Chapter Text
Geralt never thought his heart could ache more than it did when he yearned for Jaskier’s presence during the years after the mountain and the months where they all thought his bard had been cursed into childhood. He didn’t think his chest could get any tighter or his breaths could come any shorter every time he dreamed of blue eyes or remembered the feeling of long fingers against his skin. How could there be anything worse than the consistent tugging in his ribs towards someone who had deliberately distanced themselves from him?
The first month of having Jaskier back proved him terribly wrong.
It’s a cruel sort of existence, to be filled with such joy and such grief simultaneously. Sometimes he wakes up feeling both, sometimes he wanders the days and will suddenly be crippled by one or the other. Sometimes a wholly different emotion will swoop in and capture his heart, most frequently being such strong relief at Jaskier’s safety that it brings him to his knees. And yet he feels almost selfish to be experiencing these things as he stays by his bard’s side, watching as blue eyes never focus on him as they converse.
The first three days spent in the infirmary after Jaskier’s rescue were the most difficult. Geralt remained nearby around the clock, a constant presence as Jaskier barely slept more than a half an hour at a time and frequently woke in a state of panic as his nose tells him he’s not in the tower anymore but his eyes betray him. It takes everything within Geralt to not break down as he helps Jaskier ease his rapid gasps and slow his thundering heart, the Witcher’s heart aching in sympathy. He has to learn to move slowly and deliberately loud, to give Jaskier some indication of his presence and position in the room at all times or else the bard becomes tense and his scarred hands will start to tremble.
When Geralt touched Jaskier lightly on the shoulder, being as tactile as they usually are with one another, Jaskier had gasped and flinched away so hard that some of his joints popped from the sudden movement. He had stammered out an apology before realizing that the bard probably couldn’t hear him over the pounding of his own heart, Geralt’s ears easily able to pick up the hammering behind Jaskier’s ribs. So he had sat down on the edge of the bed and gently touched Jaskier’s hand instead to try and ease the bard into his physical presence. Jaskier had jerked his hand away but, before Geralt could do more than feel a flash of hurt, he thrust his hand back out again as he reached for Geralt in the darkness.
It becomes Geralt’s way of letting Jaskier know he’s going to touch the bard without having to verbalize every single gesture. He makes his presence known by making a sound nearby and then touching Jaskier’s hand or wrist gently. Jaskier still flinches but it lessens over time and he always reaches back out to Geralt. Other than small things like this, Geralt foolishly thinks that Jaskier is recovering spectacularly. His bard is a little quieter than Geralt is used to, considering he has to focus more of his attention on his hearing now, but otherwise he’s still cracking jokes and smiling and Yennefer deemed him well enough to leave the infirmary after three days.
Geralt asked Jaskier where he would like to stay, offering up the options of his own room or to sleep with Geralt. Unsurprisingly, Jaskier chooses to stay with Geralt and late that night he quietly confessed to being afraid of being alone in case this was all just another illusion. Geralt’s heart ached yet again and he burned with the desire to have killed Stregobor instead of just turning the bastard in to the Brotherhood. Julian was upset with him for having a bedmate that wasn’t the child and despite Geralt reassuring the boy that Jaskier wouldn’t mind his presence, Julian had snapped at him and gone to sleep with Lambert after waking screaming from nightmares that aren’t even his own.
He desperately wants to ask Jaskier about it, about the things he’s learned from Julian’s time in the keep, but wisely keeps his queries to himself as Jaskier becomes more and more withdrawn and silent. Geralt is concerned but also unsure what to do so he continues on like nothing is wrong, keeping up their new routine of going for short walks around the keep to rebuild Jaskier’s strength and socializing with the others at mealtimes. Even so, Jaskier becomes more and more tense, like a wound spring that’s going to slip and uncoil explosively.
It all comes to a head three weeks after Jaskier’s rescue. The bard has been snippy and simmering with anger all morning and Geralt feels like he’s been walking on eggshells for days now, being careful of every word he says and taking extreme care to not spook Jaskier. His chosen approach has been to treat Jaskier like a skittish horse, not that he’d ever tell the bard that, especially not with the way Jaskier’s been swinging wildly between spitting ire and devastated sorrow.
The Witcher has been trying to figure out a way to cheer up Jaskier for a while now, listing the various things they’ll do once Spring arrives and they venture back out on the Path. Jaskier’s been completely silent as he listens to Geralt, sitting across from him in front of the hearth in Geralt’s room, until the Witcher mentions performing at courts, to which the bard scoffs.
