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bonjour-rainycity · 3 years

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Double Heart | Chapter Nineteen ~ Haldir

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Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3722

Warnings: None

A/n I’m back bay-beeeee!!! Thank you for your patience while I took a few weeks off to finish school. I did something kinda stupid and booked a full semester of classes for the summer session *pained smile* and asked for more shifts at work *pained smile*. So! In light of this ~questionable~ choice, I'm changing my update schedule. Updates will now come for sure once a week on Wednesdays, with the occasional bonus chapter. Thanks for understanding, and happy reading!

I leave Cosima at her door.

I’m surprised by how much of my willpower it takes to walk away.

Now that I know what it’s like to hold her close, to feel her lips on mine, to hear her say that she loves me, I find it incredibly difficult to distance myself. I want more of her. I want to jump head-first into the ocean that is Cosima and allow myself to drown.

Though, I suppose, that is exactly what I am doing. Because loving her will be the death of me.

But denying the need to be with her is an even worse fate. And, by the way she seems to wholeheartedly return my affections, she feels the same.

Regardless, I have yet to even officially ask if I can court her — I have no right to invite myself into her chambers, especially not for the night. So, I return to my room. Thankfully, Rumil is still out. He adores Cosima almost as much as I do, but I guarantee he will not be pleased by the development in our relationship—understandably. Choosing to bind myself to a mortal means something difficult for my family. I will have to tell them soon, but not tonight. I don’t want to tarnish the euphoria my time with Cosima has given me.

I fall into bed.

I should be exhausted. After all, deciding to stop fighting reason and giving in to what I’ve been resisting for so long is quite tiring.

But every time I close my eyes, I remember Cosima looking up at me, dazed and adoring, the way her lips searched after mine, the way she looked when I told her how I felt.

It makes for quite a restless night.

{***}

My day seems endless. Every meeting, every drill, every task, my mind is consumed with Cosima. Now that I know I can hold her, kiss her, openly declare my affections, that is all I want to do. With every free moment in my day, I fight the urge to seek her out. We have plans to meet for dinner, and I anchor myself in that — I will see her then.

After a long day of agony, the time for dinner arrives.

When I hear the knock on my open door, I have to force myself not to run across the room. I take a deep breath when I reach the door, trying to push myself into my usual state of self-assurance. Once I’ve got myself under control, I open the door.

And the assurance vanishes.

Cosima steps into my room, beautiful and lovely as ever, wearing for the first time in all that I’ve known her, a shy smile. I understand it. Though we have been alone a thousand times before, and been friends for what feels like ages, after last night, everything feels new, unsure.

I close the door behind her.

“How was your day,” she asks, fiddling with her fingers.

I smile, trying to act normal. “It was alright.” I step forward, as close to her as I dare. The brilliant light of the sunset dances across her hair and I can’t help reaching up a hand to trace over the waves. “I admit though, I found myself quite distracted.”

She grins and quirks an eyebrow, already seeming much more like herself. “Would you like to tell me why?”

I dip my head closer to hers. “I’d wager you can guess.”

I press my lips to hers, all at once feeling the elation that comes with doing so and the anxiety that she will push me away and ask what in the Valar I think I’m doing. For all I know, last night could have been a fluke. She could have changed her mind.

But her lips move against mine and her hands find the back of my neck, holding me in place, and my worry vanishes. It is replaced by a new feeling, one that clouds my brain and blocks out everything around me except for her.

Cosima pulls away and rests her forehead against mine, looking up at me with wide, vulnerable eyes. “So you haven’t changed your mind?”

Oh, how alike we are. I take her hand, wrapping my other around her waist. It feels so strange to interact with someone like this. Not strange in a bad way—not at all—but I have spent my entire life keeping my distance from others. Never in over three thousand years have I wanted to take someone in my arms and hold them as close to me as possible. I squeeze the hand in mine. “No, I have not. And I won’t change my mind. I meant what I said last night. I choose you today and I will choose you for the rest of my life.”

She lets out a shuddering breath, her hand tensing on my shoulder. “I shouldn’t let you.”

Despite the concern I feel for her—I can see that my words have caused her a measure of stress—my lips quirk in a smile. “Cosima, I am fully grown and capable of making my own choices, just as you are. Though you can send me away if you wish—that is your right—it would not stop me from loving you.”

She sighs somewhat sadly, but she raises on her toes and kisses me again. “Well, you’ve got me completely besotted, so congratulations.”

I laugh, relieved to hear the words and to see that the sadness has left her eyes. I bury my face in her neck, hugging her tightly. “I guess that’s good to hear.”

She jabs her elbow into my ribs, presumably at my sarcasm, which only makes me laugh harder. She pushes against my chest, raising up for another kiss, when a knock sounds through the room.

We freeze.

Thank Valar I shut the door.

As if agreeing to an unspoken plan, Cosima hurries to sit at the small table where the dinner plates I have for us are set. Her presence shouldn’t be anything to cause alarm—we are well-known friends—though, I suppose, we have been avoiding each other for months.

I hold back a sigh. Yes, her presence probably will raise an eyebrow or two.

Once she’s settled, I roll back my shoulders and assume a neutral expression, opening my door.

It’s Orophin and Lavandil.

I smile, moving out of the way so they can enter, and welcome them in.

“Cosima.” Orophin falters upon noticing her presence.

