some large nerve as he falls to the ground with a growl. Ciri walks up and rips the helmet off his head revealing a very blue, frostbitten elf. She grabs his hair and he grunts again as your sword starts to cut him open more.

She smirks as she tightens her grip on his disgusting grease covered hair. "You want my blood?" She wipes a trickle of blood away from her mouth with the hand holding her sword and looks down at the bright red against her pale flesh. The elf eyes it in interest, before she drives her sword into his throat, cutting off anything else he could have possibly said. "Well, you can't have it."

You let go of your sword and the man falls to the ground, clutching his throat as his lungs fill with liquid and he starts to choke on his own blood.

You look up at Ciri and nod, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Good work kid. I'm proud of you."

She's panting, but she's smiling. You look up at Geralt and see he's watching you.

He's always been watching you.

You watch as Geralt packs his bag inside the bedroom, his pack being filled with food and water, a dagger, a few extra shirts, and a box. You don’t see what’s in the box, but you watch him open it, looking inside, before stuffing it into his pack. You smile at him as you lean on the doorframe, and he turns around, almost shocked that he didn’t hear you until now.

“You’re leaving, huh?” You didn’t want that to come out of your mouth, but it did. It’s too late to take it back now.

Geralt takes a step towards you, but there’s still a horse length of space between the two of you still. “We’re leaving. To go back on the road. Find some new jobs.” You nod as he says this, pushing off from the door frame, stepping slightly closer. "You could come with us?" You tilt your head at Geralt's offer. "I-I mean, you could come. With us. It would be nice to have someone else around."

You smile and shake your head. "No. I have too many responsibilities here. I have Jaime to look after. I have my cottage, my garden. What more could I ask for?" You pose this as a question, but it's more of a statement. You can't ask for anything more. But your voice wavered, because there's something else you want.

Geralt moves forward again, reaching a hand out, and you watch as it falls back to his side, limp. Lifeless. Hanging with purpose, like he has to force it down.

"I'll miss you," you say quietly, your voice only barely above a whisper. Geralt walks up to you, reaching a hand out to place it on your cheek. You lean into his rough hand, smiling sadly as you do so. Geralt leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, and you have to close your eyes. You don't want him to see how much this hurts you.

He pulls away, but you don't open your eyes. "Thank you [Y/N]. For everything."

You nod as you hear Geralt's footsteps walk back toward the bed, and then out past you, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaves without so much as a goodbye. You have to force yourself not to cry. You listen as two footsteps leave your small cottage, and close the door behind them.

You don't move for several minutes, just staring at the floor in your bedroom. So much time passes that you forget how to stand, and your shoulder slumps against the doorframe. That's when you shake your head to clear the thoughts you're having.

And you move to the kitchen where a full mug of ale is waiting for you. You look around in thanks, knowing that Triss was the one to leave it for you. You watch through the kitchen window as Geralt and Ciri walk into the forest, leaving you alone, once again. You down the rest of your mug, before it fills up again. You stare at the floor, contemplating what you're going to do next.

You suppose you can plant some more flowers, tend to those. You could also learn to cook more, maybe raise a couple of animals. Maybe you could get a dog. That would certainly make things less lonely in between the times when Triss came to visit. Maybe you could even-

Your thoughts are cut short when the door next to you opens, and when you look up, you see the bright white hair of Geralt staring down at you. Your eyes light up as he steps in and takes a seat in front of you, and grabs the mug that just appeared there, or that you didn't notice before.

"You're staying?"

"I'm staying."

You lean over the table and grab his face in your hands, kissing him.

You don't care that you just knocked over your mug, don't care that the ale is now dripping between the cracks in the wood onto your shoes. You can always make new ones. With Geralt.

Epilogue

Ciri stands next to Jaime, a flower in each of their hands. In Ciri's, a white lily. In Jaime's, a stick of grey pussy willow. They stand in the cleaning, now filled with wildflowers and tall grass. It hasn't been upkept. There's no one to take care of it anymore.

Ciri and Jaime stand in front of two, grey stoned graves, each with a name.

One that reads;

"Geralt of Rivia. The White Wolf."

And the other that says in unflinching letters;

"[Y/N] [L/N] The Silver Jackal."

And both of them say;

"Apart in Life Together in Death And with the edge of a knife They take final breaths. But after they die Their story's not over yet Because like the trill of a Magpie In death, they will be together yet."

Ciri pulls Jaime close to her side, and kisses them on the head, and they watch the sun set behind the glade. It sets on your story, it sets on your lives, but with night, new creatures come out to play.

And the cabin in the glade is dark, and nothing stirs inside.

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

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Ur queue is empty? 👀👀 So: modern AU where Geralt comes home to find the reader baking pastel pink cookies or a pie or smth while absolutely Boppin ™ to emo rock? (Maybe smth along the lines of 23, 87, and a cute Kiss??) -totally not a self insert here nooo not one bit-

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Geralt x Reader Word Count: 666 Rating: T Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mycat-is-mylove @mynamesoundslikesherlock @kemmastan @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @amirahiddleston @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @daydreamer-in-training @morelikebyesexual a/n: Loving the irony of this saccharine fluff getting that word count. Hope you like it xo

Geralt paused at the bottom of the townhouse stairs, trying to identify the sounds he heard. He smiled as he recognized the sounds as music instead of the cries he’d feared and he continued his walk upstairs quietly. He liked the little moments he caught you unawares and thanks to how often – and how loudly – you listened to music, it wasn’t hard to do. There was so intimate and sweet and endearing about watching you in your own little world as you were right now.

The smell of something sugary and buttery filled the air and he saw used cookie sheets on the stove while you stayed hunched over the counter, a piping bag in hand. He didn’t know how you could pipe in such smooth strokes or hold your hands so steady while your legs danced around and your head swayed along to the music as you sang.

“I chime in with a haven’t you people ever heard of – closing the goddamn Geralt!” you cried, spinning to sing into the piping bag microphone and finding your boyfriend watching you with a soft, amused expression in his face.

“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” he asked, catching you as you jumped into his arms to give him a kiss. He reached up and carefully brushed some flour out of your air before you wriggled back to show him what you were working on.

“Cookies!” you declared proudly. They were each exactly uniform in size and the pastel pink icing was just the right thickness. He sighed happily and you beamed at him as he admired the cookies.

“So are these for eating or…” he began to reach out for one but you smacked his hand away.

“These are for Ciri’s bake sale!” you replied, trying not to laugh at how wounded he acted over your little swat when you knew well how many scars covered his large, muscular body.

“I already got her some cookies for the bake sale!” he protested.

“You bought some cookies,” you replied with a judgmental head shake, “It’s not the same.”

“You’re right,” he said with a sigh, walking up behind you as you tried to continue decorating and wrapping his strong arms around your waist to hold you tight against his chest, “Nothing can compare with these delicious and beautiful creations of yours.”

