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asweetprologue · 3 years

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me lámh le do lámh - Part I

Ahh I can’t believe it’s finally done! After a year of working on this beast, it’s finally ready for me to share. This is something I started way back last summer, and I decided to finish it as my project for this year’s @geraskierbigbang. It will be ten parts in total, and I will post one part per day until it is complete! There are several art pieces that were created by the wonderful @herostag and Miranda.draws for this story, which I will link when the appropriate section is posted. For a summary and further links, please see the masterpost.

Next | Ao3 | Masterpost

“Alright,” Geralt said. “Don’t laugh at me.”

Yennefer looked up at him with bright eyes, curious and already mirthful. She was sitting across from him in his quarters, reading through a tome she’d found in Kaer Morhen’s disheveled library. Geralt had just come from a bath after hours spent training Ciri in the yard, and the room was filled with the warm evening light, supplemented by the fire crackling in the hearth. Yennefer had insisted on carting dozens of tapestries and drapes to hang around the drafty keep, and the room was nearly stuffy with their bulk keeping the heat in.

Yennefer gave him an amused smirk. “I will make no such promises before I even know what you’re going to say.” The gentle teasing brought a fond smile to Geralt’s face. After the events of the mountain all those years ago, things had been understandably tense. Yennefer had been reluctant to join them when she had finally met up with Geralt after Sodden, but had eventually agreed to seek refuge in the witchers’ keep and teach Ciri to control her magic. Once she’d met the girl it had all been a wash; it was clear as soon as their eyes met across the room that Yennefer was as much a part of Ciri’s destiny as Geralt was.

Geralt had expected that to either mend the rift between them enough for things to go back to the way things were, or make things even more awkward. Instead, they found themselves in a sort of in-between. Over the years his affection for Yennefer had only grown, but he found himself looking to her more and more as a friend—maybe his best friend. After Jaskier, of course.

Speaking of. “I was thinking about Jaskier.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes obviously. “As you are so frequently wont to do. The thaw will come soon enough, dear, and you can run off in search of your bard.”

Geralt felt his ears grow warm. Witchers couldn’t blush, not truly, but he still felt the tingle of it as he fidgeted with embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, absently tracing a finger against the grain of the wooden table. There were two goblets of wine sitting between them, but so far neither of them had begun to drink. “Do you know how many winters it’s been since I found Ciri?”

If she was confused by the odd turn in subject matter, Yennefer didn’t show it. Instead she looked thoughtful. “Two, perhaps three? You know I don’t follow the seasons with diligence.”

“Neither do I,” Geralt agreed. “I was thinking the same though, two or three years since the fall of Cintra. Which means Jaskier is…” He paused, trying to do the math. “He was a few years past forty, during the dragon hunt, I think. He must be closer to fifty now than not.”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow at him. “I recall mentioning something about his crows feet. What of it? Humans age. Are you only just discovering this?”

Geralt forced himself not to grumble. In a way, he was only discovering it. He’d known humans across the years, of course, and knew that many that he’d once been acquainted with were no longer alive or were in their twilight years. For decades Geralt had wandered through the world, changing no more than a ghost would, touching the lives of regular mortals for a brief instance, maybe a few times if they were particularly unlucky. No one had stayed by his side, dedicated themselves to a relationship with him, the way that the bard had. The amount of devotion that Jaskier showed to him had made Geralt antsy, in earlier years, and then confused and angry by turn. He had hated the idea of someone needing him, had hated needing someone in return. The way his chest felt heavy when he and Jaskier parted ways had left him furious with himself and the bard.

And then Ciri came into his life, and everything had changed so quickly.

With Ciri, it didn’t matter whether Geralt felt like he should care for her, or if he wanted to. He needed to. Without him, the girl would die, or be kidnapped by Nilfgaard for who knows what purpose. He had to feed her, and clothe her, and teach her, and he had to love her for her to thrive.

She made it very easy. It was only afterwards that he realized how much of an idiot he’d been to Jaskier, and the thought of how he’d treated the bard over the years had plagued him. It had been months before he could find him to apologize, but Jaskier forgave him almost immediately—which Geralt found both relieving and infuriating at the same time. This was the first winter they’d spent apart since. Geralt left the keep more rarely now, heading out on the Path only when the months grew truly warm and returning at the first hint of falling leaves. Ciri was safe on her own, he knew, but he missed her when he was away. And he could admit now that one of the forces driving him back into the world over the last few years had been the itching desire to find Jaskier again and settle the yearning in his chest for another year. He was less inclined to venture forth when his bard, his daughter, Yennefer and his brothers were all in one place.

This winter Jaskier had begged off, saying that he had “work in the south,” which could mean anything from spending a decadent winter in the court of some noble or sludging through the front lines as a Redanian spy. Geralt had learned not to pry too deeply into Jaskier’s business when he wasn’t around. It was often either too explicit for him to stomach or too confidential for Jaskier to share freely.

It worried him, being away from the bard for so long. He could get hurt, or captured by Nilfgaard, or worse. But what really terrified Geralt was the idea that he would find Jaskier in a tavern along the Path and realize that the bard had grown old, to find silver in his hair and wrinkles beside his eyes. “He’s getting too old,” Geralt said to Yennefer, who looked at him with sympathetic eyes.

“You must have known when you started travelling with him that he would eventually leave you,” Yennefer said, not unkindly. “Humans are so short lived.”

“I didn’t exactly get a choice about becoming his muse,” Geralt said with a huff. Despite his improved relationship with Jaskier over the past few years, he still found it difficult to admit that he had always been more than willing to let the bard tag along. If he’d wanted to travel alone, he would have. But he never had. “I just didn’t realize…”

“It always comes sooner than you think it will,” Yennefer sighed. She set her book aside and picked up her goblet of wine, turning to look out the large window their table sat in front of. It faced west out of the keep wall, towards the mountains and the forest beyond. The sun had set below the craggy peaks, throwing the snow covered valley below into darkness. Geralt could just make out the ruins of the old tower, its stones dark against the white landscape. “You can’t cure his mortality, Geralt.”

“We did.”

The look that Yennefer gave him was sharp, almost angry. The firelight in the room turned her violet eyes darker, like mulberry wine. “At great cost,” she snapped. “I can’t imagine you would put him through the Trials.”

A stab of panic shot through his gut at the thought. “No. Of course not. He wouldn’t survive it anyways. Only children stand a chance at all.”

Yennefer nodded, apparently satisfied that Geralt hadn’t completely lost his mind. “The boy hasn’t got an ounce of Chaos in him, in spite of his rather chaotic nature, so I highly doubt they’ll accept him as a late trainee at Ban Ard.”

“There must be other ways,” Geralt said, feeling petulant. “Less conventional.”

“I cannot believe we are actually discussing this,” Yennefer said, rising to her feet. She picked up her book from the table as well as her glass. “There is no way to achieve immortality, especially not without sacrifice. You know that, Geralt. Drop this foolish line of thought.”