She smiles and waves, standing from the table and joining us in the center of the room. “Hey, what’s up?”

Orophin glances between my human companion and myself. “I…” He furrows his eyebrows, obviously trying to draw a connection between Cosima, the closed door, and my hopefully neutral expression. I don’t think he gets there. “I am glad to see the two of you have reconciled,” he says finally, nodding at us both.

Lavandil, on the other hand, has her eyes blown wide. She stares pointedly at Cosima, looking like it’s taking all the effort in the world not to run over to her and demand an explanation. Cosima’s stoicism is not as practiced as mine, and she breaks eye contact under Lavandil’s stare, looking at the ceiling instead.

We’ll have to work on that later.

“What brings you here,” I ask, hoping to redirect the focus.

My question has an unintended effect. Orophin and Lavandil exchange glances, a weight seeming to fall on both of their shoulders.

Orophin clasps his hands behind his back, looking me square in the eye. He takes a deep breath. “I am staying in Imladris.”

Cosima makes an audible intake of breath.

I don’t move.

Orophin continues, hurrying to explain himself. “I know this seems sudden, but the thought has weighed on my mind for a while.”

Again, I say nothing.

My mind runs through a million things at once, analyzing previous conversations, expressions, looking for any clue that this was coming. In hindsight, there are many. How could I have missed the signs?

Orophin takes a step forward. “Brother, it…it is getting more dangerous in this world by the day. I understand my duty to my people but I will not leave Lavandil unprotected.”

I can respect that.

My eyes involuntarily turn to Cosima.

I can understand that.

There is nothing in this world that could stop me from doing all that I can to keep her safe.

I nod slowly, turning my gaze back to my brother and his love. “You are released from your duties until you decide to reclaim them. I wish you both all the happiness in the world.”

Orophin’s shoulders sag, his face breaking into an expression of relief. “Thank you, Haldir.”

Lavandil’s eyes shine and she steps forward, giving me a pleading look. “I’m sorry.”

Voices overlap as Orophin, Cosima, and I all hurry to reassure her that she has nothing to be sorry for. Lavandil smiles, still teary-eyed, though thankfully the guilt has faded from her face. She turns to Cosima, eyes softening. “I will miss you, mellon nîn.”

I watch Cosima closely. She blinks rapidly and, when she speaks, her voice is scratchy with emotion. “I’ll miss you, too.”

{***}

Orophin and Lavandil stay for dinner. The four of us talk, laugh, and carefully avoid the subjects of our impending departure from each other. When I shut the door behind them, a heavy realization make me want to slump my shoulders.

I will miss my brother.

Of course I am happy for him — he will no longer be separated from his love — but it is still sad to leave him behind, especially as this world becomes more and more perilous. Here in Imladris, he will be out of my control. I won’t be able to keep him safe.

I turn to Cosima, noticing the tracks of tears that run down her cheeks. I sigh, holding a hand out to her which she takes readily.

I pull her into a hug and rest my cheek against the top of her head. “Are you okay?”

She laughs without humor, burying her face in my chest. “Are you?”

I ignore the question. “I know you and Lavandil have become close.”

Cosima sighs, nodding. “I don’t think I actually ever considered that we would be leaving here. All the friendships I’ve made, all the things I’ve come to love about Imladris…I’m going to be leaving it all behind. It’s just,” she sighs again, her arms tightening around my back. “I don’t remember my home, but Imladris has become what I think a home would be.”

I purse my lips, feeling guilty. I didn’t consider how all this would affect her, though, now that I think about it, it is sure to. “Lavandil and Orophin will visit. I am even sure you will see Elrond again before long. And, should you desire it, Lothlórien will be your home. My people will be yours, they will welcome you and care for you as their own. It will become your world as much as it is mine.”

She exhales shakily and smiles up at me, giving me a look of adoration that takes my breath away. I bring a hand to her face, catching the tears before they can run into her smile.

“Thank you,” she breathes. She kisses me quickly on the lips before pulling away, wiping her tears and rolling her eyes. “Come on, I’ll stop crying so we can finish dinner.”

I laugh and follow her back to the table.

{***}

The next morning, I meet Cosima at her door. She smiles up at me, eyes still glazed slightly with sleep. She steps back, pulling the door with her to allow room for me to enter. Upon seeing the guest I’ve brought with me, her eyes widen.

“Good morning, Cosima,” I greet swiftly, knowing she won’t be pleased with my ambush.

Predictably, she purses her lips together, crosses her arms over her chest, and raises an eyebrow in my direction. “I told you, I will not be wearing that bulky, hot armor for the trip. There’s no need to bring a seamstress to measure me.”

At my side, Galina the seamstress shifts uncertainly.

I fix my gaze on Cosima, clasping my hands behind my back. “And I told you that you will be traveling as a member of my company, and as a member of my company, you are required to adhere to safety measures that I, the commander, deem fit.”

I’m used to glares.

Enemies, wardens, my brothers when they were children — all have given me scathing looks before, and it never bothered me. But the fire behind Cosima’s eyes puts all that experience to shame.

I remind myself to stand my ground.

Regardless of her personal feelings towards the armor, it will keep her safe. And I’m not even putting her in that much — just chainmail over her neck, arms, and torso. Alexander will be required to wear it as well.

She knows this of course, and still isn’t pleased.