“Yeah, right. That’s hilarious, Geralt. It’s so funny I forgot to laugh.”
Geralt frowns in confusion, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “I don’t-”
“It must have been a joke, even if it was a poor one,” Jaskier continues bitterly as though Geralt hadn’t spoken, “Come now, Geralt, you aren’t blind-” Geralt winces at Jaskier’s own choice of words, “-what fucking court is going to want this standing in front of them?” He gestures broadly to his scarred body, “Surely, you know by now that a bard is nothing without their looks? We’re little more than whores who can carry a tune to the majority of the Continent, dear Witcher. I’d be lucky to be allowed to play in taverns come Spring.”
“Jaskier…” Geralt swallows, considering his words carefully, “You must know that your scars don’t make you any less of a bard. They don’t even look that bad, but if it bothers you that much we can go to Novigrad to get a salve that fades scarring-”
“Enough!” Jaskier snaps suddenly, his face twisted into an angry scowl, “Just stop it, Geralt, I can’t stand it anymore!”
“Stop what, Jask, I don’t understand?” Geralt frowns deeply, icy concern flooding him as the bard’s cheeks flush with fury and make the white scars stand out more starkly.
“Stop saying we’re going to be traveling together! Are you thick or just fucking stupid? I’ve always been a liability to you but now I’m a damned death warrant. A Witcher traveling with a blind bard who won’t even be able to earn them any coin? Can’t avoid the danger that you don’t protect me from? D’you know how many times I had to evade capture or kidnapping because people wanted to get to you through me? And the one time I do get caught, I lose the first line of defense against those horrid people!”
“Jaskier…” Geralt weakly protests but Jaskier isn’t done yet.
“And don’t you say you can take me on hunts with you, we both know that’s not true. You barely tolerated it when I snuck out and followed you to them since I was able to see if the fucking monster was about to gobble my face off. Now I’d be a constant distraction at best and your cause of death at worst.”
“That’s not- we could-”
“We could what , Geralt? Figure it out? Like we figure everything out? Oh, yeah, because that works so well when you won’t even show me a modicum of respect!” He laughs humorlessly as he stands up restlessly, smelling strongly of shame and hurt on top of his anger, “You’ve been treating me like I’m made of fucking glass for weeks now, Geralt! I keep trying to adapt and move past this-this thing but every time I speak with you I’m reminded that I’m a useless fucking cripple! That I’m this-this-this horrible, disfigured shade of a bard!”
“The scars aren’t even that-”
“I DON’T FUCKING CARE ABOUT THE GODSDAMNED SCARS!” Jaskier shouts. The fire flares in the hearth and a crack audibly rips through the stone beneath his feet. Geralt tries to reach out to him but when his fingers graze Jaskier’s wrist the bard yanks his hand away, knocking over a vial of his perfume that Ciri had brought to him, the glass shattering on the floor, “Don’t fucking touch me right now, Geralt, or I swear to all the gods! Just get out! I know this is your fucking room and this isn’t fair of me but if I could storm off without running face first into a wall I fucking would so just get out!”
Geralt quickly stands up and moves towards the door but he hesitates with an uneasy frown as he looks at Jaskier, “Jask, I-”
“Go away! Leave me the fuck alone!” Geralt has to duck as Jaskier throws another vial of perfume with surprising accuracy, the glass exploding against the wall right where his head had been and staining the stone with the scent of oranges.
Geralt scurries out of the room, desperately putting space between himself and Jaskier before he can garner even more of his bard’s ire, and he spends the rest of the day sulking around the keep. He sends Julian to take Jaskier his lunch but otherwise avoids the room and all talk of Jaskier like the plague until Eskel corners him in the kitchen after dinner where Geralt had been hunting for something sweet.
“So, what’s going on?” Eskel asks bluntly as he crosses his arms and blocks Geralt’s path to escape the pantry stores. Geralt looks up at him questioningly and his brother rolls his eyes, “You’ve been brooding all day and the hall outside your room reeks of anger and guilt from your bard. What happened?”
Geralt sighs and looks away, glancing around the pantry as he thinks of what to say, “I fucked up.”
“No shit, idiot,” Eskel says immediately, “How did you fuck up, though, is the important question?”
He rubs the back of his neck as he places his other hand on his hip, still avoiding Eskel’s keen eyes, “He’s been… off. Quiet. Angry a lot. I was trying to make him feel better by telling him stuff we’d do once on the Path again. He said something about not being able to be hired since he’s got all those scars now so I suggested we go to Novigrad to get a salve that would make them fade and then he just… snapped.”