Geralt rose after her, reaching out to catch her retreating wrist. A grasp loose enough that she could break it, if she wanted, but Yennefer paused. “Please, Yen. Just… look into it for me? I can’t—the thought of—” He cut himself off, dropping his hand away from her arm. The look she gave him was more pitying than he would have liked.

“I’ll do some research, but nothing more. Don’t get your hopes up, Geralt. There’s a reason there are so few of us,” she said. Her face softened slightly, as much as it ever did. Despite Ciri, Yennefer was still made of more glass and fire than anything else. “I know you love him, even if you can’t admit it to yourself. I promise, I will do my best.”

Geralt nodded wordlessly as she left and wondered if Jaskier's eyes would be as bright next time he saw him.

For weeks Yennefer said nothing about his request, and Geralt refocused on spending time with Ciri and preparing to depart for the spring. Lambert and Eskel had already left a month before, as soon as the road down the mountain began to thaw, but Geralt had hung back. The roof needed repairs, a difficult job to do in the midst of winter, and it was a hard task to leave for Vesemir alone. It was always like this, now—him looking for odd jobs to keep him at Kaer Morhen, with Ciri, making excuses until Jaskier’s jitteriness or Vesemir’s raised eyebrows forced them on the road again. Some of that was mitigated this season by the silence he heard when he found himself listening for the sounds of lute strings strumming gently in the background, and Geralt’s increasing anxiety about Jaskier’s wellbeing. Even so, it was hard to leave Ciri behind.

The girl was progressing rapidly as she entered her teen years, the chubbiness of her youth morphing into lean if awkward muscle as she continued to work on her swordsmanship. When Geralt and his brothers weren’t pushing her through drills, she was studying monsters and alchemy with Vesemir, or practicing her magic with Yen. She never seemed to tire, eagerly absorbing any lessons passed on to her and desperate to prove her worth. The only person she seemed to let her guard down around was Geralt, who found himself often goading her into mock wrestling matches (which he refused to throw on principle) and humoring her when she became restless and wanted to explore beyond the keep. Kaer Morhen was dangerous in the winter, but as spring approached and the deep snows on the surrounding mountains began to thaw, the duo spent more and more time trekking through old ruins and sleeping beneath the stars.

He could put off his journey south no longer.

“I’m going to be fine, Geralt,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. He wondered if he’d been this petulant as a teenager. Certainly Lambert had. “I can take care of myself, and Yen will be with me.”

Geralt tapped her wooden training sword with his own, indicating that she should prepare to go again. When he was a boy he’d trained against the other foundlings, stumbling around like pups through drills and sparring matches. Ciri trained against full witchers, and only Eskel ever faked a misstep here or there to allow her to get in a good hit. When she won a fight for the first time, it would be on her own merit.

The girl raised her sword into a decent fighting stance, and Geralt moved to correct her footwork. Her sword work was exceptional above the belt, but she consistently forgot her stances, throwing herself off balance. They’d begun putting her on the pendulums to force her to focus, dancing between posts to attack the dummies. Geralt had spent many a night rubbing salve into her bruised shoulders, gained from taking fall after fall from the low poles. No one forced her, but if there was one thing Ciri hated, it was admitting to weakness in herself. “Sword up,” Geralt said, and launched into his attack.

He stayed on the offense, forcing her to practice the defensive drills they’d started going over recently. “I know you’ll be fine,” he said, continuing their conversation. His breathing was relaxed, almost meditative through the slow exchange of blows. “Just seems cruel to leave you with only the old man and Yennefer for company.”

Ciri giggled despite herself, and Geralt found himself grinning back before he smacked her lightly in the ribs with the training sword. She swore—Lambert, Geralt thought with chagrin—and danced back a few paces. “Gotta focus,” he said, still smirking at her.

She poked her tongue out at him childishly and reposted off of one of his blocked attacks. He easily swayed out of the way, but the movement was fluid and smooth, which meant someday it would be fast, faster than he could dodge. He gave an encouraging nod.

They continued to spar for another half an hour or so before breaking, heading to the well to fill their water pouches. Geralt sat on the short ring of stones and Ciri slumped on the ground beside him, leaning against his leg. The simple trust and familiarity she exhibited around him still took him by surprise, sometimes. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said, rubbing a hand over the top of her head. Her hair was almost as white as his.

She sighed, wiping dripping water from her chin as she tossed her water pouch down. “I figured,” she said. “Say hello to Jaskier for me, when you find him? I missed his songs this time.”

Geralt’s caress turned into a playful ruffle. “I will. Any requests for books?”

“Ones about Elves,” she said immediately, “and Skelligan alchemy. It’s different from ours, did you know? The Druids—”

Geralt chuckled. “I know. You’ve said half a dozen times. No fairytales this time?”

The girl hummed, reminding him for a brief and touching moment of himself. “Just bring Jaskier back. He tells about your adventures so much better than you do.”

“He’s certainly made a career out of it,” Geralt grumbled, feigning annoyance. “I’ll do my best. You know how he is.”

“You missed him too,” she said, hitting his knee with one closed fist. “I know you did. You get all…Well, more grumbly and mopey than usual, when he’s not around.” She wrinkled her nose up at him in exaggerated disgust. “It’s gross. But I do want you to be happy.”

Geralt knocked back against her gently with his knee, swallowing around the feelings that rose in his throat. “You just think I’m a boring old man who won’t help you put toads in Eskel’s bed. But you never even ask. I’m the expert, not Jaskier.”

Ciri laughed, bright and crisp in the morning air, and Geralt felt warm despite the fading winter chill. Tomorrow he would leave, and he would find Jaskier, and next winter he would tell Jaskier that he had to stay at Kaer Morhen. For Ciri, if nothing else. And if it was more for Geralt’s sake than anything, well, no one had to know.

Yennefer found him before he left, saddling Roach in the stables.

“Go to Triss,” she said by way of a greeting. Geralt knew what she meant by the gravity in her tone and the tension sitting in the corners of her mouth. “Ask after Ida. I don’t know where she is or if she’ll speak with you, but a Sage is the only one that might be able to give you anything.”

Geralt reached out to grasp her hand firmly in his own. “Thank you, Yen,” he said honestly.

The sorceress sniffed. “Well, you owe me one, I suppose. I hope you find what you're looking for. But be careful.”

“I won’t do anything that might put him in harm’s way,” he promised. “I swear it.”

“Good.” She gave him a slight smile before leaning in to brush a kiss over his rough cheek. The simple touch warmed him from inside out. “Say hello to the bard for me. Tell him I heard about that disastrous competition in Vizima. Ought to have him stewing for a good long while.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I’ll give him your love as always.”

“Goodbye, Geralt,” she said, patting his arm lightly. “Be safe. You know how to reach me, if you have need.”