But she throws her arms out to the side, allowing the seamstress to do her work. She stares me down the whole time, eyes narrowed, chin raised, face impassable.

Is this what I look like?

Galina takes the measurements and leaves quickly, off to Alexander’s chambers and then to the armory. I talked to Alexander earlier and he has no qualms with wearing the armor, so why is Cosima putting up such a fight?

The door closes behind Galina, and Cosima crosses her arms over her chest. “One of these days, I’m going to ambush you, see how you like it,” she mutters, continuing to glare at me.

I give her a stern look. “You know my reasoning and I will not be moved on this. In Imladris or Lothlórien it is different, but on the road, I am in charge of ensuring the safety of every member of my company. Were you anyone else, I would still insist on the armor — no one travels without it. You can imagine I am doubly focused on safeguarding the woman I love.”

Her expression softens. She smiles somewhat begrudgingly. “I guess I can’t fault you for that.”

I return her smile and take a step in her direction, pleased to be on good terms again.

The eyebrow shoots back up and her eyes narrow once more.

I freeze mid-step.

“But I can fault you for showing up so early in the morning with Galina without a minute of warning! I’m still in my pajamas!”

I raise an eyebrow to match hers. “I highly doubt you would have gone to the seamstress willingly.”

She huffs. “Maybe I would had I known the alternative was a sneak attack.” But despite her words, the playfulness returns to her eyes. She extends a hand in my direction. I close the distance between us, taking the offering gladly.

I decide to push my luck. “I must admit, I find the sight of you in your pajamas quite endearing.”

Cosima snorts, laying her head against my chest. “Yeah, well get ready to be endeared for three weeks straight. I’m only wearing old tunics on the road — I’m not risking ruining any of the new things from Lavandil.” A pause, and she sighs. She moves her head back so she can see me. “What are we going to do on the road?”

I furrow my eyebrows. “I don’t follow your meaning.”

“Are we going to tell your brothers,” she clarifies, shrugging her shoulders, “or are we going to pretend that we haven’t…” She huffs, searching for her words, “changed the nature of our relationship?”

“Right.” I take a deep breath.

I dread telling my brothers. While I am elated at finally being with Cosima, I know my brothers are likely to focus less on my happiness and more on my impending demise. I’m the one in love, and I struggled for months with the reality of my choice. Regardless, it is important to tell them soon. Hiding it would only make it worse. “I would prefer to tell them before we leave Imladris. I don’t want to waste any time with you pretending we’re not together, especially since they’re going to find out eventually, anyway.”

She nods, looking up at me in understanding. “Whenever you’re ready. I suppose we’ll have to tell Alex, too.”

I fight the urge to grimace.

She sees right through it. She laughs, pushing against my chest. “He’s gotten so much better and you know it.”

“True,” I allow. Learning Sindarin and researching his condition have done wanders for his personally — I would say the man is nearly tolerable by now.

Of course, that is likely to change on the road when he is away from his books and under my command.

“Oh, and once we tell your brothers, I want to tell Lavandil, too,” Cosima reminds me. “She’s been rooting for us.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Rooting for us? I didn’t even know she was aware of our mutual interest.”

Cosima grins guiltily. “You may have come up in conversation once or twice.”

I roll my eyes, trying to cover up how pleased I am. “Well, there’s no sense in delaying it. I had planned to dine with my brothers after training tonight. Would you like to join us? We can tell them then.”

She nods, taking a deep breath. “Sounds good. Oh, and I guess Baranor will need a heads up as well.” She scrunches up her eyebrows. “Gosh, that’s a lot of telling. Can’t we just send out a newsletter?”

I laugh, pulling her back against my chest. “If only it were that easy.”

{***}

My brothers and I dine in Cosima’s chambers. Her seating area is larger, the table as well, and I’d rather tell them in the privacy of her room than in the dining hall where anyone could react.

Rumil suspects.

From the moment I asked him to meet in Cosima’s room, suspicion entered his eyes. He had passed through the doorway warily, looking as if he expected some sort of ambush. When he locked eyes with Cosima, he had given her a meaningful, almost pleading look.

Orophin, on the other hand, walks in hesitantly, shooting nerves glances towards Rumil, and I wonder how Rumil took the news of Orophin deciding to stay in Imladris. By the tension I notice between them, it didn’t go exceedingly well.

I feel a bout of anxiety for my youngest brother.

The four of us gather in the seating area. Cosima babbles nervously, telling my brothers every minute detail of her day. They appear politely interested, but I know by the distant looks in both of their eyes that they are lost in their own worries.

No sense in dragging this out.

I can tell I surprise everyone when I take the spot on the couch next to Cosima rather than the empty armchair. My brothers freeze, exchanging a look. Cosima glances up at me, her eyes wide and nervous.

I take a deep breath. “Orophin, Rumil, I suspect you have been aware of my feelings for Cosima for quite some time. I discovered recently that she returns them, and we have committed ourselves to each other.”

Silence.

Rumil clenches his jaw. “Have you bonded?”

“No—“

“—then there is still time!”

“But I intend to,” I finish, hating the way my youngest brother visibly wilts at my words.

With wide eyes, Orophin glances between myself and Cosima. “My friend, you know I mean no offense, but—” he shakes his head, turning his whole focus to me. “Haldir you cannot tie yourself to a human. You will die.”

Cosima sucks in a sharp breath, eyes falling to the ground.