You felt his stubble brush against your jaw as he kissed your cheek. You melted into his kisses for a moment but stiffened as you saw one of his hands creep towards the cooling rack.

“Hey! You’re trying to seduce me so you can get your mitts on my cookies!” you charged, spinning around and pointing at him accusatorily.

“My mitts?” he repeated, laughing, “Are you a 20s gangster? Are you going to send me sleeping with the fishes if I try and eat a cookie?”

“Technically I’m the 20s gangster because I’m the one who used the slang you… opposite of the cat’s pajamas!”

You stood facing him, pulled up to your full height which still left you tilting your chin to look up into his eyes, and his laughter faded away into a loving smile. He reached out a hand and cradled your face and despite yourself you leaned into his touch.

“You’re so adorable,” he murmured.

“Are you just saying that to get at my cookies?” you asked.

“I’m saying it because it’s true. And because you are going to give me one of those cookies,” he answered, slowly closing the distance between you. Your eyes stayed on his amber ones and though you still tried to puff your chest out and posture defensively, you both knew how this was going to end.

“Oh am I?” you asked, “And just how are you going to convince me to do that?”

You tasted like sugar and though he’d end up eating so many that you’d have to bake a whole new batch before the morning, Geralt insisted that you were the sweetest thing he’d eaten by far.

#are-you-the-majulian #Geralt x Reader #Geralt fluff #Geralt imagines #reader request

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dhwty-writes · 4 years

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Chapter 12 - Intriguing Intruders and Intruding Intrigues

Ah, yes. Welcome to chapter 2. No, you didn't read that wrong. This begins with the second scene I've ever written for this AU. We've come a long way since back then, especially considering that it was only a little under two months ago and this fic has since taken over my life. Also, thanks as always to @persony-pepper for betaing! Now enough of me rambling, here's the chapter:

Summary: Jaskier's liege lord comes to Lettenhove and our beloved ex-bard is struggling to keep it together.

Read on AO3

prologue | previous | next

"Where is he?" Jaskier panted, wincing at how his side ached after sprinting up a flight of stairs. He used to be able to hold his own against a witcher on a horse, for Melitele's sake, what had happened to all that stamina?

"Beggin' your pardon, m'lord, I don't know," Marta answered, her eyes widened in panic. "I've been lookin' for 'im for the past hour. He's nowhere to be found."

"Shit," he cursed, startling the surrounding servants. "Fuck!" he cursed again, just because the first one hadn't been enough to actually voice his frustration. He kicked the wall and howled in pain. "Fucking shit! Start over," he ordered. "I want that damned witcher and I want him now! Marta!"

"Yes, m'lord?"

"Is my cousin presentable yet?"

"No, m'lord."

"Then see to it that she is. You have half an hour; the green dress, if you will."

He turned on the heel and raced down the stairs again, cursing quietly. He shouldn't be surprised, really, that Geralt chose today of all days to all but disappear from Lettenhove. 'That's not fair,' he reminded himself, 'you didn't know eith-'

"Fuck!" His foot slipped on the slippery stairs and he would've taken a tumble down the stairs hadn't he collided with a bulk of muscle.

"Careful, my lord," Geralt said, and held him firmly by the shoulders. "Else a twisted ankle will be the least of your worries."

"Geralt!" Jaskier started a futile attempt to wiggle out of his grasp. "Where have you been, you donkey?"

"Training your horse, my lord," he replied, making no move to let go of him. Instead he calmly looked around, taking in the bustling servants. "What's going on?" He pulled him closer to the wall, to let two men hauling a heavyweight chest pass through. "Are you preparing for war?"

'If only.' He scoffed and smacked at Geralt’s hands. "No. Witcher, you need to leave."

"What?" That finally made him soften his grasp, though he did not lift his hands, nor did he move from where they were crammed onto the same step. "Why?"

Jaskier passed a trembling hand through his hair. It was sweaty already, not a good way to start the day when- "There are guests on their way," he explained as calmly as he could. "I don't know which of my imbecile neighbours chose this exact time for a visit, but there's nothing I can do about it now."

"And why do I-" His hand shot out and caught a young lad by the elbow. "Are those my swords?" he growled menacingly. The poor boy looked as if he might piss himself.

"Yes, I- Geralt!" He tried prying the butcher's hand away without too much success. "Let go of him this instant, you're frightening him!" The witcher complied slowly. "Stop glowering, they are acting on my orders. And you, run along now, and hurry up for Melitele's sake!"

The lad took off again and Geralt crossed his arms and glared. "Why?" he asked again. "Where's he going with them?"

"To your new rooms in the North Wing. Ci- Cousin Fiona is also moving, she'll be living with my sisters." He waved his hand dismissively, cutting him off before he could even start to speak. "It wouldn't make sense otherwise. I wouldn't leave her with you when Józia and Janka are there to take care of her. And as my best friend it's only natural for you to be accommodated close to my quarters."

The witcher frowned, still not convinced. "Why do I have to leave then?"

"Because I do not know who is paying me a visit and what intentions they bear. No-one will look twice at dear Cousin Fiona, but you-"

"My lord, there you are," Jakub came to a halt a few steps below them.

"What?" Jaskier snapped.

"Your visitors. They're bearing the banner of Hangfelt."

Fear gripped him like an icy hand, choking the air from his lungs. "Fuck." He'd known this was inevitable, but still- "Go, Jakub, inform the kitchens right away. I will not be accused of lacking hospitality." He manservant bowed curtly and hurried away.Jaskier turned to follow him.

Geralt caught him by the shoulder again. "What's so important about Hangfelt?"

Jaskier winced. "That's my liege. You need to leave, now."

He frowned. "I don't understand-"

Jaskier was beginning to lose his patience. 'Gods above and below, he's been roaming this continent for almost a century. Should be more than enough time to get a basic grasp on petty politics,' he thought. He almost told him so, too. Almost. "That's not important right now," he hissed and tried to push him away, "we're running out of time."

The witcher didn't seem overly impressed by this display of his measly human strength. "Please, my lord, let me try-"

"You don't need to understand!" he snapped, and Geralt visibly recoiled. If nothing else, it did soothe Jaskier's temper a bit. Wiping his sweaty hands on his breeches, he tried to explain: "My liege, Geralt. Lettenhove is his castle. If he suspects something, anything-" He took a shuddering breath, steadying himself. With a firmer voice than he would have thought possible, he continued: "If he demands that I hand you over, I won't be able to refuse. I won't be able to protect you from him, do you understand?"

Geralt paled visibly. "Fiona-"

"She'll be fine, she's family. Protected by my name and castle peace and all that. No-one can lay a finger on her without my leave. The Count is not a bad man, he won’t hurt us and break the law: we’re protected by King Vizimir’s peace. But you are not. So, witcher," he straightened himself, "you need to go."

He set his jaw and the grip on his shoulder tightened. "My lord."