His brother has a pinched expression on his face, pulling his own scars tight and making the skin around them lighten, “Geralt, have you been telling Jaskier all the ways things will go back to normal?”
“I… yeah, I guess so. I figured that’s what he wants. Isn’t it?”
Eskel squints at him for a long few moments before slowly saying, “Imagine Roach died. You grieve and get a new Roach and this new Roach isn’t the same because she’s a different horse, different mannerisms and color and personality. And when you next see Jaskier he just talks about Roach like she’s the same as the first Roach, pretending like nothing has changed. How would that make you feel?”
Geralt frowns and looks down at Eskel’s boots as he thinks, “I… I’d be upset. It’d feel disrespectful to the new Roach.” He thinks about how Jaskier accused him of not treating the bard with respect and his heart sinks, “That’s how I’ve been making Jaskier feel.”
“Mhm,” his brother nods sagely before giving Geralt a sharp look, “He doesn’t want you telling him things will be the same as they were before he lost his sight and got his scars, he wants you to reassure him that, even though things are different now, he’s not alone.” Eskel sighs softly and looks away as he shoves his hands in his pockets, saying quietly, “He’s terrified, Geralt. He can’t see anymore. I can’t imagine how fucking scared I’d be if I couldn’t see anything anymore. Your bard’s strong, stronger than most people I’d reckon, but he’s still human and he needs to not be alone. He needs you.”
Geralt inhales deeply as he meets Eskel’s eyes and nods, letting out his breath slowly and feeling the tension seep out of his shoulders. He thinks he understands so he thanks his brother before leaving the pantry and heading towards his bedroom. He’s sure that Jaskier understands that Geralt was just trying to help, even if his words weren’t hitting home and were just making Jaskier feel worse. But he still owes his bard an apology and maybe he can make it up to Jaskier with…
He stops dead in his tracks as he realizes that he hasn’t kissed Jaskier since finding the bard Stregobor’s tower, and his only touches have been light ones to Jaskier’s shoulders and arms. He’s held Jaskier in their sleep but other than that he’s been neglecting his bard’s need for physical touch and gods if that doesn’t make him feel shitty. Just because Jaskier flinches and startles from sudden contact doesn’t mean he suddenly doesn’t want to be embraced or held or kissed. Jaskier was- is an extremely tactile man.
With guilt sitting leaden in his gut, Geralt finishes the trek back to his bedroom and takes a deep breath outside the closed door, wincing at the sharp, acrid scent of anger and the heavier, mildew-like smell of guilt that lingers in the hall through the door. Jaskier’s not faring much better than himself it seems and he swallows thickly before knocking firmly on the door. He hears Jaskier startle inside, the bard’s boots scuffing against the ground as he jumps in surprise and his heartbeat spiking briefly before he clears his throat and says hoarsely, “Come in.”
Geralt opens the door slowly and steps into the room so that his boots thump against the stone floor audibly, “Jaskier, can we talk?”
Jaskier sighs and tilts his head down like he’s looking at his knees as he sits on his hands in the armchair he was sitting in earlier when they argued and he nods, “That’s probably a good idea.” His voice sounds scratchy and under the strong smells of his emotions, Geralt can scent the salt of tears that have long since dried on Jaskier’s skin.
The Witcher delicately makes his way over to the other armchair and sits down, noting that the glass from the shattered vials has been cleaned up, “Did you clean up the glass?” He looks at how Jaskier is sitting on his hands and is suddenly struck with worry that the bard cut himself and is hiding it.
Jaskier shakes his head and sits back in the chair, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, “No, Julian did when he brought me my lunch.” His bard smiles slightly and looks towards Geralt, his eyes gazing just over the Witcher’s right shoulder, “We’re starting to hit it off, I think. Or at least he doesn’t seem to despise me quite so much, so that’s progress, I suppose.”
Geralt nods before remembering with a spike of guilt that Jaskier can’t see his expressions or movements, “That’s good, I’m glad you’re getting along.” Jaskier hums softly in agreement before turning his face towards the heat of the fire that someone must have stoked for him to keep the room warm. “Jask, I… I wanted to apologize. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been treating you. I didn’t realize… I thought I was helping, which isn’t an excuse, I know. I’m just so sorry for hurting you.”