I take her hand in mine, keeping my gaze steady on my brother. “I know.”

“Then you are a fool!” Rumil’s shout shocks us all with its volume. He stands and grips the back of the chair, looking ill.

Orophin groans, resting his elbow on his knee and bringing a hand to rub at his temple. “You have to know how ridiculous this is. There are a thousand other elleth out there. Save your eternity and use it to find one you could love.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Could you leave Lavandil behind and search for another?”

Orophin grits his teeth. “That’s different. Our lives are compatible.”

“Are they? Though you are both eldar, your relationship is not without sacrifice. For years, the two of you sacrificed being with each other to continue your usual lives. Now, you’re sacrificing your home, your career, and your family because your love is worth it. Allow me the dignity to choose my own sacrifice.”

Orophin’s breath catches in his throat. His pained face falls into hopelessness, and he shrugs his shoulders. “So we are to resign ourselves to a handful of years left with you?”

In my hand, Cosima’s begins to shake.

I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss on its back. I address my brothers once more. “I have had over three thousand years in this world. I count myself blessed to spend the remainder of those days, however long they may be, in the company of those I love.”

Orophin’s mouth goes slack. He looks between Cosima and myself, and, vaguely, I wonder what sort of picture we paint. An elf and a human.

“I cannot say that I am not saddened by your choice, nor that I understand it. But if it has to be a human, then I am glad it is you, Cosima.” Orophin, Valar bless him, tries for a smile in Cosima’s direction. It’s strained and sad, but it’s an effort — one I am very thankful for.

Rumil hasn’t moved.

Cosima looks to him, worry in her eyes, and I remember how close she and my brother are. Right from the start, he has been one of her closest friends, and it must hurt her to be at odds with him, to know that something she can’t control is causing him pain.

When she speaks, her voice is fragile, vulnerable. “Rumil?”

He continues to grip the back of the chair and looks to the ground, avoiding our eyes. He grits his teeth. “Stay away from me, both of you.”

And he storms out of the room.

A/n Likes, comments, and reblogs are always cherished <3 Hope you’re doing well! (But its okay if you’re not!)

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buffskierights · 4 years

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Prompt by @everyones-favorite-bard

Right now the fic thing I have in my head is one where Jaskier is cursed (or somthing) to be able to read Geralt's mind (Geralt doesn't know) (at least not at first) and it is just a constant stream of words, a lot of which are about the bard to his surprise.

Stupendous, inspiring, wonderful, I ended up writing something so incredibly soft and way less humorous than I thought it would be

“Jaskier.”

Geralt’s exasperated voice filters into his consciousness as he wakes with a groan, his cheek pressed against something cool and hard. It’s much too early to be garnering his friend’s ire already today, especially after the night he had. He doesn’t remember much of it, after the eighth ale everything goes a little fuzzy, but if the pressure in his eyes is anything to go by then Jaskier definitely started crying at some point.

It wouldn’t surprise him, he can become a bit of an emotional drunk past a certain point in the night and he’ll find the nearest willing shoulder to cry on. Usually about the Witcher looming over him, he thinks, as he peels his tired eyes open and sits up with another groan. His spine pops as it realigns from being slumped over a table and his neck aches in a way that it didn’t used to when he was a much younger man.

“We need to get going,” Geralt says quietly, and if Jaskier didn’t know better he’d say his friend was being considerate of the intense hangover he’s sporting.

“Mm, Mhm,” He nods with a yawn as he stands up and stretches, “Give me a moment to get freshened up and I’ll join you at the stables.”

As he’s walking towards the stairs he hears Geralt’s voice again, “I wonder why he drinks so heavily these days. Doesn’t he know it’s not healthy for him?”

Jaskier’s cheeks flare with embarrassment and he pretends he didn’t hear the Witcher’s comment as he hurries upstairs. Maybe he can lay of the drinks a bit, if it worries Geralt so much.

—

When he walks into the stables with his pack over his shoulder and his lute case secured across his chest, he’s surprised by Geralt’s voice sounding relieved, “There he is. Glad he didn’t find trouble in the last fifteen minutes.”

“If you know I’m here, dear Witcher, there’s no need to speak as though I’m not,” Jaskier raises his eyebrow at Geralt as he stops in front of Roach’s stall to see the Witcher tacking her up. Geralt gives him a mildly confused glance before grunting and holding his hand out for the bard’s bag. Jaskier hands it over and as the strap settles into Geralt’s palm he hears the Witcher’s voice again.

“Seems awfully light. Maybe he needs new clothes again. Those silks are pretty but not nearly sturdy enough for travel.”

Jaskier blinks and then squints suspiciously. For starters, Geralt has never once cared about the state of Jaskier’s clothing, other than to complain that it’s too bright or too flimsy. And another thing, he’s quite certain he didn’t see Geralt’s mouth move when he heard his friend’s voice. Now, Jaskier is no idiot, despite what Geralt might think, but he doesn’t want to immediately jump to the conclusion of ‘I’ve been cursed to hear my best friend’s thoughts’. Maybe Witchers are just excellent at ventriloquism; it wouldn’t be the first time Geralt’s had an unusual skill.

“He’s being rather quiet this morning. His hangover must be worse than I thought. I should look for some mint along the path today for him to chew on.”