“I do,” he said. “I will. Take care of Ciri.”

“It’s more the other way around, I’m afraid,” she said with a soft smile, and Geralt understood exactly what she meant. Ciri had saved them both, in more ways than one. Every time he left her was more painful than the last. Someday, he knew, they might travel the Path together, a witcher, a sorceress and their daughter. Maybe even a bard, if he was extremely lucky.

Geralt hoped he would be.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #big bang #geraskier big bang 2021 #multichapter #fic #fanfic #the witcher #witcher #writing #my work #geraskierbigbang #me lamh

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inennui · 3 years

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My piece for the Geraskier Big Bang! Big thanks to my wonderful author (ilu!) If you want angst go read her time loop fic!! (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`) It Doesn’t Break But it Bends - @drowningbydegrees

#witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #fanart #fanfic #gbb 2021 #blue #sad boys #angsty #angst #geraskier big bang #geraskierbigbang #geraskierbb2021 #my art

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thetinymm · 3 years

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Hi, ive worked on some art for the geraskier bigbang 2021, i had the honor to make art for @goodheavensgwen ‘s lovely fic. wich can be found over on Ao3. The amazing artist @linx1457 have been making some pretty art alongside me for this project.

#geraskierbb2021 #goodheavensgwen #thetinymm #tinydraws #my art #please enjoy #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #thewitcher #2021 #geraskierbigbang #linx1457 #Jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #viscount of lettenhove #sad boy #lute #broken

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geraskierbigbang · 3 years

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A huge thank you and congratulations to everyone who participated in the 2021 Geraskier Big Bang! We’re so excited to see all the wonderful collaborations that came out of it.

You can check out the AO3 collection for this year’s collection here! We’ve also put together a searchable spreadsheet and have aggregated a list of all the works for this year under the cut.

me lámh le do lámh by @asweetprologue (author), @herostag (artist), and @silvertonguelover | Rated M | 31,502 words

Can't Promise You Fair Sky Above by @underwaterattribute (author) and @pinkaxolotl85 (artist) | Rated T | 20,782 words

you will love again by @cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness (author) and @cassandrasdreamworld (artist) | Rated E | 32,000 words

Toss a Coin to Your Hitman by @vestigialstell (author) and @cass_caelis (artist) | Rated E | 16,000 words

Salt and Ash, Iron and Bone by @ghostinthelibrary (author) and @omaano (artist) | Rated E | 45,000 words

Danylion Designs by @iboughtaplant (author) and @reckmore (artist) | Rated M | 20,476 words

The Perils of a Good Time by @tsukiwolf42 (author) and @midnightmagpies (artist) | Rated M | 50,000 words

Hot Coffee by @sunalso (author) and @linx1457 (artist) | Rated E | 27,060 words

Stars, I Have Seen Them Fall by @hum-my-name (author) and @madness-to-my-method (artist) | Rated M | 40,500 words

It Doesn't Break But It Bends by @drowningbydegrees (author) and @inennui (artist) | Rated E | 17,520 words

It's a Hungry World by @kueble (author) and @linx1457 (artist) | Rated E | 25,000 words

The drug, the dark, the light, the flame @longing-and-heartache-and-lust (author) and @Gensyzart (artist) | Rated E | 81,000 words

No Kings Among Wolves by @saltytransidiot (author),@punchsomeoneforme-willyou (artist), and @midnightmagpies (artist) | Rated M | 32,320

and when the morning comes by @greyduckgreygoose (author), @linx1457 (artist), and @drawingsober (artist) | Rated E | 21,070 words

we're soaking up the hours that everyone else throws away by @marvelousmaize (author) and @maximproving (artist) | Rated E | 17,500 words

See No Evil by @midnightmagpies (author) and @linx1457 (artist) | Rated E | 29,630 words What You Didn't Know You Wanted by @octinary (author) and @maximproving (artist) | Rated E | 38,837 words

resist death, make trouble by @partialresonance (author) and @firefly-party (artist) | Rated M | 28,754 words

these restless feet by @alittlebitmaybe (author) and @midnightmagpies (artist) | Rated E | 62,000 words

The Fairest of Them All by @TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG (author) and @silvertonguelover (artist) | Rated E | 46,256 words

Greenfinch and Linnet Bird by @kell-be-belle (author) and @dat-carovieh (artist) | Rated M | 34,000 words

The Inescepable March by @oxbridge-quality-fanfiction-co (author), @moadlc (artist), and @herostag (artist) | Rated M | 25,960 words

Tale as Old as Time by @goodheavensgwen (author), @thetinymm (artist), and @linx1457 (artist) | Rated E | 25,552 words

mostly we don't want to harm each other by @jew-flexive (author) and @breannaneo (artist) | Rated T | 16,275 words

all was taken away from you (even existence) by @not-my-circus (author) and @hekatos-mist (artist) | Rated M | 44,000 words

i knew you would forget by @acemoppet (author) and @moadlc (artist) | Rated M | 15,113 words

Questionable Priorities by @the-spinning-jenny (author) and @punchsomeoneforme-willyou (artist) | Rated E | 15,000 words

Again? Better! by @kittynannygaming (author) and @midnightmagpies (artist) | Rated M | 15,000 words

#geraskierbigbang #geraskierbb2021 #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher

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oxbridge-quality-fanfiction-co · 3 years

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I’m back from the dead with a fic about coming back from the dead! Write what you know 😝 Geraskier Big Bang has been amazing! My collaboration with @herostag and @moadlc surpassed all my expectations. Their work is remarkable and they are talented, creative, wonderful, and supportive people who made me feel like a star for writing this fic!

Ever since I fell in love with @yoursummerfrost time loop fic (still my favourite fic of all time), I wanted to write my own version of the trope. So here it is! A little darker and more gory. Happy ending guaranteed.

You can find The Inescapable March with all the stunning images embedded in the text on AO3.

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier separate in the midst of the war with Nilfgaard. Geralt feels guilty after rejecting Jaskier’s clumsy, drunken advances, and abandoning him in a town he knows might be the next target for attack. They are lost between winter and spring, dream and reality, friendship and love, but boundaries become easy to cross once witnessing a horrifying slaughter traps them in a reoccurring nightmare which keeps ending with their deaths.

Extra thanks to my brilliant friend and beta @lovelyrita1967 ❤️

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Geralt felt the last rays of sunshine disappear from his face, the blotches of warmth evaporating, replaced by the chilling breath of the evening. There was fog rising above the grass, the path in front of him already growing hazy. The rapidly dropping temperature made him feel somehow exposed, thin fabric stuck to his back, sweaty from exertion. He shifted his weight, and Roach slowed down from a gallop to a walk with a quiet snort.

He breathed in the fresh, humid smell of the forest, letting go of the last bits of the tension in his chest. The remaining tightness was not an issue, a pointless souvenir of the moment he had uttered some words he never wished to say, and had heard some he preferred left unspoken, a glimmer of a memory he was eager to push down. It will pass.