Jaskier is quiet as he listens to Geralt’s apology and then for a few minutes after it, during which they sit in silence except for the crackling of the burning wood. Finally, the corners of his lips tug upwards ruefully and he sighs, “I’m sorry, too. I should have been communicating with you instead of wallowing in self-pity and then lashing out at you when you aren’t doing what I want. You’re not a mind-reader and I shouldn’t have expected you to be.”
Geralt’s shoulders relax and he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he smiles easily, “So, are we okay? I forgive you, by the way. You’re going through a difficult time and adjusting to a new reality, I don’t blame you for being a little more emotionally volatile than usual.”
“Than usual?” Jaskier’s smile grows as he feigns offense, “How dare you, Witcher! I’ve never once been emotionally volatile. I have done nothing wrong, ever in my life.”
Geralt chuckles and slips off his chair to kneel at Jaskier’s feet, gently touching the bard’s wrist to slip his hand into Jaskier’s cool one, “I know this and I love you.”
“I suppose I can forgive you, then,” he heaves a long-suffering sigh and lowers his feet to the floor again as he laces their fingers together, “I don’t like being mad at you anyway. I’m sorry I threw those perfumes at you, I didn’t realize just how angry I was until I’d already done it.”
“It’s okay,” Geralt presses his lips to the back of Jaskier’s hand and watches as his bard’s cheeks turn pink beneath those white scars, “You were upset, I understand.” He brushes his lips up Jaskier’s arm, enjoying the feeling of the bard’s soft chemise against his mouth, “it doesn’t even smell like them anymore in here.”
Jaskier’s face is steadily growing more flushed and the intoxicating scent of his bard’s arousal is starting to drift off of his skin, “I ah… asked Yennefer to magic it away. Didn’t want to upset your delicate sensibilities.” The bard’s unoccupied hand seeks out Geralt’s shoulder and his fingers follow it until he’s gently caressing the Witcher’s cheek, smoothing his thumb over Geralt’s cheekbone.
“How considerate,” Geralt murmurs and Jaskier jolts slightly as he feels the Witcher’s breath against his face, his heart rabbiting in his chest. “May I?”
“Yes, please,” Jaskier breathes and his unseeing eyes slip shut as Geralt presses their lips together, the bard sliding out of his chair to straddle Geralt’s knees and wrap his arm around the Witcher’s shoulders while still holding Geralt’s hand tightly in his own. Geralt brings his own arm around Jaskier’s waist in a tight embrace that he doesn’t intend to release anytime soon.
Things start to improve from there. Geralt was correct in his assumption that Jaskier was missing and craving physical connection since the bard seems to be in a much better mood than he was faring from before. Also in part because Geralt makes an effort to not undermine Jaskier’s new way of living, reminding him that there have been blind bards and Witchers who have succeeded in their lives or telling him that his music is good enough that he’ll be hired regardless of his scars. These reassurances ease Jaskier’s frazzled nerves after the bard wakes up in a panic five times every night, which eventually eases to three times, until Jaskier is able to sleep almost the full night through.
Once Jaskier is strong enough to walk around the keep with Geralt acting only as a guide and not a crutch in addition to almost complete nights of sleep, Yennefer deems him well enough to discuss the matter of Julian and the missing part of Jaskier’s mind. Geralt mostly sits back and lets them talk it out, remaining nearby for moral support since he knows things of a magical nature unsettle Jaskier, especially now that he has magic of his own that he doesn’t know how to control. Jaskier firmly believes that Yennefer should talk to Julian about this decision, whether to return the piece of Jaskier’s mind or not, for it’s as much Julian’s as it is his.
Yennefer agrees and seeks Julian out that same day, and she must have explained everything to the boy because after dinner he comes up to Jaskier and lightly taps the bard’s hip to get his attention, “Jaskier? Can I talk to you?” Geralt watches as Jaskier shifts his attention downwards, having gotten quite good at estimating where someone is based on their voice.
“Sure, sweetheart. Do you want Geralt coming or is this a private conversation?” Jaskier asks as Julian slides his small hand into the bard’s larger one.
Julian shakes his head and looks at Geralt apologetically, “Private. Sorry, Geralt.”
“That’s alright,” he smiles at the siren child, “don’t go too far. Don’t want you getting Jaskier lost.” Jaskier makes a noise of indignation that’s mostly for show since it gets Julian to giggle and the sound makes Jaskier smile as he’s guided out of the Great Hall. Geralt doesn’t see Jaskier again until he retires to bed, finding his bard sitting curled up by the fire in his bedclothes and wrapped in a blanket.