Jaskier would be quite touched by how caring Geralt’s voice is, if it didn’t confirm that he’s hearing his friend’s thoughts. Fuck, how is he supposed to tell Geralt?

—

He discovers, through some trial and error, that the curse is restricted by distance. It seems that Jaskier has to be within ten feet of Geralt to become privy to the Witcher’s innermost thoughts, and the closer he is the louder Geralt’s mental voice is.

He’s gone from being mildly disturbed by the situation as a whole to being somewhat flustered by how many of Geralt’s thoughts are about him. Sure, Jaskier thinks about Geralt a lot, but that’s because he’s completely arse over heels in love with the man. What’s Geralt’s excuse?

To distract himself from thinking too hard about it, Jaskier has spent the last couple hours deep in thought on how he might have acquired this curse, and how to break it. He tries to stay at least ten feet away from Geralt and Roach, or at least he did once he figured out the distance aspect, but the next thought of Geralt’s had been so sad as he wondered if he did something to upset Jaskier that the bard was powerless to falling back into step with the Witcher.

“Maybe he’s taken ill. His face is looking a bit flushed. Fuck, the last time Jaskier was ill was a disaster. Fucking pneumonia bullshit. Whoever came up with that brilliant idea deserves a kick in the balls.”

Jaskier nearly chokes for what must be the seventh time that day as he forces himself not to laugh. Geralt is even funnier than he is normally in his head and Jaskier’s not sure how much longer he can hide his shaking shoulders.

—

He’s come up with an idea. It’s a horrible idea, really, but it’s one born of remembering his drunken crying upon the shoulder of a silver-eyed man who, in hindsight, was very clearly a mage.

He remembers the mage cooing sympathetically as he spilled his heart upon the sticky floor of the tavern, his last ale listlessly hanging from his fingers, and then promising that Jaskier will be able to figure out whether Geralt’s mixed signals are a sign of desire or not. Well, thank you, secret mage, but Jaskier is even more confused now than before as he sits across a warm fire from the man of his dreams.

Geralt is cleaning some gear that’s been overdue for a good treatment while Jaskier himself sits on a log with his arms crossed atop his lute. Both of them are silent as they listen to the crackling fire, Jaskier’s gaze deep in the flames as he thinks.

“He’s going to ruin his night vision like that. I suppose it’s okay, though, since I’m here.”

Jaskier’s lips twitch downward. Geralt’s thoughts have been filled with sweet shit like that all gods-damned day and it’s driving him crazy. Plus, he has yet to even tell Geralt about the curse! And he knows the longer he waits, the worse Geralt’s reaction will be.

“I wonder if he’s going to play tonight or just use his lute as an armrest. I rather like his songs that aren’t about me. The one he wrote about Eskel and Deirdre is especially beautiful when Jaskier sings it.”

Jaskier groans aloud and drops his head to his lute with a dull thunk, and Geralt’s thoughts become alarmed and concerned.

“Is he okay? Did something happen? Maybe he’s ill after all? Or something magic? My medallion’s been humming slightly all day but I haven’t been able to figure out what could be causing it the only different thing is how quiet Jaskier has been. What if he’s a Doppler? Or a changling? Do faes even take fully grown men? Maybe they would if it’s Jaskier, they seem fond of quality bards. He isn’t moving, oh fuck, I can still hear his heartbeat though so he isn’t dead, thank the gods. I don’t know what I would do if Jaskier-“

“Enough!” Jaskier cries as he sits up again, raking his fingers haphazardly through his hair, “I can’t take it! My gods, you think so fucking much, Geralt, I’ve barely had a thought to myself all gods-damned day!”

“What?”

“What?” Geralt echoes his own thought aloud, a deep frown settling on his face.

“I should have told you, I know I should have, but I thought I could figure out what was happening and fix it and then we wouldn’t have to talk about it at all,” Jaskier rambles. He feels like he probably looks a bit wild right now but he can’t do anything about it, “But then I couldn’t think because of how many of your thoughts I was hearing all fucking day and it was so overwhelming! I mean, I barely get a break from my own mess of a mind, and then I had to figure out a way to not hear yours, too?”

Geralt has gone eerily silent, both internally and externally.

“But, gods, I thought I could figure it out and fix it myself since it’s my fault I got cursed by that damned mage last night when I told him how confused you make me sometimes because I lo-“ he cuts himself off as his mouth shuts with an audible click, swallowing hard and glancing at Geralt with wide eyes.

“Because you, what, Jaskier?” He asks quietly.

Jaskier shakes his head, stroking the strings his his lute with his thumb as he whispers, “I don’t want to lose you if you don’t feel the same.”

Geralt looks at him for a few moments but his mind is quiet, “You’ve been able to hear my thoughts all day?”

“Most of them,” he nods weakly, “Clear ones.”

Geralt hums with a nod before waiting until he catches Jaskier’s eye and holding his gaze, “I love you. And even if I didn’t, you wouldn’t have lost me for loving me.”

Jaskier gapes at him in shock and Geralt smirks slightly before it falters, “Unless... that’s not how you-“

“No! I mean yes! I mean,” Jaskier feels his face start to burn as he scrambles for words, “I-I- you... I mean, we... that is to say— fuck, this isn’t— no, yes, I do love you Geralt, I’ve loved you for years I just... I never thought...”

“That Witchers could feel emotions?” Geralt raises an eyebrow and Jaskier feels a spike of flustered alarm.