"Take your swords and a cloak, and for Melitele's love, stay out of sight. Of his guards, and his men, and most importantly himself. I'll come find you in the woods once all of this is over. Alone. Do not come seek me if there is another person with me." He faltered, taking in Geralt's squared shoulders, his kind eyes, his attentive expression. "I-" Suddenly, the urge to exchange the grip on his shoulder for a tight embrace to calm his fluttering heart became very hard to fight.

"My lord?" Geralt's voice startled him from his trance. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," he answered curtly and bit down hard on his tongue, to shake those ridiculous thoughts. "I have places to be, witcher, and so do you. Unhand me and leave."

Very slowly and very reluctantly Geralt did as he was told and freed Jaskier from his grasp. He allowed himself to wonder, only for a moment, if Geralt might have felt overcome by the same sort of sentimentality.

'No,' he told himself decidedly as he sprinted down the stairs of his tower, 'do not think about that. You're Jaskier the Bard, not Jaskier the Fool, Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove. If Geralt had no affection to spare before, he surely won't have any now.'

In the courtyard, what appeared to be the entirety of his staff was bustling around, all doing their best to make the castle presentable for its rightful owner.

There weren't a lot of orders for Jaskier to give, they all knew what they were doing. The air was filled with the rich smells of half a hundred different delicacies to flatter Lord Hangfelt's noble palate, and servants hauled casks of wine and ale alike that would surely not even see the first snow. Wiktor was making space in the stables for at least a dozen horses more, as Jakub was berating some chambermaid for one reason or another. It was a good thing Jaskier had already warned them that his visit was rather imminent after his return from the disastrous parlay. That way they weren't completely unprepared.

Still, he winced at the memory. The meeting hadn't been dangerous or anything, gods forbid, he'd never have brought Ciri if there had been so much as the slightest sliver of the chance. It had even been fun, truth be told, until the Baron had begged a word in private with him. Unpleasant didn't even begin to describe the whole affair.

"Why?" Jaskier had asked cheerfully, "Are you afraid to get your ass handed to you by a little child again?"

Daniel of Dergetten had frowned at that but not dignified it with a response. Not until he had sent Ciri ahead, at least. Then his old childhood friend had leaned close and hissed: "What on earth are you playing at, Julian?"

"Me?" he had laughed. "Nothing, dear friend. I've got no idea what you're talking about."

"What happened to your sharp wits? Fucked them away on the Path? I thought the man who graduated summa cum laude from Oxenfurt would know better than to believe himself the only one capable of thinking around here."

"Speak plainly."

"Sheltering a witcher in Lettenhove, Jaskier?" he had mocked. "Beneath a mantle of protection that is not even yours to give? Aleksander hasn't forgiven you for your last insolence, yet. What was the year again? 1252? This impertinence might just be enough of an insult for him to finally set you aside. Unless-"

"That's quite enough, Dergetten," he had bristled.

The bastard had only smiled. "Is it, Pankratz? I know where my loyalties lie, as does the Count. Do you?" The memory of his smile choked the air from his lungs. 'Foolish,' he told himself, 'you're a foolish man, Julian Alfred Pankratz, to think you can hide a secret such as this from your liege.' Which meant, there was only one thing he could do.

It was true that Count Aleksander Milas had been lenient in the past when it came to Jaskier's particularities that distinguished him from the rest of his peers. He quite liked his songs, had even encouraged him to tutor his son - which Jaskier had firmly declined - and he hadn't given him too much of a hard time for his prolonged absence from Lettenhove. Upon his return his liege had only laughed, not cruelly, when he had knelt at feet to beg his forgiveness for his negligence. And when his father had died, not two days later a servant had summoned him to Hangfelt to swear his fealty — despite Jaskier's protests that his sister Janina would be much better suited for the title.

"Nonsense," Lord Hangfelt had answered, "how could I accept her oath when the rightful heir is right here?"

So, he had sworn, and Hangfelt had promised a visit once the mourning period was over. He was only off by three days, probably spurred on by Daniel of Dergetten's dutiful report, the little traitor. As a consequence, though, Jaskier was still dressed all in black, as were his sisters. Ciri's green dress was an almost offending speck of colour when she stepped out into the courtyard.

"There you are," Jaskier exclaimed and strode over to her to put an arm around her shoulders. "Come, you'll stand at my left side."

She nodded and together they crossed over where Janina and Józefa were already waiting. The four of them surely made a pretty image, he thought, all of them with their pale skin, dark hair and bright eyes. 'Ciri fits right in,' he noticed, satisfied with the illusion he'd conjured.

Waiting like this, prettily lined up for their lord to inspect like cattle on a market's day, was torture of the cruelest kind. The urge to fidget hadn't been this strong in him since before he'd left. Images of memories long forgotten flooded his mind, the five Pankratz siblings diligently queueing before their father's high chair to receive his judgement after a day of deeds and misdeeds. It had always been him who had misbehaved most, if wandering off in his mind and quietly humming as he worked could be counted as misbehaviour. It had also always been him to step forward to take the blame and consequences for whatever crime his sisters had committed. It hadn't been his fault more often than not. 'My responsibility to bear nonetheless.'

When he finally found the strength to abandon those hurtful memories he bowed down to Ciri. "You'll have to curtsy," he informed the princess quietly.

"I know," she replied, barely moving her lips. Absentmindedly he wondered how many stiff ceremonies she had already suffered through. 'Surely too many,' he determined. 'Even one is one too much.' "I've seen it many times."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "You do know how, don't you?"

She grew rigid under his touch. "Of course!" she repeated. "I've seen it many times!"

He sighed and rolled his eyes. It was Jakub who saved him from the embarrassment of having to explain to a princess how to bend her stiff royal knees. "They're here, my lord," his servant told him quietly.

"Good," he answered. It wasn't good at all. Still, he shouted: "Open the gates!" He heard Jakub repeat his order, and then Marin, too, and then the large winches sprung into motion and opened the heavy oaken gates for the Count and his companions.

As soon as the winches stopped moving, a party of roughly fifteen riders poured into the courtyard. A standard bearer came first, then the Count himself, along with his son and heir, the spitting image of his father. Well, if one ignored the fact that his father was in his forties, overweight, and balding, and not a strapping lad of fourteen years- 'Oh, fuck no, you won't,' he thought and his grip on Ciri's shoulder tightened.

Behind them followed some brothers or cousins or friends Jaskier couldn't quite remember from his youth, half a dozen guards, and- He nearly cursed out loud when he saw there was a woman riding with them. 'Hangfelt, you bastard.'

To his deepest regret he had to postpone his harangue, though, because Aleksander Milas, the Count of Hangfelt was already dismounting and it was time for their act to begin.

Jaskier stepped forward to greet him with a smile as if he was an old friend and not his garroter. "My liege," he said and bowed with a flourish, "Lettenhove is yours."