What a ridiculous moment to separate. There was gossip of the army moving south. A trail of burned ground served as an undeniable proof to those who preferred to distrust the discordant voices. The connecting tracks were filling up with hunched figures and packed wagons, wheels unsettling the sandy roads. Any pushback, no matter how heroic, made no difference. It was clear. One could sense it in the fearful looks. The light buzzing of unease was borderline audible in every village and town they traveled through.

And yet, not long after sunrise, Jaskier had turned away, his back visible for some time amongst a colorful mix of strangers in a busy market. Geralt hadn’t called after him when he could. The lump in his throat was still there somehow, all these hours later.

He remembered wanting to avoid pointless staring, so his eyes mindlessly lingered on a young girl selling flowers, a fresh-grass-green dress, and a light smile. She was rearranging a small bouquet, binding thin stems together with determination bordering on cruelty. Her hair slipped on her face, but she didn't mind, lost in the task. Her eyes, starved after winter, were greedily devouring the yellow of the daffodils, the deep hue of the bluebells, the thick, plump leaves crunching under her fingers.

And when he had looked ahead again, there wasn’t a trace of Jaskier anymore.

Good riddance, he had thought in anger, walking off.

There were still a couple of things he had to do. And it was hardly surprising he had found himself close to the tavern a few times, a sturdy building snuggled against the castle wall, hidden within a small enclosure, the door propped open, guests pouring in and out. The White Horse Inn, he read. The sign was worn down, the rearing animal crumbling, wood peeking from behind the paint. The shapes behind the horse deteriorated so much, even witcher eyes could no longer discern them, but there was red and orange, almost like fire.

Geralt never crossed the threshold, just noted the proximity to the gate, the narrow street leading towards it, and the two stone lions at either side that stared back at him with hollow eyes. One’s head was tilted as if it was curious, its front paw frozen mid-step.

Some hunched figures pushed past him, offended looks, as if he was blocking the entrance. He was nowhere near. City guards, barely half a dozen. One had a deep scar, running from his cheek bone to his jaw, still inflamed. Another had a limp, so small, most people would miss it. Perhaps it wasn’t really offence, just distrust. Geralt nodded at them in absentminded acknowledgement.

Even with his business concluded, he had decided to stay a few moments longer. He had walked through the market again, sunshine flooding his eyes, intercutting streams of people around him, a frenzy of colours, life buzzing with unwavering insistence, voices hushed but for the sellers, baritones sounding above the sea of moving heads. He circled the stalls as the merchants were beginning to wrap up. After a warm day, the smell of fish and decaying meat was overwhelming, a mass of bodies passing by. Too many, he had thought.

For what? his mind snapped back, then emptied.

Those moments turned into hours. And another few, until the afternoon slipped into an evening, and the choice was between racing to the next town over, or having to stay.

And staying would have obviously been a terrible idea. Fuck.

He shifted his weight, leaning into the saddle and Roach stopped, hooves digging into the soft ground. The forest was almost completely quiet, something ghostly about the evening song of the young birds, the breeze sneaking in between the bare branches, fresh buds barely there. It was like icy water running through his hair, and down his back, the wind.

Jaskier always hated that, being caught on the road at sundown in March. He’d call it 'the wretched vestiges of winter', his shoulders shivering, breath visible, and tone offended, as if the weather hurt him on purpose. He despised the cold, especially once a sunny day made the heat settle in his bones. It would promise mellow nights, the shuffle of leaves, cherry trees in full bloom, and fool him so easily, because he was so eager to be fooled. No, it was not spring yet. And he was no stranger to disappointment. Was he?

Geralt felt his heartbeat pick up a pace. Fuck this unruly mind of his.

Just a few weeks back, they rode past a scorched corpse of a town. The soldiers pushed the inhabitants against their own defensive walls. Panicked, they pressed against a gate they themselves bolted and secured, crushing each other in a futile attempt to escape. Even Geralt was grateful the bodies looked somehow abstract when covered in frozen mud, shrouded in a thick layer of ice, most shapes dissolved to the point of incoherency. Jaskier bent over and threw up, the most florid comment a poet could make.

He must be in the tavern now, Geralt thought. There would be a fireplace radiating pleasant heat, hands on the lute, eyes already set on some interested party who would drag him up the stairs and make him forget wars, false springs, and witchers. Happy. No, Geralt couldn't imagine Jaskier would really be happy tonight, or safe. When was the last time he was either? He’d rather not try to remember. Things were turning desperate, and they should have been better than this. But they weren’t.

Jaskier’s performance was a bit stale the night before, voice raspy, distinctly lacking his usual enthusiasm. His smiles shined all the same, but just never quite reached his eyes, shoulders tense, hair stuck to his forehead. A jittery bard without a spark was a surprise to no one but the only witcher in the audience.

In the middle of his set a blackbird fell through the window, just a dark smudge hitting the ground by his foot, its beak opening and closing with no sound, one wing immobile, the other stretching out and twitching one last time before it stilled. Jaskier stared, stunned, mouth moving wordlessly, and then looked up straight at Geralt as if asking for something.

Geralt felt Jaskier’s heart racing like a pulse in his own temples, the acidulous smell of fear, and saw a shift in his look, almost imperceptible, an involuntary twitch, skin turning ashen white, lips bloodless. Jaskier blinked. Then the colours began returning to his face as quickly as they disappeared, and he shook his head, surprised by his own response, chest heaving ever so slightly. Geralt took a step towards him, then stopped, eyes questioning.

When Jaskier took the bird in his hands, and walked to put it on the windowsill, floorboards creaking under his feet, the crowd was following his every step, some scared, some laughing. Others stepped back with a gasp, moving out of his way as if he was diseased, a cavalcade of whispers rising around him. Jaskier didn't have to hear the words to know what they said. Then a few left. Those who stayed met him with a vacant stare.

And yet, he finished his performance. Only it took a few songs for his voice to stop shaking. His eyes kept gravitating towards Geralt who heard every quiver, every delay, every mistake in the songs they both knew by heart, songs he heard Jaskier perform hundreds of times with unwavering confidence. It hurt. And it didn’t get better even when Jaskier seemingly did. There was a meaning to this, and it was escaping them.

The audience was not as perceptive. The mood was shifting, voices kept joining in until the atmosphere turned rowdy, and soon everything appeared fine, more than fine, coin bouncing off the tables, rounds being ordered, the whole crowd swinging. Geralt was the only island amongst the crushing waves of human flesh, hands waving, feet stomping and stumbling, beer spilling with a splash. The smell of stew, stale ale, and old sweat was overwhelming.

A normal night.