Geralt grunts as he enters the room to announce his presence and Jaskier dutifully tilts his head back for a kiss, only flinching a little when their lips make contact. “What did Julian want to talk to you about?” Geralt asks curiously when he pulls away to get changed into his own bedclothes.
Jaskier tilts his head slightly to indicate that he’s listening to Geralt even as he doesn’t turn away from the fire, pulling the blanket tighter around him and shivering slightly, “He wanted to discuss what Yennefer told him, about the spell and us.”
“And?” The Witcher prompts, still not used to Jaskier’s lack of rambling these days. It happens every now and then, usually when the bard is feeling most relaxed and content and Geralt has started using it as a guide for Jaskier’s healing.
“He said he’ll be very sad to forget everyone but he wants to give Julian back to me,” Jaskier says softly, his voice even and carefully neutral, “He’d rather not have the memories of my family and wants to make new ones with all of us instead. I don’t blame him, if I could get rid of the scars my parents have left upon my mind I would.”
Geralt hums and walks over, brushing his fingers against Jaskier’s arm before resting his hand on the bard’s shoulder, “Is that what you want? You know what Yen said, you’ll get that piece back but it won’t fit perfectly. It’ll have… side effects.”
“I remember,” Jaskier nods and sighs, turning his head to rest it against Geralt’s forearm, “possible hallucinations, paranoia, increased anxiety. Things I’m already dealing with, dear heart. I can handle the side effects if it means I won’t feel like something is… is missing anymore.” He had described it as seeing those years of his childhood through the surface of a pond, the memories wavering and blurred and slipping away from him like sand through his fingers.
Geralt sighs and runs his fingers through Jaskier’s soft hair, gently scratching his bard’s scalp to soothe the man, “Are you cold?”
“A bit.”
He hums and sits down on the bearskin rug in front of the hearth, guiding Jaskier to sit between his legs and lean back against his chest and allowing Geralt to wrap his arms around the bard’s waist and tuck the blanket more securely around the thin man. He’s been steadily gaining back the weight he lost but he’s still too thin for Geralt’s comfort, his ribs still faintly visible beneath his skin and his fingers and hands still knobbly. The lack of mass makes Jaskier get cold even easier than he used to, which was already a feat and Geralt enjoyed teasing the bard by saying he’s a cold-blooded reptile.
Geralt rubs his thumb against Jaskier’s hip as they sit silently together in front of the popping wood of the fire. The bard still carries some tension in his shoulders, like he wants to say something more, so Geralt presses his nose to Jaskier’s hair and breathes in the familiar scent of oak and chamomile. “Is there something else, bard?”
Jaskier remains quiet for a while longer before he hums out a sigh, “Yennefer has figured out some of what the experiments Stregobor was doing were.” Geralt’s blood runs cold and his arms tighten to pull Jaskier more firmly against him and the bard tilts his head back to rest it against Geralt’s shoulder.
“Do you want to tell me?”
The bard shakes his head and closes his eyes, “Not all of it.”
Geralt glances at him out of the side of his eye, “But some of it?”
“Hmm, yes, I suppose it would be a good idea.” Jaskier takes a few moments to collect himself and Geralt allows the bard this time as he noses at the exposed column of Jaskier’s throat until he feels Jaskier’s Adam's apple bob. “Yennefer had the idea… to return my sight, you see. Of taking me to Ban Ard so I could be trained and then go through the process of ‘ascension’, being made perfect.”
Geralt frowns and pulls his head back to look at the bard. Jaskier’s eyes are still closed but his face is tight with tension. “And you… don’t want to do this?”
“I’m not sure. I think the training would be beneficial.”
“But not the ascension?”
Jaskier smiles bitterly and opens his blank eyes, tilting his head towards Geralt’s face, “Now, therein lies the problem. The reason Yennefer can’t get rid of my scars is because I’ve already ascended.” Geralt freezes as he stares at Jaskier in disbelief. “Stregobor put me through a bastardized version of the process which is what inflicted the scars and stole my sight. I was already going to live a long time due to my ancestry, and I was fully aware of there being fae somewhere in my lineage but it wasn’t any immediate family so I never thought it would be anything more than an extended life expectancy. But now I have this twisted connection to chaos and I can feel it buzzing around inside me like a glow fly trapped in a glass jar and on top of that I won’t die. Not that I want to, by any means, but now there is no end in sight unless I’m cut down by external forces or by my own hand.”
Geralt feels like he’s been dunked into a frozen lake and he can’t find the hole in the ice he fell through, “Jaskier I… I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Jaskier sighs and waves his hand dismissively, “Just… it’s just unfortunate. Can’t double-ascend after all. I guess you’re really stuck with me now.”