"Pankratz!" Hangfelt laughed and displayed his crow's feet for everyone to see. "How good to see you again!" He pulled him into a tight hug that made it difficult to breathe. "How have you been?"

"Fine, my lord," he gritted out and did his best to make a sad face, "as much as the circumstances allow it. Though we are still very heartbroken for the passing of our father."

"And I expect no less, my loyal servant. Which is why I postponed this visit as long as I could. I would not want to disturb your grief."

"You could never, my lord," he answered but the Count had already moved on to his sisters, who were still curtsying deeply. Jaskier nudged Ciri with his elbow to get her to do the same.

"My dear Lady Goldfurt," he said as he beckoned Janina to rise. "I see you still enjoy your brother's hospitality. Is your husband's town so unappealing?"

"Not at all, my lord," her voice and smile were icy, "I am only here to help my brother settle in. He has been away for so long; he hardly knew his way around the castle upon his return."

That made Lord Hangfelt laugh. "Is that true? Have you forgotten all about your home while away on your little adventures?"

"Hardly, my lord," Jaskier forced himself to say. "But it is good to have familiar faces surrounding me."

He nodded. "And what pretty faces those are. Lady Józefa!" He kissed her on both cheeks and Jaskier found himself admiring her self-control. She didn't even flinch from his slobbery mouth. "Has your brother still not found you a husband, Madam?"

"Alas, he has not," she answered jovially, truly an accomplished actress. "Though I trust he will soon correct that mistake. Come spring, perhaps?"

"Sooner still, I hope. I would love a spring wedding. Speaking of weddings, you do remember my sister, Pankratz? The Lady Alina Milas."

The lady in question dismounted her own horse and came over to them. She was Aleksander Milas' step-sister, almost two decades younger than her brother, and the heiress to a rich estate. And his betrothed, whom he had stood up one beautiful autumn evening in 1252 on their wedding day. 'Shit,' he thought and bowed to kiss her hand. This day was growing worse by the minute. He didn't let that show, though. "How could I not? Is it me, Lady Alina, or have you grown thrice as beautiful since our last meeting?"

"Surely I have," she answered coldly. "I was six years old when you last saw me. Though not for lack of opportunities, I remind you."

He felt the heat rise in his cheeks. Hangfelt just laughed again. "Look at you, Pankratz! She hasn't forgiven you, yet. Well, maybe it is not too late. You are still unmarried, I've heard."

"I am. Though let us not talk of such a joyous occasion yet. You see, my sisters'-" He halted for just a moment, shooting them an apologetic glance. "- delicate nature is still rather frail after our father's death. I wouldn't want to disturb their mourning with festivities."

Lord Hangfelt pouted, which looked ridiculous on a man of his age and size. "You speak of mourning, yet still you have invited guests to your house. I think we haven't been introduced yet?"

"My cousin, the Honourable Fiona Nowak. I met her three years ago in Verden and, after I heard the war had left her orphaned, I had her brought to Lettenhove. It has lessened our grief greatly to have her with us."

Ciri rose from her curtsy and let the Count kiss her knuckles. She obviously had learned self-control from Józefa, for her face didn't so much as twitch. "I am terribly sorry for your loss, Madam."

"There is nothing to be sorry for," she answered and Jaskier could feel the whole courtyard hold its breath, "it was not your sword that slew my mother."

Hangfelt blinked for a moment, then burst out laughing. "I see the family resemblance now! A steel-tongued brat for our silver-tongued lordling. Have you given up your verses and songs yet?"

"Almost, your Lordship," he answered with a forced smile, "there is only one person in the world who might move me to a ballad these days."

"A lover?" he teased.

'If only.' "An old friend."

He frowned. "Not the witcher, I hope."

Jaskier forced himself to smile. "Precisely him."

"Speaking of steel and silver and ballads, then, where is he? Has he left so soon again?"

"Not at all, my lord. Though, he left before sunrise this morning. He does not like to spend the days in company, especially not while he is mourning."

"Mourning?" one of the members of Aleksander Milas' party called. "Are you quite sure he can even feel?" Roman, he remembered the brat was called, the Count's youngest brother and just out of his swaddling clothes when Jaskier had left.

'I am, you prick, and I am quite sure with such a comment you'd have angered him enough for him to gut you for me. He can feel just fine.' He pitied that he couldn't say that to his liege's brother. Instead, he opted for: "I believe he thinks himself guilty for the death of Princess Cirilla."

"Ah," the Count said and dropped his voice compassionately. "I've heard the tales. They say she was raped by half a hundred men before the bastards killed her."

His eyes grew wide and his grip on Ciri's shoulder tightened. "My lord, not in front of the child, if you please," he said just as quietly. "She's gone through so much already."

"Of course." He straightened himself. "Speaking of children, have you met my son, yet, Pankratz? Aleksander, Lord Retton."

"I'm afraid I have not." Jaskier bowed again, when the lad stepped forward, looking very out of place with his gangly limbs, too large ears and peach fuzz on his upper lip. 'Gods, and I went to Oxenfurt at that age!' he recalled. Twenty years later, the thought of sending a child to that place filled him with terror. He was glad that the boy could not see the grimace on his face. "At your service, my lord."

"Rise, Lord Lettenhove," he said with a thin voice. 'Gods, he's nervous,' Jaskier thought with amusement. "You, uh, have a beautiful castle."

'What pretty lines he has learned.' He had a hard time not smirking when he answered: "I am pleased to hear that. Are you looking for a new keep for yourself, my lord?"

The lad frowned deeply, obviously not understanding the jape. "Not at all."

"No? Are you then making plans for the future, my lord?"

Helplessly and quite confused Aleksander the Younger looked up at his father, who in turn had a hard time to keep from laughing. "Enough of the teasing, Pankratz," he chided softly. To his son he said: "I told you to guard your tongue with that one. Twisting the words in your mouth is his easiest exercise."

"I would never, your Lordship," Jaskier said quickly, smiling openly now.

"Now, don't add lies to the never-ending list of your sins. We're hungry and we're cold, so keep your mouth shut and lead us to your hall and serve us your best wine. We've deserved it."

Jaskier bowed again. "It would be my pleasure." He turned to his former betrothed. "Lady Alina, might you grant me the honour of accompanying you?"

She scowled and for a moment he feared she might decline, but then she took his offered arm. After a glowering stare of her elder brother she even dignified his formal phrases with equally stilted responses as the Count led the way to the hall as if he owned the place. 'Which he does,' Jaskier reminded himself.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Aleksander the Younger stumbled over his words to ask Ciri to walk with him, who graciously accepted and giggled stupidly. Then, as she took his arm she made a barbed comment that the boy did not understand but that made Janina gasp in thinly-veiled horror. He couldn't quite rid himself of pride welling up at that, despite the curtain lecture that surely waited for him once the Count left.