By the end, Jaskier’s voice fell lower, his breath a cloud of hot, alcohol-infused air, face covered in a sheer layer of sweat, collar yellowing on the edges. And then his hands turned unusually grabby, so fucking needy, damanding, the pressure unbareable, pushing, and stretching Geralt, who was already tired and worried enough, all the way to the breaking point with such self-assurance, one would be forgiven for thinking that was the plan all along.

Shaking off Jaskier’s hands was a bizarre kind of crime, so different from beheading a bruxa or piercing a sword through a soldier. Should be trivial, yet felt so much worse because it was not blessed with a sense of duty, or granted the sweet oblivion of impersonality. It felt like hitting a child.

‘We might be dead tomorrow,’ he said, once all his other arguments failed.

Sure, Geralt thought, we might. Jaskier could have - should have - used that line on the boisterous blonde who clapped with above-average enthusiasm, or the shy daughter of the tavern owner who was desperate to be convinced, but there it was, ringing in Geralt’s ears like a bitter insult, spoken with undeniable, heart-wrenching sincerity.

Something about that image stuck with Geralt, an unshakable vividness of Jaskier’s lips pressed together in a resigned, sad smile, the silence tightly filling their dingy room once he finally ran out of words, his shirt unbuttoned and awkwardly hanging off his shoulder. He looked… lost.

Geralt blinked a few times, and slowly emerged from the memory, feeling like a complete idiot, the forest around him turning painfully sharp again, each biting gasp of wind more stinging than the previous. There must have been an owl nearby, a low hoot resonating in between bare trees, hollow and haunting.

The superstitious townsfolk, the people who saw their future in scattered rat bones and trusted the stars to tell them what to do, the ones who stepped back when a blackbird fell through a window and who would kill a black cat for crossing their way... They would have said hearing an owl meant someone you love was about to die.

Yenn once laughed at that. 'There's not enough loved ones on the Continent to cover the hoots,' she said with a dismissive smile. 'There's a logic to seeing it as a bad omen, though. If you're stupid enough to think it means something, you probably shouldn't be trusted with the road at night. And when things already feel unsettling enough that an owl can spook you, you better trust your fucking gut before things turn sordid.'

'It's because relatives stay up long past dusk to sit by the sickbed, and hear the owls through the window. At that point, the news is usually bad,' he explained back then, although he liked her interpretation better.

'Well, in that case, we have nothing to worry about,' she sneered, looking away.

Geralt couldn't sleep the night before and heard all kinds of sounds, the whole tavern buzzing, hushed voices, distant moans, a mockingbird singing against a backdrop of other birds’ aggressive chirping, a discordant chorus intercut with the even, deep breaths beside him. Jaskier was facing away, the space between them wider than strictly necessary. His chest was raising and falling in a calming rhythm, but all Geralt could feel was unease.

Then Jaskier let out a soft gasp, and his breath became unsteady, a twitch unsettled the bed. ‘What did you say?’ he asked, voice swollen.

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘Weird. I could swear I heard you above all the noise.’ He sounded breathless and moved, yet remained completely still, an outline against the window. ‘I thought you’d leave me behind. I really did. Thank gods you’re here.’

Geralt froze, then stared into the back of Jaskier’s head, blindly. ‘You’re making no sense. Just sleep,’ he snapped, but to his own surprise his voice was breaking.

‘But I don’t want to,’ Jaskier mumbled, drifting away. ‘I don’t want to- Geralt?’

He just hummed in response.

‘Tell me we’ll be fine.’

‘We’ll be fine,’ he repeated after him.

And then Jaskier stirred and his breath grew even again, birds audible once more.

You can read the rest on AO3.

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@valdomarx @jaskierswolf @ohmybgosh @variousnoises @planetesastraea @fangirleaconmigo @anie6142 @gosh-diddley-darnit @gilbert-von-kneecap @rawrkinjd @ikeptupwiththejoneses @carmillacarmine @thelastsock @peanitbear @renfribrooks @sarah-midnight @stinastar @short-potato @purpleonionofsex @comfortabletextiles @ohjules @geraskierficrecs @katesierra @professional-peace-disturber @actionnerdgamerlove @booichiboo @doctor-harrypotter @laymedowninsheetsoflinen @laninlurks @swampcastle @vaire-gwir @lostinmyheadforever2021 @fontegagrilledcheese @hailhailsatan @panerato @unsocialife

#geraskierbigbang #geraskier big bang #geraskierbb2021 #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fanfic #Herostagsart #moadlc art #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #My writing

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goodheavensgwen · 3 years

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Tale as Old as Time

At long last, here's my collaboration for the 2021 @geraskierbigbang! Thank you to @drowningbydegrees for all your betaing and cheerleading!

Fic by @goodheavensgwen Art by @thetinymm & @linx1457

Fic rating: Explicit Word Count: 25,552 Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Inspired by the 1991 Disney animated movie, Beast!Geralt, Witchers as Anthropomorphic Furniture, Fairy Tale Elements, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, First Time, Found Family, Good Dad Geralt, Past Geralt/Yennefer, Gift Giving, Dancing, Bottom!Jaskier, Knotting, Canon-Typical Violence, daring rescues, loving others, loving yourself

Fresh out of Oxenfurt and beginning his bardic career, Jaskier yearns for adventure. Following the whispers of a story, he finds himself in a crumbling old keep inhabited by an odd yet delightful group of enchanted furniture. As Jaskier celebrates finally finding something worthy of a song, his joy is cut short when a giant wolf-like beast emerges, thunderously forbidding Jaskier from ever leaving.

Now trapped in a strange enchanted castle, Jaskier finds himself growing closer and closer to its inhabitants, including the mysterious beast, who may not be as monstrous as Jaskier first thought.

Will love break the curse, or are things more complicated than they seem? After all… who could ever learn to love a beast?

Thetinymm: art post Linx1457: art post & art post Read the fic here

#geraskier #geralt/jaskier #beauty and the beast au #geraskierbigbang #geraskierbb2021 #my fic #it's DONE y'all!!#I am so proud of this fic #it's the longest thing I've ever written #it was SO much work #and y'all #July came for me #but we did it #and I'm so happy #<3

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moadlc · 3 years

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The Inescapable March (Written by Blaire Seton, Illustrated by Moadlc and Herostag)

If intrigue, angst, time loops and mutual pining is your thing, then you MUST read @oxbridge-quality-fanfiction-co's new #geraskier fic!

I had the honor of illustrating part of the story through the 2021@geraskierbigbang, the other lovely illustrations are the work of the amazing @herostag

Read the fic here

Check out the rest of my art here

#geraskier #geraskier fanart #geraskierbigbang #geraskierbb2021 #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fanfic #geraskier big bang 2021 #moadlc #moadlc art #the inescapable march #new favorite fic #artist on kofi #artist on tumblr #queer artist #witcher fanart #creativecaviar

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twelvemagpies · 3 years

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Coming to you live from the 2021 @geraskierbigbang, with a fic by @twelvemagpies and art by @midnightmagpies!