“What? No! I’ve never— what makes you think— Geralt, no, I would never think that!” He’s certain he’s as red as a tomato as he watches Geralt’s lips twitch into an amused smile and Jaskier groans, tossing some small pebbles across the fire at the Witcher, “You’re horrible, dear Witcher. You’re going to send me to an early grave.”

“Guess I’ll have to protect you,” Geralt shrugs with a grin, “Can’t have you dying on me, after all. Not right after we finally got our acts together.”

Jaskier tries to groan again but it ends in a laugh as he covers his burning face with his hands. They’ll have time to figure things out and actually talk later; but, for right now, he’s just glad he hasn’t lost his best friend while gaining a suitor.

#the witcher #geraskier #fanfiction #ficlet #my writing #prompt #pre-slash

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nancywheelxr · 4 years

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Hello, I read doors open like arms and I absolutely loved it! It was the first time I read a fanfic where Hela was not just a stereotypical villain, but her reasons were somewhat explained, which was great. Also, the Loki-Thor dynamic is amazing, really realistic (to me) and great to read. There is just one problem, though... Now I got invested in your story and I desperately need continuation, does Hela attack, maybe she joins brothers against Thanos... Pretty please?

Hey there, thank you so much! I loved writing that fic and hearing this is seriously making my whole week, anon! I do plan to write more of it, ideally fixing the whole Infinity War-Endgame mess, so maybe subscribe to that fic on AO3 to keep an eye out for updates, but while I hammer out the details of that, here is a small interlude of what happens next:

Odin's funeral comes and goes like the flaming arrow that lights up his boat: swiftly and with a blazing streak across the skies that remains burned into Loki's eyelids long after the after images should have faded.

The hollowness that sits hungrily on his chest follows its lead, clawing behind his ribs and demanding his attention.

In any case, it's on his nature to be contrary, so Loki firmly ignores it and pointedly does not try to untangle the knot of emotions that weighs him down. Instead, he chooses to focus on another absence at the dinner table.

"Now," he says, staring at the murals they have not yet decided what to do with– painting over them feels wrong, but leaving them in the open feels just as upsetting. Loki has half a mind to demolish the whole thing. "This is just getting ridiculous."

"Maybe she hasn't noticed yet," Thor murmurs beside him, quieter than Loki's ever heard him. "Maybe she thinks he still lives."

“You don’t believe that,” he scoffs.

“You don’t believe that,” replies Thor, sullenly. It’s been five minutes since they’ve last encountered some nobleman or other seeking either pointless answers or having some entirely uninteresting news to report. Loki is beginning to grow suspicious; in his time on the throne, five minutes of solitude had been a rare blessing.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe in,” Loki waves him off, glancing away from these dreadful paintings. His stomach rolls unpleasantly. “This will not fix itself and neither of us has been to see her in days.”

Thor bristles. “Father has–”

The words die on his throat, halted with a crushing grief that Loki wants to be about as far away as possible. Thor’s sentimentality has a way of catching. And yet, he finds himself foolishly rooted to the floor. “I know,” he says, voice unwillingly softer, “I know, I don’t mean it accusingly. But we need to deal with Hela, sooner rather than later.”

With a weary sigh, Thor drags a hand across his face. “Something also needs to be done about these murals, I hate the sight of them,” he shakes his head as if that could dispel all the wrong that seems to have settled over their lives as of late. “No matter! This shall wait while we pay our sister a long overdue visit!”

Long overdue might be a little exaggerated, but at least Thor has seen the wisdom on his suggestion. Allowing Hela to stew on her own, to make her plans with only her half of the story, well– they all saw how that turned out for him in the past. For everyone, in fact, and–

“My king,” a servant bows demurely, looking nervously between the two of them, and Loki has seen enough of this to know the Bifrost will be carrying only one of them today. “Lord Asmund has asked for your counsel over a disagreement among the Council.”

“I– thank you,” Thor says, clearing his throat, “but I’m afraid I’m far too busy at the moment, tell the Council I’ll be with them shortly, as soon as I have returned.”

The itch to smack his brother across the head is great, but somehow, Loki finds it in himself to wait until the servant has scurred away. Too dangerous to do anything undermining to his brother’s rule so soon into his regency. “Don’t be daft,” he rolls his eyes, scowls, “you can’t afford to slight your Council this early, especially considering the current affronts you’ve made against their wishes.”

“What,” it brings him up short and Loki raises one eyebrow, unimpressed, spreads his hands as if to gesture himself.

“Do you truly think they want me here, brother?” He sighs, “they will not be happy about Hela either. In fact, it would be in your best interests to exile the two us before the whole court sees you taking in yet another monster.”

The smack across his head comes as a shocking surprise. “Have you lost your mind? Or perhaps you wish to lose that hand?!”

“I will tolerate no insults to my family,” Thor replies calmly, smugly, “much less coming from my family.”

Loki glowers, far too much happening for him to keep track. That, too, he ignores violently. Instead, he focuses on his irritation. “You’re a fool and I will remind you I warned you now when this inevitably leads to disaster.”

Thor laughs. “Of course you will, brother. Now, let’s go see our sister.”

“No,” he says, haughtily pushing him towards the hallway the servant had disappeared back into, “I will go see Hela alone while you see to your Council.”