In the hall Jaskier hurried to pull the lord's chair back for the Count and tried to ignore the jealousy seeing him at the head end of his table, his heir at his right-hand side. 'You never wanted the stupid title anyways,' he told himself, 'so there's no reason for jealousy now.'

He himself sat down at his liege's left, with Lady Alina at his side. Opposite to them was Ciri next to Aleksander who looked just as miserable as Jaskier felt. As soon as the other guests had resolved their brief argument about who got to sit next to Józefa and had all settled into their seats, the food was brought out.

It was a lot, much more than needed to feed such a small party and Jaskier felt a little bad for wasting it. But that was the way things were and he could do nothing about it. So he had his guests’ plates and cups filled and kept full, maybe a bit too much so. Roman Milas was drunk before the hour was up.

After lunch the Count got up. "I'll be going on a hunt," he declared, "and you will come with me."

Jaskier's head snapped around. "Excuse me?" he answered with a frail voice.

"I believe you understood me quite well. We're going hunting, Pankratz."

'What for?' he wanted to ask but didn't dare to. It was late in autumn already, there were no hunts this late. Besides, there were no hounds in Lettenhove and they hadn't brought any with them either. 'We're not hunting for game, then,' he thought grimly and fought the urge to divest himself of his lunch again. "Of course," he answered instead. "My pleasure."

He left Ciri and Alina with his sisters and led the Count and his friends outside again, praying to all the gods he knew. He prayed that Geralt had finally learned how to listen to a fucking order. He had no idea what his liege could want with the witcher — and he had no desire to find out either.

It took all his carefully composed self-restrain not to let the anxiety that roared within him rise to the surface. ‘He’ll be fine,’ he told himself, ‘he’ll be fine, he’ll be fine, he’ll be fine. He has to be.’ Instead he tried to busy himself with what he did best: telling stories. Joyously he japed and jested, and he would’ve jigged to, were his feet not planted firmly in his stirrups.

Aleksander the Elder called for all the raunchy stories of his time in Oxenfurt and he gladly delivered. And when he and his friends doubled over in their saddles with laughter, Aleksander the Younger appeared at his side, shyly asking whether he could tell him about the Academy. The boy wasn’t stupid, Jaskier soon discovered to his surprise, on the contrary. ‘He’s just young,’ he realised, ‘and it can’t be easy to find your voice with a father as loud as his.’

Still, the worry in his chest did not subside and he kept looking to the sky, where the sun inched towards the horizon far too slowly for his liking. Apparently, the Gods had heard his prayer, for they returned some hours later with empty hands and empty stomachs. Dinner was hastily brought out for the hungry hunters and after that the nobles retreated to the fireplace room in the East Wing.

Hangfelt claimed Jaskier's armchair and Aleksander Geralt's, so Jaskier was left standing awkwardly for a moment before begrudgingly retreating to the divan where Alina sat. Like that he was forced to continue the polite conversation, that quickly turned into the dullest interaction of his entire life, until she mercifully begged her brother's leave to retreat for the night.

“You may go,” the Count conceded. “Aleksander, go with her.”

“Father,” he whined pathetically, “you promised I could stay.”

“I promised you could stay the evening,” he growled. “The evening’s over, which means that women and children are going to bed.”

Jaskier hid his smirk and jerked his head in the direction of his sisters and Ciri. The princess was on her feet already and floated over to their guests. “Lord Retton,” she curtsied quickly, “Lady Alina, might you grant me the honour to show you to your rooms?”

Aleksander the Younger frowned and Jaskier smiled proudly. There was no way the young lord could politely refuse such an offer and he damn well knew it. So, he and Lady Alina went with Ciri and his sisters, and left Jaskier alone with Hangfelt and his men.

That finally gave Jaskier the opportunity to talk to the Count himself. "Lord Hangfelt," he said quietly, "might I talk to you in private?"

He scowled but nodded graciously, and allowed Jaskier to lead him to his study. "A drink, my lord?"

"Gladly," he answered as he sat down in Jaskier's chair by the window.

Jaskier poured two goblets of his best liquor — he'd need the courage — and brought them over to his lord. "Your witcher hasn't returned," he remarked as he accepted the drink; their cups clinked together, "and yet it is already dark. He's not very well trained."

"He's not an animal," Jaskier exclaimed indignantly before he could stop himself, "nor is he a prisoner. He may come and go as he likes."

"Not a very grateful guest, then, if he doesn't even come to greet his host's lord."

He clenched his jaw, desperately trying to think of a witty response. He wasn't fast enough though, for Hangfelt continued: "Hm. So, that cousin of yours... She does look an awful lot like you."

Jaskier tensed. 'Shit, I should have shut that rumour down as soon as it left Janina's lying lips.' "I suppose she does," he answered diplomatically.

That made the Count smile brightly. "Well?"

He hesitated. "Well... what, my lord?"

"Are you going to legitimise her?"

"Oh." Truth be told he hadn't even thought of that. He cursed silently. Well, maybe- "I haven't decided yet."

"Well, decide quickly, then. I like you, Pankratz. And as luck would have it, the betrothed of my dear Aleksander passed away from a fever a few months ago. I haven't decided on another match, yet."

For a few short moments Jaskier was stunned into silence, convinced that his ears had to be betraying him. 'Why would the Count want to bind me to his family tree?' Before he had even the chance to gather a clear thought his mouth blurted out: "What would you get out of it?"

Lord Hangfelt laughed. "Ever the clever man. Why, I would get Lettenhove back for a start.”

“Well, my lord, if you want it back, why not just take it?” He forced himself to smile. “You know just as well as I do that doing so is completely within your rights.”

“What, and just throw you out?” He shook his head. “No, Pankratz, I don’t think I’m keen on aggravating you anytime soon. Or your sisters, that is. I can’t afford a feud with neither Goldfurt nor Kerton. Not to speak of his Majesty’s uncle, who is so very fond of your Jolanta. And, judging by your reputation, you’d just flee to Oxenfurt and write a horrible cycle of smear poems that would ruin my reputation beyond measure, but not before seducing at least three of my siblings and my mother.” There was an amused twinkle in his eye. “Is that an accurate assessment?”

Jaskier quickly hid his smile. “I believe so, my lord.”

“I know four things about you. First, you were endowed by the gods with a vivid imagination and a silver tongue. I know about the games you play and it’s folly not to fear you. You could be more lethal than your witcher still. Secondly, you’re too clever for your own good. You graduated two terms early, summa cum laude, with begrudging recommendation letters from all your professors. While simultaneously managing to climb the steps of the Academy to the rooms above the vice-chancellor’s office. Don’t give me that look, Pankratz, I did my research. Thirdly, you know how to survive. You did that for sixteen years while trailing behind a witcher like a lost puppy and fucking your way through nigh every marital bed of the Continent. That’s rather impressive. And lastly, you are filthy rich. In fact, you’re the richest vassal I got and I know that you know how to become richer still. Is that about right?”