This was my first big event in the Witcher fandom(s) and I had a blast working on this, even though destiny (?) tried extremely hard to keep me from getting this fic online! Unlike our dear witcher, however, I've managed to change my fate without claiming any children or emotionally traumatizing any bards along the way!

with lilies and with laurels he goes

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Witcher - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Characters: Geralt, Jaskier, Eskel, Lambert, Triss, Vesemir, Yennefer Tags: Myth Retelling, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Temporary Character Death, Fairy Tale Elements, Oral Sex

Geralt has never known the gods or destiny or death to be kind, to show him mercy even if he begged for it. There’s no sense in it when he already knows the answer; bind it in a book or set it to a pretty tune, no story about a witcher will ever be more than a tragedy. (Before he died scared and alone and half the Continent away from anyone who could save him, Jaskier spent more than twenty years making Geralt out to be the hero of his stories. It’s the least he can do, Geralt thinks, to finally fucking act like one.)

Read the fic on AO3 here

See the art here

#geraskier big bang #geraskierbigbang #geraskierbb21 #tumblr mobile is gonna eat that header i just know it #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #i am so relieved to finally post this oh my god #i don't know if it's a sign that the fic is really good or really bad #but when a power station and my geriatric neighbour and fucking GOOGLE conspire to keep me away from the internet....i start to wonder.....#wlawlhg #the bin

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youarebeingshaggedbyarareparrot · 3 years

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Go To The Coast, Dearheart.

A collaboration for the 2021 @geraskierbigbang. Thank you to @dodgylogic for very kindly and very wonderfully betaing this fic.

Fic by: @youarebeingshaggedbyarareparrot , pen name flandersmare on AO3 Art by: @punchsomeoneforme-willyou

Fic rating: Teen and Up Word count: 29330 Relationships: Geralt and Jaskier, Geralt and Ciri, Jaskier and an OC, Geralt and an OC Warnings: No Archive Warnings, but delves into topics and themes of suicidal behaviours, disassociation and contains a scene for the point of view of a drowning character. Tags:Original Characters, Post-Episode: s01e06 Rare Species, post-mountain, Disassociation, descriptions of drowning, suicidal behaviour, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Emotionally Distressed Geralt of Rivia, Ciri gets sick, Our boys need help, Original Ensemble Characters, So many OCs, someone help me, please take them from me, I’m not ready to be a mother, found family (threatening), a variety of emotional support animals, hard conversations, author has never been to therapy, probably should, I’m all here for the romance but boy howdy they have some work to do first, Please take care of yourselves, can you tell i miss the sea?

'He was going to tell the story.

He’d decided that much. Or at least, a version of the story. He had to. She’d said he owed her nothing, and she may think that, but it was just not true. She’d opened her home to him and in these last months of sleeping where he fell and eating what he could find, that was a kindness that could not go ignored.

Maybe it was a tale as old as the stars, a heart broken and struggling to piece itself together again. But the classics were classics for a reason.And his tragedy, because it was a tragedy he’d come to realise, thinking back to the youth in Posada with a song in his heart, dust in his hair and bread in his trousers, and where he is now, his tragedy may be unheard of to a seal. Maybe she’d never needed to rinse her ears of human matters.

He owed it to himself too. What sort of cautionary tale was he, if no one ever heard it?'

After the mountain, Jaskier follows the slope, then the stream, then the river, then the shoreline.

Seabirds don’t sing, they cry.

Art post Fic post

#geraskier big bang #2021 geraskierbigbang

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asweetprologue · 3 years

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me lámh le do lámh - Part V

First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

They walked back in near silence, Geralt still dwelling on the swirling storm of guilt and yawning despair he found himself thrust into. Jaskier was quiet, unusually so, perhaps sensing Geralt’s sudden shift in mood. Geralt reminded himself once again that he wasn’t tricking Jaskier into anything. This wasn’t a marriage, not one that would be binding in any realm of men or even elves. It was a magic ritual he was using to save his friend’s life, he told himself firmly. That was all it could be, no matter how much Geralt’s heart demanded more.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Jaskier finally said, as they exited the stairwell they’d come down back onto one of the upper levels. “More than usual, I mean.”

Geralt gave a noncommittal hum, not even knowing where to begin in explaining his reticence. Jaskier shuffled along behind him, and Geralt could hear how he was clenching and unclenching his hands around the strap of his shoulder bag, the leather creaking. “Are you… having second thoughts about this? It’s quite the undertaking, I understand, and if you feel it’s not worth it—”

“Jaskier,” Geralt snapped, “shut up. I’m fine.” His skin felt raw and overexposed, as if he’d downed one too many potions. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this unmoored, not since the early days of gaining his Child Surprise.

He could feel Jaskier bristle behind him even before he spoke. “Well forgive me for checking in,” the bard bit out. “Gods forbid I do something that reminds you that I care.”

Geralt sighed through his nose, clenching his teeth. He could not take this out on Jaskier, not when this was a situation he’d fabricated for himself. “I know you do, Jask,” he said, the closest thing he felt he could muster now to an apology. “That’s why we have to do this. I—” the I care for you too died in his throat, too close to the truth for comfort. “I need you around,” he settled on, still too much, too revealing. But Jaskier deserved to know that whatever Geralt might be feeling, he wanted to do this. He needed to do this.

“Of course,” Jaskier said, sounding tired for some reason. “For Ciri, I know. But if it’s such a burden, you can always ask Triss, you know. Or Vesemir, or any of your brothers. If you don’t want to do this, I’m the last one who will force you to go through with it.”

Geralt struggled to find the words to convince Jaskier of his intentions without giving himself away, and failed. The silence stretched on between them, a condemnation, and Jaskier heaved a sigh before pushing ahead. “Forget I said anything,” he muttered, head down as he stalked forward. Geralt opened his mouth to say something, anything to smooth out the defensive line of Jaskier’s shoulders, but nothing came out. He had nothing to offer that wouldn’t drive Jaskier even further away.

So after a moment, he followed in silence.

He allowed the distance between them to persist, Jaskier walking some thirty feet ahead of him. If he’d been closer, perhaps he would have seen the crack in the floor, or heard the grinding of stone. As it was, he looked up as Jaskier gave a sharp gasp of surprise, just as the sound of crumbling rock reached him. Jaskier turned and Geralt caught one look of shock on his face before he was suddenly gone, swallowed by the fragile earth.

Geralt shouted, an abstract sound of panic, and dashed down the passage to the hole that now marred the cavern floor. Heedless of the crumbling edge, he flung himself down to peer into the darkness. The floor here was clearly directly above another tunnel or cavern, and the ancient supports must have given way somewhere, making the ground unstable. The space below was utterly dark; not even Geralt’s enhanced eyes could pierce the darkness. Jaskier’s torch had gone out in the fall, probably crushed by rubble. He didn’t know if it was ten feet down or one hundred. Jaskier could be lying below him, bones shattered on the unforgiving ground, head cracked open—

Geralt swallowed past the nausea that rose in him at the thought. Leaning over the chasm, he called out, “Jaskier!”