Perhaps, had he had the chance, Thor might have protested, but as it is, by the time he realizes an illusion has been telling him that, Loki is nearly too far to hear his enraged cry, the glittering of the rainbow bridge already twinkling in the distance.

Helheim is still as dreadful as ever, greying and dark, and Loki hates this place more than on principle. A thousand years here, it’s a miracle Hela has clung to any shreds of sanity– it makes him wonder what did Odin think of the future; he locked her here and then what? Did the old man think he would live forever?

“Why have you come this time, little brother?” Hela’s voice is standoffish and cool, uninterested down to the vowels. Loki firmly does not listen to the faint voice in his head, so much like Frigga’s, pointing out how much alike she sounds to him right now.

They did not grow up together nor even heard stories of each other and yet, a stranger in the streets would certainly mistake them for siblings after listening for five minutes.

“That’s not the right question now, is it?” He hums, turning around to see Hela lounging in a conjured throne with Fenrir at her feet. She looks well, less pale than before, less hungry, less like a lingering ghost. More solid, more real. It should probably be more frightening than he feels it is.

Hela snorts, rolling her eyes. “I suppose you expect me to ask next what it is, then,” she cards her fingers through grey fur, unsettlingly in good spirits, “very well, I’ll humor you this once– what should I be asking?”

He narrows his eyes in suspicion for a second before deciding to go for a milder approach. “The real question is not why am I here, but why are you?”

Her good mood vanishes at his words. “Where else would I be?”

“The Allfather is gone,” he points out needlessly, gestures the barren landscape around them, “you don’t have to stay here anymore.”

“Indeed,” she says, “and I daresay Odin would just love to see me leaving my prison now that he is gone to bring Asgard down. No, I don’t think so. I’m not playing into his games anymore.”

“There are more choices besides staying here or destroying an entire realm, you know.”

Her eyes flash dangerously. “If you think I’ll return to that place in chains, a prisoner where once I ruled, you are terribly wrong. A gilded cage is still a cage and at least here, I don’t have to withstand those ancient fools prattling about.”

Loki studies her for a moment, taking the chance to collect his thoughts; this is the first time he’s on this side of this speech, you see. In hindsight, perhaps he should have let Thor come along, he certainly has more experience handling this.

Oh well, it’s not like he can say she is wrong, he supposes.

“Thor would say Asgard is not a cage,” he says, “and ask you to come home immediately. He’s a bit upset you missed the funeral.”

“That one is a fool,” Hela waves him off, “am I to understand you are here to do the same?”

“No, I like to think I know better,” Loki shrugs, dusting off his armor to prepare himself for the travel back. Nothing more to do here today, better not to rush her. “You’re right in one matter, sister– the court truly is full of decrepit imbeciles.”

Fenrir lifts his head lazily, tail wagging once as Hela laughs, and Loki calls for Heimdall, allowing the blaze of light to sweep him back home.

“Where’s Hela?” Thor frowns, breaking off from where he had been talking with the Warriors Three and the distance does nothing to soften Sif’s distrustful glare. Fair enough.

“In her prison,” he answers calmly, not bothering to stop but slowing his steps, “although she seems to have regained her full power. I think I saw some trees there this time.”

“What?” Thor makes a face, “does she know–”

“Yes, she’s aware.”

“And she wants to stay where she is?”

Loki thinks of the depressing landscape, Fenrir’s tail blowing thin dust into the air each time it hit the ground, the unnatural taste of the forever dim lights. No one wants to stay stuck in an eternal twilight, at the edge of a nightmare. “No, she does not.”

“No, she does n– you are making no sense, brother,” Thor sighs, huffs, and he looks very tired, worn like Loki has never seen him. Even in his worst days as King, Loki can’t remember looking so exhausted, old. Then again, he didn’t care half as much, didn’t want much more than keeping the peace and send those blasted stones about as far as he could trust someone to hide them.

And, well, if he’s being honest, he had never expected to reign for so long. A few months, maybe, but not years. Thor, he expects, has millenniums to look forward to.

Good thing neither of them is a seer, truly.

“Give it time,” he offers, catching sight of some harried lord of other he never bothered to learn the name, and ducks into a different hallway, parting ways to return to his room. Still, he calls behind his shoulder, “and stop avoiding your meetings!”

“You again,” Hela purses her lips. Today, Fenrir is off chasing rabbits; if he pays attention, Loki thinks he can hear the anguished cries and the tear of fur and flesh.

“Me again,” he agrees cheerily, taking a seat into the newly made garden. It looks a little like Frigga’s, if less gentle, less idyllic. Wilder, actually, with poison ivies strangling trees and roots upending the earth. “You will not believe what happened today.”

“Do tell, but only if it’s interesting,” she says, watching flies buzz around, a dead bird attracting the lot of them. “How fares our dear brother in the throne?”

“Surprisingly not disastrously,” Loki admits, “do you want to hear it or not?”

“Not particularly. Since I so clearly am not going to be the queen, why should I care for Asgard?” Her tone is cavalier, dismissive, but he hears the undercurrent of hurt there, the spiteful resignation– yes, she wouldn’t be Odin’s blood-thirsty monster, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, wouldn’t wreak the havoc he had expected her to, but at what cost? She’s making a garden out of her prison, but he wonders how much of herself is she losing with these illusions?

How much change until there’s nothing of yourself left?