A fierce feeling of protectiveness rushes through Geralt and he curls around Jaskier a bit more, “Not stuck, never stuck.” Jaskier smiles softly and raises his hand to tangle his fingers in Geralt’s long hair, relaxing against the Witcher and closing his eyes again as he presses his lips against Geralt’s temple.
Two days later, Geralt finds himself in Yennefer’s laboratory along with Jaskier and Julian. After giving his answer to the sorceress, Julian had wanted to say goodbye to everyone and leave them all little tokens that he had collected over his time in the keep. Surprisingly, Lambert was the one to burst into tears when Julian handed him the crudely carved wolf medallion the boy had made and the young Witcher swept the boy up into a tight hug that he didn’t end until Julian was complaining of his toes falling asleep. Now he’s sitting on a cot that’s placed next to the one Jaskier is sitting cross-legged on, calmly listening to the boy prattle on about the different kinds of bugs he’s seen in the keep while Yennefer readies her ingredients for the spell.
“Jaskier,” Julian says suddenly, glancing nervously at Yennefer and then around the laboratory. He waits until Jaskier hums his confirmation of attention before speaking again, “I know I didn’t have as much time with you as I did everybody else, but I wanted to give you this. I think it’s yours anyway.”
Jaskier raises his eyebrows with a curious smile as Julian gets down off of the cot and walks over, patting Jaskier’s hand to make him turn it over with an open palm. Julian then withdraws the old, stuffed cat from his doublet and sets it gently in Jaskier’s hand. The bard’s breath hitches slightly and he uses his other hand to feel the cat over, his fingers trailing along the thin fabric and fraying seams, feeling the bald spots where fur used to be sewn onto the toy and the J embroidered on the cat’s ear.
“Is this Gregory?” Jaskier asks softly, an expression of awe on his face. Julian makes a noise of confirmation and a soft, wounded sound comes from Jaskier’s throat as he continues to run his fingers over the toy, “I haven’t held him in decades. Wherever did you find him?”
“I always had him,” Julian climbs back up onto his cot and swings his feet as he looks at Jaskier, “But Yenna thinks that mage took him from your house. All the magic is stuck to him. ‘Cause he’s an ‘emotional answer’.”
“Anchor,” Yennefer corrects absently.
“Yeah, that.”
Jaskier takes a shaking breath and is blinking back tears so Geralt moves closer and gently rests his hand on the bard’s shoulder to offer him support. “I… thank you, Julian. This means a lot to me.”
“I know. I can see you trying not to cry,” the boy says bluntly and it shocks Jaskier into a startled laugh. “Yenna, Gregory will be okay after you do your magic, right?”
Yennefer glances over with a soft expression and nods, “The cat will survive, yes. Now please lie down, the both of you.”
As the bard and boy both shift to lie down on their cots, Julian smiles and nods, “Good, I’d hate to have given Jaskier a gift and it got taken away.” All of a sudden it clicks for Geralt. He had wondered, back at the beginning of his acquaintance with the boy, how a child like Julian could grow up to become Jaskier. But he had it all wrong. He was focussing on how Julian was timid and shy and scared of everyone and everything, how the child lashed out when frightened or went nonverbal from time to time as a way to avoid saying something that could be cause for punishment. Geralt was so focussed on how Julian was different from Jaskier that he completely missed the ways that they’re similar.
He can see exactly how Julian became Jaskier in the way the boy played games with Ciri, the two of them creating entire worlds and stories out of the things they could find around the keep. He can see it in the way Julian fearlessly climbed all over Lambert, who is arguably the most volatile of them from his anger alone, and tamed the youngest wolf. He can see it in the way Julian eventually got over his mistrust of Eskel and befriended him, frequently crafting clumsy flower crowns that graced Eskel’s dark hair whenever a new one was gifted to him. He can see it in the way that Julian gives Jaskier a stuffed cat that’s arguably the most important thing to a young child, to Julian as he is now and to Jaskier from when he was once known as Julian. Geralt can’t believe he didn’t see it before, just because some of Jaskier’s louder traits were toned down from a lifetime of abuse at the hands of the people he trusted the most. And even though they don’t share many physical similarities anymore, not since that glamour broke, it’s impossible to not see Julian in Jaskier and Jaskier in Julian, they’re the same person after all.
“Ready?” Yennefer walks over to them and Julian takes a deep breath, nervously glancing at the three adults.
“Will it hurt?”