He nodded slowly. “Colour me impressed, my lord,” he answered, “I believe you’re seeing right through me.”

“Good.” A smile spread on his face. “So, Pankratz, I have to retract my earlier words. I do not want Lettenhove back. I want you. For good. And I want you to put that clever little brain of yours to good use. I think we can go far, you and I.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “So, why don’t you tell me why you actually wanted to speak to me and we work out a trade?”

“A trade, huh?” he repeated quietly. That was a much better bartering position than he’d imagined himself to be in. “It is true that there is something I wanted to ask of you, though does it not require Fiona to wed your Aleksander.”

“Why ever not, Pankratz? I took you for an opportunist! Wouldn't you like your grandson to be a Count?"

Jaskier's head was spinning as the whole extent of the offer became apparent. He should, he guessed. As a Viscount, that was. He should be delighted with the opportunity to get Goldfurt within reach. If Ciri truly were his daughter, he probably would have agreed without thinking twice about it.

But she wasn't. She was Ciri, sweet little Ciri, who had suffered so much already, who slept with stuffed animals and clung to his lips with whatever story he told; brave little Ciri, who'd be just as deadly with a blade as her father once she was grown. He couldn't barter her away. Never. Not even to- "She's only ten years old," he said quietly. "I don't want to take that kind of decision quite yet."

Lord Hangfelt snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. She’s more than old enough for a betrothal. Alina was scarcely ten months old when our fathers brokered the engagement."

'And what grief that betrothal brought,' he thought bitterly. ‘My bride was not even old enough to agree to an engagement when I could already be married.’ Another reason why he had chosen to hide in Oxenfurt for four years, though not before his father had forced his hand to sign the damned thing. "Allow me a bit more time to think about it. Please, my lord. I only just got her. Seven years I didn't even know of her existence. Don't take her from me just now. I can offer you something else in its stead."

"Tell me about your demand and we can see about that payment. How bad is it? Treason? Spying? Did you kill someone? Not a member of the court, I hope, I can't help you there."

"None of that, my lord, you'll be glad to hear. It's…” He wet his lips nervously. "Five generations ago my ancestors were granted this keep for their loyal services to your family. They have kept their peace, collected their taxes, furthered their interest. I have done nothing less. These ancient walls have protected those who bore my name ever since. Refugees were among them, and traitors, too, yet with your blessing no foe dared disturb the peace of this keep."

"Yes, as it is tradition."

Jaskier closed his eyes and swallowed his pride. 'Geralt could do it,' he told himself. 'And if the stoic witcher can, so can I.' Slowly, he went to his knees. "My liege, I am asking your leave to extend the Castle Peace that protects me and mine to Geralt of Rivia, as well."

"So, that's why he's not here." The Count of Hangfelt was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was scarcely more than a whisper. "I thought as much, but gods above and below, Pankratz, you are beside yourself with fear. He's a witcher, he will be alright! What are you so afraid of?"

'Why don't you tell me?' he thought angrily. 'You're the one who's been searching for him for the better part of the afternoon.' But right now was the time for humility and humiliation, not anger. "Might I be allowed to finish my plea, my lord?" he asked, his eyes firmly lowered onto the carpet.

He snorted and waved his hand dismissively. "Well, then, wordsmith, talk away."

"The Witcher Geralt of Rivia is my dearest friend, whom I have known for almost half of my life. I love him like I would a brother. He arrived on my doorstep tattered and torn from the war that divides our beloved Continent, with bloodhounds on his heels. They turned around as soon as Lettenhove came in sight, but I do not know if they will stop without knocking a second time. It is not only Nilfgaard who calls for his head, but other factions, too, closer to my borders than I would like. I would like to protect him from these threats and any that might follow."

"You're asking for a lot, Pankratz, you know that," Aleksander Milas said quietly.

"I do, my liege."

"And how do you intend to pay for that?”

He swallowed. "I-" His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, but it did not help the dryness of his mouth. 'It's for Geralt,' he reminded himself, 'for Geralt and Ciri.' With a firmer voice than he would have thought possible, he said: "I accept, my lord. I will become a part of your family and help you with your ambitions. If your sister would still take me after the insults I have bestowed upon her."

"Hm," the Count said. “That’s a lot you offer for a bit of protection for your witcher.”

“It is,” he agreed quietly. “You said it yourself, four sixteen years I trailed after him like a lost puppy. He is very dear to me.” After a small pause he added: “Though I certainly wouldn’t be disinclined to another holding or two in exchange for my service.”

"Fine," the Count conceded after a moment of consideration. "Wed Alina if you're so fond of her, then. I'll draw up the contract."

Jaskier clenched his teeth. 'Shit.' That meant that there would be at least half a dozen clauses in it that he wouldn't like. Maybe if he talked to Geralt- No. He wouldn’t do that to them. He bowed his head instead. "I would be honoured," he answered.

The Count held out his hand and Jaskier took it with numb fingers to kiss the signet ring. "Belleteyn is a wonderful date for a wedding."

"I am inclined to agree, my liege."

"Get up now, liegeman, and go fetch your witcher. He'll have nothing to worry about from me tonight. And tomorrow he can swear to you and he will be safe."

"I am grateful for your generosity," he answered honestly.

"I'm certain you are. Now, stop frowning, this is a joyous day."

It was an order, but Jaskier couldn't find it in himself to follow it. 'A joyous occasion?' he asked himself. 'I sold my hand in marriage to shield Ciri from the same fate, and for what? To protect the man, I have loved for half my life with whom I can't lead a conversation that lasts longer than five minutes. Pray tell me, my lord, what is joyous about that?'

#My writing #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #cirilla of cintra #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier fanfiction #geralt/jaskier #of witchers bards and broken hearts #OWBABH

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tolietfrog · 5 years

Text

In Hope: Geralt x Reader

Word Count: 1,375

Warnings: cursing, implied smut

The night was dark, except for the occasional light from a Redanian torch. You pulled your hood tighter over your head, praying that the night would camouflage you. Novigrad was a dangerous place for mages, especially now. Most of your friends had gone into hiding or had completely fled the city. You knew you should have packed up months ago but held out in hope.

In hope for Geralt.

You were aware it was stupid. Of course, you knew. Geralt was on some quest to look for Ciri, or at least he was the last time he had written to you. But some feeling in the pit of your stomach was making you hold out. Maybe, just maybe, you would run into him in Novigrad, where he had promised to meet you before Emhyr and Yennefer had dug their claws into him.

There was also the chance he wouldn’t show up, and you would end up rotting in a cell, courtesy of the Mage Hunters.

Thank the Gods you were an optimist.

Moving across the cobbled streets as quiet as you could be, you headed straight for The Rosemary and Thyme. Dandelion would be there, as he always was. And you needed some heavy liquor. Normally, you wouldn’t risk going to a public place, but today was different. You had used a little magic to make yourself look different, just enough so that the soldiers wouldn’t recognize you from your wanted posters hanging up all around the city. You hadn’t seen some of your friends in so long, that you were desperate and this was a worthwhile risk.