There was no answer, and Geralt couldn’t breathe.

“Fuck,” he said, fumbling at his belt, “fuck, fuck.” He pulled out his potion pouch and dug until he found the Cat, throwing the bottle carelessly aside after he’d taken a few quick mouthfuls. After a few seconds, the cave around him bloomed into focus, all shades of sharp grey. He squinted down into the hole again, eyes seeking. It was still dark, but now with the Cat coursing through his veins he could make out vague shapes. It looked like the floor of the lower level was ten to fifteen feet down, cluttered with the rubble from the above passage. Geralt sucked in a sharp breath when he spotted a limp figure lying amongst the debris.

Without thinking, he slid his legs down into the chasm and dropped.

It wasn’t a far drop, not for a prepared witcher. He landed on the balls of his feet and allowed the impact to roll up through him, only barely twinging his bad knee. What made him sway was seeing Jaskier, in clear focus now, sprawled out between the rocks that littered the floor. He was so still, his head turned away from Geralt, and for a moment he was frozen, unable to bring himself to approach. If Jaskier was—if he was dead—

Geralt forced himself forward.

He heard the heartbeat first, and the relief that coursed through him was so overwhelming he could only stumble the rest of the way to Jaskier’s side. He dropped to his knees, reaching out to touch his face gently. This close, he could smell the irony tang of blood, and when he turned Jaskier’s head he could see a smear of dark on the stone below. He swallowed heavily. Head wounds bled a lot, of course, it might not be too bad. But they could also be deceptive, especially in humans. He wasn’t sure how far the damage went, if Jaskier’s brain had taken any injury, or his spine. He hovered for a moment, indecisive.

Jaskier stirred, groaning.

“Don’t move,” Geralt snapped, slipping his hand behind Jaskier’s neck to cradle his head.

Jaskier paid him no mind, shifting minutely and wincing as he did so. “Owch,” he said, thickly. “Geralt?”

“You fell.” Geralt kept his hand in place, lifting his other to prod gently at the cut on Jaskier’s forehead. It was hard to see in the dark, Cat making everything indistinguishable shades of black and white, but he could see that it wasn’t exceptionally deep. It seemed like he’d landed feet first, and then fallen and hit his head afterwards. If he’d landed face first, Geralt assumed things would be a lot messier. “Do you remember?”

Jaskier twisted, shuffling until he was on his back instead of his side, panting up at Geralt. He was squinting, and Geralt wasn’t sure if it was from the pain or just because it was dark. There was almost no light down here, and Jaskier’s dull human eyes were probably utterly blind. Geralt kept his hand in place, steadying Jaskier’s head, not wanting him to injure himself further. “Ban Aine. Ruins. Fucking floor. You were being a dick.” He let out a disgusted sound. “Ow.”

“You probably have a concussion,” Geralt said, relief and affection swimming up through him and merging oddly with his lingering guilt. It wasn’t truly that far of a fall, though he wasn’t entirely sure how far humans could fall. Geralt could probably have made it twice the distance and been perfectly fine; Jaskier seemed alright except for his head. “Need to know if it’s safe to move you. Any pain in your neck? Can you move your fingers?”

He watched as Jaskier slowly took stock, clenching and unclenching his hands, moving carefully. Nothing hurt aside from his head, it seemed, and Geralt allowed himself to breathe out some of the worry that was compressing his lungs. Jaskier was fine. A little dizzy from the growing knot on his head, but otherwise fine. Unable to help himself, Geralt pressed forward until their foreheads were just barely touching, careful of the bump just below Jaskier’s hairline.

Jaskier exhaled slowly. “Don’t tell me you were worried, witcher,” he said, his voice gently teasing.

Geralt just breathed for a moment, letting the horrible fear that had overtaken him rest behind his breastbone. “Sorry,” he said, trying to keep his grip on the back of Jaskier’s neck gentle. “For being a dick.”

Jaskier snorted softly, reaching up to card his fingers briefly through Geralt’s hair. The touch smoothed away the tense, tight feeling that had been playing across Geralt’s skin since he saw Jaskier tumble from his sight. “It’s alright. I’m quite used to the dramatics of witchers. Besides, now you have to be nice to me. I’m an invalid.”

“And you call me dramatic,” Geralt said, unable to keep the helpless fondness from his voice. “Think you can move?”

“Mm, yes, I have an absolute fucker of a headache but otherwise all limbs seem to be in their place. And I still don’t fancy spending the night down here. Where are we?” Jaskier’s head began to turn before he clearly thought the better of it. It wouldn’t have helped, anyways; the tunnels were pitch black. “Can you see?”

“Took some Cat,” Geralt grunted, standing. He tucked Jaskier’s hand into his own and helped lever him to his feet. The bard sucked in a breath at the change in elevation. Geralt was sympathetic; moving around wasn’t going to be helping his head at all. He stayed close, ready to offer his support, which was why he was so quick to reach out when Jaskier took one step forward and his right knee gave out. Geralt caught him by the arm as Jaskier hissed, half sharp inhale and half curse. “Shit,” he bit out, clinging to Geralt tightly. “Oh fuck that hurt, Melitele’s tits—”

“Where,” Geralt demanded, throat tight again.

“Must have twisted my ankle when I landed on it,” Jaskier panted, managing to sound wry despite the way his face was twisted up in pain.

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed. “Too dark down here to look at it. Come on.” Jaskier made a noise of protest as Geralt began to pull away, but it was cut off abruptly as he reached down and swept his arm under Jaskier’s knees. The bard tumbled into his chest with a surprised gasp, one of his arms coming up around Geralt’s shoulders, clutching at his armor. The gasp quickly turned into a small grunt of pain, and Geralt tried to keep his movements steady enough that Jaskier’s head wouldn’t be jostled too much.

Jaskier gave him a dazed look as Geralt settled him. “Oh. My hero,” he said. Geralt was a bit worried by how breathy his voice suddenly sounded; if he was that winded from even that much light movement his head might be more injured than Geralt thought.

Geralt didn’t respond, more interested in getting them out before the Cat wore off. From their position he could see that the tunnel they were currently in—more of a path, really, with clear man-made walls—was elevated on one side. It was as good a lead as any, and he started up the slope.

It took perhaps half an hour for them to make their way back to the upper level, Jaskier tucked against Geralt’s chest as he navigated the winding corridors. Luckily it was fairly easy to tell when the air was closer to the surface. The tunnels that led lower into the ruins carried with them the stale scent of stone and ancient rot, so Geralt turned away from them and followed those that smelled fresher. They soon made their way back to what Geralt judged was the same level as where they’d left, though he couldn’t say whether they were in the same area. He could find no evidence of the hole that Jaskier had left behind, but eventually they reached a crumbled section of the wall that carried the scent of clean spring air. They had to squeeze through the narrow, natural crack in the rock beyond it, Jaskier set down in front of Geralt to limp his own way through. It had been too constricted to carry him, but Geralt still chewed on his cheek as he listened to Jaskier’s pained grunts of concentration.