He shakes his head. “It’s where your power comes from, is it not?”

“In a way,” she nods, “doesn’t mean I have to be embroiled into whatever court nonsense has you into such a tirade.”

Fenrir comes lumbering back, muzzle dripping with blood and tail wagging happily, more dog than feral beast. Loki turns his nose in disgust, huffs. “I feel I am the only one with sense in that place.”

“It would not come as a surprise. You seem to have some intelligence, I could not say the same for the rest of the court.”

“Thank you, sister, for the glowing endorsement,” he drawls, rolling his eyes, then– a thought. “You should come home, help me help them not to run the city to the ground.”

Hela laughs. “I thought you were going to tell me a story, little prince.”

“Tonight there is a feast, will you come?”

“No, I don’t think I will,” says Hela, and Fenrir darts past them, a bloodied deer in his maw, still twitching every other second. “Will you attend?”

Loki grins, settling in one of the benches with the pile of books he had brought with him today. “People will certainly see me there.”

Hela rolls her eyes but picks one of the tomes. The poor lighting is terrible for reading, nothing a few witch lights can’t fix.

“Thor has a room made for you,” Loki points out, “it was garish at first, of course, but I had it redecorated.”

“Tell me, then, little brother, do these quarters come with how many guards at my door?”

“No guards, no,” he shrugs, “but I expect the Council will try to riddle it with spies. They certainly tried with mine.”

Hela hums. “Of course. I’d turn them inside out and leave their entrails at the door. Or perhaps their heads in a spike?”

“I would think you’d sick Fenrir on them.”

“He deserves better than a traitor’s flesh.”

“Does that mean you are coming?”

“That means I would rather be left alone.”

“It’s been a fortnight, will you come home now?”

“No. Be careful with the nightshade, it’s been wilting lately.”

“Thor has been asking for you, he’s convinced the Council you will not be a threat to the Realm. No more than I, in any case. Will you come home?”

“I’m offended, I will not.”

It takes half a season for Thor to finally grow too impatient with his visits and if he’s being honest, Loki is only surprised it took him this long to corner him outside his room. “You’re off to see Hela again, aren’t you?”

“I did say I would take care of the situation, didn’t I?” He raises one eyebrow, eyeing his displeased scowl.

“Yes, yes, but,” Thor glares, sour to the bone, “you haven’t been to a Council meeting in forever! Maybe we should let her come to us when she is ready, give up on these fruitless visits.”

Loki rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “What do you think I have been doing? You try convincing the Goddess of Death to do anything. She keeps conjuring the most hideous plants for her garden, but I believe I’m close to getting her to lose the corpse flowers.”

“Losing the–”

“You won’t want to know, they smell terrible, really, like rotting flesh. Even the blasted wolf hates it.”

Thor looks like he might want to protest or perhaps inquire further on Hela’s awful gardening plans, or, more likely, to question him again on what they’ve been discussing, but a servant interrupts them again, reminding Thor of a meeting he seems to be almost late to. Good thing, really, that Loki has arranged for the staff to keep these reminders coming. It wouldn’t do for their king to be late, it gives time for gossip and scheming to brew.

And if the distrust, the suspicion Loki might be the one plotting behind Thor’s back with Hela to– what? Destroy Asgard? Kill their brother? – well, it might sting, yes, but it’s not like he can blame him, not in light of the past decade, even the past few months.

Still, Loki excuses himself cooly, trying not to allow unfair resentments to claw at his throat.

“If they are all constantly suspicious of you,” Hela says, a frown so much like Thor’s on her brow, ��and it bothers you so, then why stay? You know the pathways between worlds, why not slip away from their petty grievances?”

Loki can’t help snorting; only Hela would call his crimes petty.

And yet, her question, as they often do, gives him pause. Why did he stay? He could have gone anywhere in the universe, thrown the tesseract in the nearest wormhole and run in the other direction. It wouldn’t have hidden him from the Titan, not forever, but neither will Asgard– which reminds him, he will have to warn his brother of this soon: Thanos’ madness will not spare their home, not even if Loki were a thousand miles away, if the Tesseract were a thousand miles away.

Soon isn’t today, though, so instead, he allows himself to faintly prod at the tangled knots of emotions he had been ignoring these past months. If he were someone else, someone more prone to feelings and such, he might say he stayed because pushing everything away had become too tiring on his shoulder, because he had died once, nearly twice, and when you die for somewhere, for someone, that has to count for something, because more often than not it feels like never stopped falling, but in Asgard, it’s easier to pretend there’s solid ground beneath his feet.

Because running away has only ever made things worse, so he chose to stay for once, is choosing to stay, and sometimes, he thinks it might be the same as choosing his family and that could be enough because it’s on purpose.

“Because it’s worth it,” he tells Hela at last and watches her consider his words carefully, hesitant as she absently pets Fenrir, eyes far away to the sky like she’s seeing golden and blue instead of dulling greys. When she says nothing, he adds softly, “will you come home and see it for yourself?”

This time when he calls for Heimdall and the Bifrost strikes from the sky, the Guardian is there, steady and dependable, to welcome him home along with Hela, her ridiculously large wolf, and the stupid cactus in a yellow vase she carries in her hands.

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #thor odinson #hela odinsdottir #thor ragnarok #mcu #marvel #look an ask #loki and thor brotp #loki and hela brotp

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