The door to the former brothel creaked open as your slim hand pushed against it.

“We’re closed. Get yer fucking ass out,” Zoltan Chivay drawled, a drink in hand. He was sitting at the bar and hadn’t bothered to look your way.

“No way to greet a friend, now, Zoltan.” You replied, crossing your arms and crossing the barrier into the building.

“Y/N? Yer lookin’ different, but I’d recognize that voice and stance anywhere,” Zoltan said in surprise as he turned around.

“Just a little magic,” You made your way over to the bar and hopped onto the counter, letting your legs swing, “I couldn’t handle not seeing anyone I knew.”

Zoltan grinned widely and set his drink down, “Then yer in luck, Y/N. The gang’s all here. Dandelion is upstairs, currently writing some piece of shit for his newest lady. Triss will be back soon, she went out to finish a contract. And... I believe Geralt is with her.”

Your legs stopped swinging and you froze.

“How long… how long has Geralt been in town?” You asked, brushing a stray piece of your hair back behind your ear.

“Ohh, I’d say a week. Been helping out Triss with some things, Dandelion with some others. Helped me out as well.”

He’d been in town for a week. A week, and he hadn’t even bothered to find you. He knew you were living in Novigrad. Hell, he had even helped you move into your old flat - that is, before you had to go into hiding. You could feel heat come to your face. Oh, how foolish you felt. To think that the two years you had been together had meant anything more to him then Yennefer, or even Triss. You were just a rebound off of those two. Even though you parted on good terms, it didn’t mean he would just find you as soon as he was in town, naturally, he’d find Triss first, of course he’d find Triss first -

Your thoughts were interrupted as the door clanged. Both you and Zoltan turned around.

“Speak of the damn devil and he shall rise,” You muttered under your breath.

Geralt of Rivia was standing by the door, looking as shocked as a witcher could manage.

“Y/N… I didn’t expect you,” Geralt said, halting on his words.

“Of course not,” You replied, your hands gripping the edge of the bar, “I’m not normally expected places.”

“I, erm, just remembered. Dandelion was expecting me to help him with his ballad. Best be off,” Zoltan interjected, doing his best to worm himself out of the no doubt awkward situation.

Both you and Geralt didn’t watch Zoltan as he left the room, but rather just stared down each other.

“How could you tell it was me? I’ve used magic to change my appearance. Didn’t want to get caught by the Mage Hunters.” You finally broke the silence but kept your seat on the top of the bar.

“I can always tell if it's you,” Geralt started to move closer to where you were.

“Save it. I don’t need your awkward and subpar flirting right now, Geralt,” You put up a hand.

In all truth, you didn’t think Geralt’s comment was awkward and subpar, you just didn’t want him to be pleased with himself.

Geralt was silent, just standing. You could feel his eyes on you. Closing your eyes, you tilted your head upwards.

“I thought you’d be with Triss.”

“I was.” Geralt ran a hand through his hair, “She’s gone. Left with the rest of the mages in the city - except for you - to Kovir.”

“They all left?” You opened your eyes, “All of them? Gone?”

“You didn’t know? Triss said that you refused to go.”

“I did. I, uh, didn’t want to leave, mage hunters be damned.” You faltered a bit, trying to quickly come up with a reason for not going besides Geralt.

“Y/N, you should have gone with them. You could have been safe, and now you’re stuck in Novigrad, which is getting worse by the second.” Geralt’s voice started to get louder, until he was yelling at you, “You’ve got to be insane. What on earth could possibly make you stay when your fellow mages are getting killed in broad daylight, burnt at the stake! Every time I pass one of them burning, I always check, just to make sure it’s not-” Geralt suddenly stopped, the words dying on his lips.

“It’s not what?” You asked quietly, hopping off the bar.

“That they aren’t you.”

“Why do you care?” You snapped, looking at him, “Zoltan told me you’ve been in town for a week. A week! Why didn’t you bother to look for me?”

“I was going to. As soon as I got wind of Ciri’s trail! Then I found Triss, got caught up in helping her, I didn’t have the time-”

“Bullshit!” You shouted, slamming a fist on the counter, “Bullshit! Bullshit! You probably didn’t even remember me, why would you?! Two years don’t mean anything, not to a wit-”

You gasped, as suddenly, you were pinned on the floor, an angry-looking Geralt on top of you. His white hair hung down and was brushing against your face.

“Those two years meant everything to me,” Geralt replied gruffly, his nose almost touching yours.

“Why did you leave me then?” You looked up at him, letting your disguise melt away, the magic seeping into the floors of the Rosemary and Thyme.

“I needed to make sure. I needed to make sure that I was through with Yennefer, with Triss. I couldn’t fully be with you until I was done with them.”

“Are you done with them?” You asked softly, scared to hear the answer.

“Yes,” Geralt whispered, leaning down.

When your lips met his, all those feelings you thought you had managed to repress came rushing back. You kissed him back fiercely, running a hand through his hair. He groaned lightly, nipping your bottom lip. After what felt like years, Geralt pulled away, grinning.

“What?” You narrowed your eyes playfully.

“Just thinking of how easy it would be to bed you right now,” He smirked, pressing a kiss to your collarbone.

“Then why don’t you?” You replied, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Geralt suddenly rolled off of you and pulled you up from the floor.

“I know a place better than the floor. I doubt Dandelion would be too happy to find us down here.”

“Lead the way,” You grasped his hand as he tugged you towards the stairs.

You knew for sure you wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night.

#witcher #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt #witcher 3 #witcher wild hunt #geralt x reader #geralt headcanons #geralt one shots

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murfeelee · 4 years

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Video Games Pt3: Video Game Challenge

I saw this list on Pinterest out of nowhere, and what better way to ring in the new year than with another questionnaire, about my favorite pastime! This is the spiritual successor to Part 1 and Part 2.

Day 1 - Very first video game: Pacman and/or Mortal Kombat and/or Samurai Shodown on arcade machines (way back in the day when laundromats had arcade machines and gumball machines and such in them--good times, good times U_U); Tetris on computers; and a buttload of PS1 titles (again: back in the good ole days when consoles came with promo demo discs--I had Frogger, Need for Speed, Medieval, and a bunch of others).

Day 2 - Your favorite character: Here’s my Top 10 Males post and Top 10 Females post.

Day 3 - A game that is underrated: I will preach the greatness of PS1′s Legend of Dragoon till my dying day. It was doomed to dwell in Final Fantasy 7′s shadow, which came out earlier that same year, and it’s a real shame, cuz LoD was E V E R Y T H I N G.

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My favorite aspects of the game are:

Its lore and worldbuilding. On top of the fact that the premise of the game is could be an anime series in its own right, you just get SO EXCITED to visit each new location, and uncover more about the world’s history, and see the different architecture, technologies, cultures and different races (I LOVE the Winglies, of course). It’s actually a gorgeous game for its time.