Finally they stumbled out into the open air again—fully on the other side of the ruins from where they’d entered.

Geralt reached out a hand to steady Jaskier before he could fall, and the bard shot him a grateful look. Gently, Geralt pressed onto his shoulder until he was forced to sit on a rocky outcropping near the entrance to their little escape path. “Stay here,” he instructed. “I’ll go get Roach and we can make camp again on this side.”

Jaskier’s brows pinched together. “But we already made camp on the other side,” he said. His eyes were squinted again, but this time Geralt expected it was because the setting sunlight was hurting his head. Geralt wasn’t faring all that much better, though the Cat would probably be leaving his system soon. At the moment the world was overexposed, all the color leached out while the sky and reflections of sunlight on the surrounding rocks blinded him.

“You’re injured,” was all he said. “Just wait here.”

Jaskier pouted, and Geralt felt something unclench in his chest at the expression. If he was being a brat he couldn’t be feeling too bad. “Fine, witcher. But I think you’re being dramatic again.”

Geralt just raised an eyebrow at him. Jaskier huffed as if he knew exactly what Geralt was thinking. Hypocrite.

“Don’t get into trouble,” Geralt instructed, and then turned to make his way back to the other side of the ruins.

By the time he collected Roach and made it back to the rocky outcropping, it was nearing dusk. He muttered a few choice curses under his breath; it would be difficult to treat Jaskier’s wounds in the dark. As he rounded the bend in the ruins he had a moment of unbridled panic; the place he’d left Jaskier was vacant. It faded after a moment, however. Jaskier’s scent was still thick on the air, lavender and campfire smoke masked by a superficial irony tang. He found the bard tucked against a pillar, out of immediate view. Geralt released Roach’s reins to kneel next to him, reaching out to wrap a hand around Jaskier’s shoulder again. The bard startled under his fingers, moaning when the sudden motion jostled his head. The befuddled expression he turned on Geralt was tense with pain, but endearing despite it.

“You fell asleep,” Geralt informed him, his stomach twisted up with affection and worry. Gods, being in love was unbearable.

“Oh,” Jaskier said, reaching up to scrub a hand over his face. “Sorry. Roach?”

“Got her,” Geralt replied. “I’m gonna set up camp and then I’ll tend to your ankle.”

Jaskier didn’t look immediately thrilled by the prospect.

Geralt set up camp in record time, tossing out their bedrolls and lighting a few pieces of wood with igni, probably the sloppiest fire he’d ever put together. Once finished he helped Jaskier over to one of the bedrolls, sitting him down and pulling over the bag that they kept their basic medical supplies in.

There wasn’t a lot he could do for the ankle. If it was truly sprained it might help to brace it, but in reality Jaskier was just going to have to keep off of it for a few days. The head he could at least tend to, and he did, using boiled water to wipe away the tacky blood from where it had dripped over Jaskier’s forehead and clotted in his eyebrow. Jaskier winced away from the gentle pressure, but the wound didn’t start bleeding again, which Geralt counted as a win. Once done he checked the rest of Jaskier’s head for other bumps, but there was nothing aside from the one on his forehead. He was lucky; if it had been the back of his head he’d certainly have a raging concussion. As it was he seemed mostly fine, if a little dazed and photosensitive. Hopefully a few good night’s rest would see to that.

The ankle he did what he could for, strapping two branches on either side of Jaskier’s foot and pinning them down with bandages. It wasn’t professional work, but it would keep him from moving it too much while he slept. When he was finally finished Geralt tossed the bloody rags away and sighed, eying his handiwork.

Jaskier, who had been curiously silent through the entire production, said, “This certainly flips the script a bit, mm?”

Geralt blinked at him, pulled from his focus on Jaskier’s injuries. “What?”

Jaskier gave him a lopsided grin, almost sheepish. “Usually I’m the one patching you up,” he said. His eyes lost focus slightly, staring down at Geralt’s armor vacantly. “I think I like being on this side of things better.”

Geralt swallowed. He knew he should say something lighthearted, tease Jaskier about just liking the pampering, but instead he said, “I don’t.”

Jaskier’s gaze focused back on him, and eyebrows raised in a startled expression. And then the grin was back, wider than before but somehow more brittle. “Well then,” he said, “is the great Geralt of Rivia admitting that he cares?”

Something about his tone was missing the typical teasing lit, more self deferential than anything. As if he already knew the answer, and it wasn’t one he favored. Jaskier knew that Geralt wasn’t as emotionless as the tales claimed; he had seen first hand how Geralt had once twisted himself up over Yennefer, how devoted he was to Ciri, the affection he had for his brothers. Which meant that Jaskier just didn’t think Geralt cared about him.

It made Geralt want to fight something, or to pull Jaskier close and tell him just how wrong he was. He swallowed against the urge to reach out, instead looking down and needlessly adjusting the bandage around Jaskier’s ankle. “It’s not just for Ciri,” he admitted, allowing some part of the truth to float to the surface. Jaskier deserved at least that much.

“What?”

“It’s not—I don’t just want you around in case something happens. I mean, I do, of course, Ciri loves you, but.” Why was this so hard? Jaskier made finding his words seem so easy, effortless from years of practice and natural talent. Geralt forced himself to take a steadying breath. “You’re a good travelling companion. You make my life… better.”

Jaskier just stared at him for a long moment, his lips parted slightly. Geralt wanted, with an acuteness that bordered on physical pain, to put his mouth there, like a punctuation to his declaration. Finally Jaskier gathered himself and said, “Oh, well… Thank you. That’s rather good to hear.”

Geralt nodded, turning away to deal with washing out the rags and seeing about making them something to eat. After a few minutes of silence he could bear the tension in the air no longer, and stood. “I’m going to see if I can catch something,” he said, grabbing his crossbow from its place on Roach’s saddle. “Shout if you need me, I’ll stay close.”

Jaskier nodded absently, just watching him as Geralt gathered up the things he would need for the hunt. Just as he was about to make his way into the trees at the edge of the ruins, he heard Jaskier’s voice behind him, across the campfire.

“You make my life better, too.”

And Geralt didn’t even know what to do with that, the way those words curled through him and around his heart. He fled into the forest without a backward glance, the oathstone sitting heavily in his pocket.

Halfway through!! And another piece of art to go along with it! The piece in this chapter is by the amazing @herostag, and I just adore it. The black and white because of Geralt taking the Cat is such a nice touch!

#geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher #witcher #fanfic #fic #writing #my work #me lamh #multichapter #big bang #geraskierbigbang #herostag #art

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