Yennefer smiles softly as she taps Jaskier’s forehead, putting him to sleep and then turning to the boy, “Not at all, little one.”
And then Julian is laid to rest.
The sun shines brightly down overhead, warming the earth beneath their feet and bringing a rosiness to Jaskier’s cheeks as they walk hand-in-hand across the emerald lawn that decorates the courtyard of Ban Ard. Birds twitter and sing in the trees that they travel beneath when they exit the front gates and mount Roach, his bard sitting behind him with an arm wrapped snugly around his middle. The hollow sound of Jaskier’s lute bumping against his hip as Roach walks along the trodden road towards Aretuza is a familiar and welcome sound, only improved by the gentle humming that starts up after they both thoroughly appreciate their own silence and the ambience of the woods.
Jaskier hooks his chin over Geralt’s shoulder and closes his eyes, enjoying the sunlight that filters through the branches and dapples his face as he sings softly, crooning a song about lovers at Midsummer into Geralt’s ear. The Witcher smiles contentedly as he looks over at Jaskier, not a trace of tension on his lover’s face at this moment. It’s not often that Jaskier is completely relaxed like this, between the way his mind splinters sometimes and the general stresses of life, so it’s nice to see him so carefree. It only takes a few hours before they’re drawing close to their destination, a single small house on a hill surrounded by a white picket fence and copses of evergreens that’s halfway between Aretuza and Ban Ard. Already there’s a bay mare turned out to pasture just outside the fencing and Geralt smiles at the sight of it.
As they get near to the top of the hill there’s an excited shriek from inside the house and the front door flies open. A young boy of ten, with tawny hair and green eyes, races through it and vaults the picket fence to sprint down the hill towards them. Jaskier sits up straighter behind Geralt as he hears the approaching footsteps and the Witcher brings Roach to a halt as they wait for the boy to reach them.
“Geralt! Jaskier! You’re here!” He cries out and trips over a hidden root, landing face first with a soft grunt before jumping back up again with just as much excitement as before.
“We told you we would be,” Jaskier grins, turning his face towards the boy, “And here we are, Tómas.”
“I know!” Tómas reaches up for Roaches reins and Geralt relinquishes them with little hesitation, “But you’re late! Mum said you’d get here yesterday! The ceremony is tonight!”
“Yeah, well you can blame Master Jaskier for that,” Geralt teases and Jaskier pokes him in the side as he sticks his tongue out childishly, “Couldn’t resist playing for your classmates, huh?”
“A private concert was requested, my dear Witcher. Who am I to deny my fellow students their deepest desires?”
“Their deepest desires? I dunno about that, maybe their most desired background sound to get drunk to as they celebrate the end of the semester,” the Witcher grunts but grins as Jaskier thumps him on the back as his bard rolls his eyes.
“Insufferable,” Jaskier sighs in exasperation before turning his face towards Tómas again and whispering conspiratorially, “Remind me why I put up with him?”
Tómas looks delighted as he stage-whispers back, “Because you love him.”
“Hm, I guess that’s as good a reason as any.”
Geralt’s the one to roll his eyes this time as he shakes his head, “Oh fuck off, Jask.”
“Not until dear Tómas has guided us safely to his darling home, you know the rules, Geralt,” Jaskier laughs and once the boy has led Roach to the fence he carefully slides off of her back and steps out of the way for Geralt to dismount.
“You got her handled?” Geralt asks Tómas, who salutes at him and marches off with Roach to untack her and brush the mare down before turning her out to pasture as well. The front door of the house opens again and Yennefer emerges with a rag in hand as she wipes her fingers clean, Ciri following close behind. A cat medallion gleams atop Ciri’s tunic, her swords left inside the house most likely in favor of greeting the family.
“It’s about time you got here,” Yennefer drawls, tucking the rag into a pocket of her apron and Geralt catches the scent of wolfsbane on it, “I was starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”
Geralt pulls her into a warm embrace as Ciri simultaneously hugs Jaskier, touching his shoulder first to alert him to her physical presence. “Jaskier was tempted into performing for his fellow students, had to stay so he could serenade them.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Ciri teases and Jaskier pats the top of her head with a laugh.
“It seems you’ve finally stopped growing, cub. You were giving me a scare for a while there! I could have sworn I was over a foot taller and now you’re all the way up to my nose!”
“Shame, I was certain I’d be taller than all of you losers.”
“Quit hogging the bard, Cirilla,” Yennefer admonishes as she shoos Ciri away to pull Jaskier into her arms, “I haven’t seen him all year either.”