The combat -- I STILL have some of the Addition patterns memorized to this very day! They get progressively harder as you level up, but once you get used to the timing you feel so dang good. Die, More and More!

The soundtrack and cutscenes. The NOSTALGIA? O_O Bruh. The story is just really good, and was the very first video game to make me cry when certain...events...happened. Play the game and find out for yourself!

Day 4 - Your guilty pleasure game: The Sims, Dragon Age...any and all EA games. Effing ashamed of myself every time I give that nest of corporate demons at Electronic Farts money. “Surprise mechanics” my arse.

Day 5 - Game character you feel you are most like (or wish you were): Has Jar Jar Binks been in a video game yet? Then that’s me. XD But I wish I was most like Lara Croft, as explained in my Top 10 Females post.

Day 6 - Most annoying character: For females it’s Lightning from Final Fantasy 13, and for males it’s Vaan, from Final Fantasy 12. I don’t mind as much when supporting characters are effing annoying (Vanille, Hope, etc), but when it’s the MAIN protagonist?! WHY, Square Enix? WHY.

Lightning was just a negative nancy debbie downer. I wish they had swapped Serah and Lightning, I seriously do. I just couldn’t stand her dry and soulless personality. She wasn’t being edgy or bada** or cool or sexy or FANG or anything; she was just a bitter jaded unhappy wench.

And with Vaan I just effing hate that dude. Why was he even there? They tried so hard to make this pushy entitled kid relevant, but I was like no, the story could’ve easily been told without him, and I wish it had been; he’s a effing idiot.

Day 7 - Favorite game couple: Yuna and Tidus from FFX (hardest I ever cried playing a video game -- THE FEELS I TELL YOU).

Day 8 - Best soundtrack: I used to think it was Skyrim, but nope, it’s Witcher 1, 2 and 3. Just listen to ALL of the songs CDPR ever produced for the entire franchise, including all the unreleased tracks, and enjoy the eargasm.

Day 9 - Saddest game scene: Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice had me legit depressed for a good week. Get your tissues and holy water ready; it’s seriously effed up. The entire game is the saddest I ever played, jfc.

Day 10 - Best gameplay: Witcher 3, duh. Main quests, side quests, combat, dialogue, plot, graphics, worldbuilding, creatures, bosses, soundtrack, characters, Gwent, NEED I GO ON.

Day 11 - Gaming system of choice: Playstation for life. But the Nintendo Switch is effing brilliant, ngl; once they put Skyrim & The Witcher on it I was like SOLD.

Day 12 - A game everyone should play: At least ONE Final Fantasy game. There’s 15+, and Dissidia and Kingdom Hearts. It’s not just a game, it’s an experience.

As much as I rag on FF13 and FF15, they’re still admittedly LEAGUES better than a lot of other crap out there. I just happen to feel that Square Enix is out of its frikkin mind lately, and tbh I’ve been rapidly losing my hype for the FF7 Remake. I was never much of a FF7 fan to begin with, aside from being a rabid Sephiroth fangirl and watching Advent Children a billion times. But Square’s gotta be drunk as a skunk if they think I’m paying all that money for god knows how many of these effing “episodes” they’re gonna piecemeal us to dangit death with. HAYUL no. I’d rather not get too attached.

Day 13 - A game you’ve played more than five times:

Day 14 - Current (or most recent) gaming wallpaper: Huh?

Day 15 - What game are you playing right now: Speak of the devil, I’m replaying God of War for the zillionth time already.

Day 16 - Game with the best cut scenes: In terms of graphics and story impact IMO might be Red Dead Redemption 2. That game was frikkin gorgeous, and the story was SO DANG GOOD. Braithwaite Manor!? O_O

Day 17 - Favorite antagonist: For females it’s either Edea from FF8, or Yunalesca from FFX. For dudes it’s Sephiroth, from FF7. That man needs some serious counseling.

Day 18 - Favorite protagonist: Yuna from FFX for the ladies, and TW3′s Geralt of Rivia for the dudes.

Day 19 - A game world you would like to live in: The more Middle Eastern-inspired scifi/steampunki-medievalesque world of Ivalice from FF12, or the medieval French/Swiss Toussaint from The Witcher 3: Blood and Wine.

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Day 20 - Favorite genre: RPGs and JRPGs, and pretty much action-adventure games with swords and sorcery.

Day 21 - Game with the best story: Red Dead Redemption, which is a good thing and a bad thing. A lot of the time I felt I was watching a movie, rather than playing a game. But it was still an Oscar worthy movie. XD

Day 22 - A game sequel which disappointed you: Technically it hasn’t come out yet, but from what we’ve seen of the Nioh 2 beta release, omfg what’s going on? U_U Now, don’t get me wrong! Nioh 2 looks AMAZING. But....that’s cuz it looks exactly like Nioh 1, just with new yokai gameplay thrown in. o_O Uh...is this a DLC expansion pack or what? Cuz it sure ain't lookin like a full-fledged sequel! :P Dare I call it an asset flip. Come on, don’t do this; do MORE. Unless this is actually an expansion you’ll sell for half the price. ;)

Day 23 - Game you think had the best graphics or art style: For graphics it’s RDR2, but for most unique art style it’s always been Okami for me. <3

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Day 24 - Favorite classic game: Spyro the Dragon. Their reboot for PS4 was AMAZING.

Day 25 - A game you plan on playing: Cyberpunk 2077. I’m so bummed, knowing the game’s been delayed to September 2020 instead of April, but oh well. As long as CDPR gives us that master-class level of Polish we all know and love from The Witcher 3, then take as much time as you need, I guess. At least they’re not like effing EA or Bethesda. XD

Day 26 - Best voice acting: BOY. Freaking iconic, Kratos. :P

Day 27 - Most epic scene ever: Ciri beating the absolute tastebuds outta Caranthir in TW3, not once but twice. Most OP Witcher EVER, girl; WERK.

Day 28 - Favorite game developer: Though I effing hate them, I’m still a Square Enix fangirl at heart. It’s just saddening to see this weird turn they’ve been making recently, with garbage like the Quiet Man, and especially with Final Fantasy, my favorite game series of all time. U_U I’m not looking forward to the FF7 Remake anymore, tbh. I just hope FF16 is more of a return to form.

Day 29 - A game you thought you wouldn't like, but ended up loving: Skyrim. I was never a big fan of Elder Scrolls games, and when Skyrim came out I was very meh at first. But then the mods started coming out for it and I was like wow. O_O

Day 30 - Your Favorite game of all time: Legend of Dragoon on PS1, Final Fantasy X on PS2, Skyrim on PS3/PC, The Witcher 3 on PS4, and The Sims on PC.

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Thanks for reading!

#video games #questionnaire #EA you suck #Electronic Arts #more like electronic farts

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