“That’s hardly my fault, is it! I’m not allowed to leave the grounds during semester, but you can waltz right on over whenever you’d like,” Jaskier hugs her back with a bright laugh.
Ciri walks over to Geralt and gives him a tight hug, tucking her head under his chin like she always does, “How are you, dad?”
Geralt softens, his heart melting for his Child Surprise every time she calls him that without fail, and he rubs her back as he thinks about his answer, “I’m… good. I’m really good. How are you?”
“Better now that you two have arrived. It’d be a bit awkward to have the ceremony without the guests of honor,” she teases and he pinches her cheek in recompense, “Oh hush, you know I’m right. Besides, it’s just us right now. Yennefer and I will portal in your brothers later.” Geralt glances over at the sorceress and his bard who are chattering animatedly with each other, catching up on court gossip and other inane topics. “Are you nervous?”
He looks down at her for a moment before turning his gaze on Jaskier and shaking his head, “Nope. I’m scared shitless.” Jaskier seems to sense that he’s being watched and both Ciri and Geralt’s medallions hum as the bard uses a small amount of magic to figure out who’s looking at him. He smiles back at Geralt and Yennefer pretends to gag before shoving Jaskier off balance and making him laugh.
“Well it’s a good thing you’ve got a brave man to lean on,” Ciri teases and Geralt’s smile softens.
“I do, don’t I?”
His Child Surprise wrinkles her nose good-naturedly, “Ew, gross, cut that sappy shit out.”
He laughs and ruffles her hair before crossing his arms, “You started it.”
“What are you, twelve?” Ciri shakes her head and glances over at Jaskier and Yennefer before lowering her voice, “Have you seen any signs of her?”
Geralt’s smile fades as he sighs and runs a hand over his hand, shaking his head. The ‘her’ in question being the mage who was working with Stregobor to capture Jaskier and experiment on him. The former court mage of Lettenhove. Geralt’s been trying to track her down since the first Spring he and Jaskier took to the Path again three years ago, it makes him uneasy for her to be out there and no one apparently knows who she is. He felt a little comforted by the fact that Jaskier spent the last year in Ban Ard, surrounded by sorcerers who could protect him from Emilia Ralt if she decided to try to collect or follow through on Stregobor’s experiments.
“Don’t worry, dad, I’m sure you’ll find her,” Ciri lays a hand on his arm, “For now, though, you need a bath. Phew! My nose can’t tell where Roach ends and you start.” He rolls his eyes with a grumble but follows her inside to the bath, rather pleased to be getting one so quickly after their arrival.
As the sun sets and casts brilliant beams of color across the atmosphere, wispy pink and orange clouds drifting across the bruised sky, and the first stars start to appear amongst the heavens, the Wolves of Kaer Morhen find themselves standing on a hill out back of a small house surrounded by a white picket fence, a bay mare and a chestnut mare turned out to pasture nearby. Newly bathed and smelling fresh as a daisy, Geralt stands across from Jaskier, the light from the setting sun making his sun-kissed skin look like it’s been touched by King Midas himself.
The bright blue of his eyes stands out starkly against his dark hair and the soft white of his doublet and he looks like he’s looking directly into Geralt’s eyes as his hand clasps the red fabric of Geralt’s tunic on his forearm. Geralt’s heart beats almost as fast as a human’s and Jaskier’s heart is pounding in his chest as he feels Geralt wrap his fingers around the bard’s forearm. Whether it’s excitement or nerves, Geralt doesn’t know and he can’t tell based only on the tender smile pulling the corners of Jaskier’s lips up.
Yennefer says a few words, and if asked later Geralt can’t recall what they are for the life of him, before she pulls a golden ribbon out of thin air and winds it around their clasped arms. His focus is completely on the man in front of him, whose blue eyes are unseeing and scars like white lightning adorn his skin, as they stand before their friends and family. Proclaiming their love in front of Eskel and Lambert, Vesemir and Ciri, Aiden and Coën, Triss Merigold and a woman Jaskier knows from Oxenfurt named Essi Daven. Bound together by choice and a golden ribbon in the fading light of the day on Midsummer’s Eve.
Tómas sits off to the side on the picket fence, not all that interested in handfasting ceremonies at ten years old, as he quietly sings a nursery rhyme to himself that he doesn’t remember where he learned, “ Tom a lin and his wife and his wife’s mother, / They all went over the bridge together; / The bridge was broken and they fell in, / ‘The devil go with all,’ quoth Tom a lin .”