Multifandom stuff

Because they're good braids, some of them quite complicated and no one can understand just how he knows how to do that.

The only conclusion they could come to is that the hobbit must have a paramour back in The Shire, some long-haired lass who he spoils with pretty love-braids.

Thorins temper had been truly foul after Balin has proposed the theory out loud.

After weeks of Thorin sulking, it was ever curious: Ori, who finally asked where Bilbo had learned such intrecate braid work.

(Since Merlin is magic, he doesn't count as people and is therefore exempt from the rule, which makes Arthur think Merlin has no thoughts at all, which bodes some hilarious encounters.)

That’s what the Nilfgaardian soldier told Geralt about Jaskier’s death. The soldier mocked him, saying they had captured the bard and that Jaskier cried and screamed while they tortured him.

Jaskier kept calling out for Geralt to save him until the very end.

Geralt is heartbroken when he learns that his bard is dead, before he ever had the chance to tell Jaskier how much he loved him.

But then, one day, Geralt meets Dandelion.

Dandelion is a bard who says he has amnesia. He also happens to look exactly like Jaskier.

To his parents’ credit, they did actually try to keep him safe and healthy for as long as they could. When he was three, they hired a mage who inked a rune into his skin that let him be more tolerant of temperatures, which helped a great deal. They even got him a pendant made that was keyed to his body, designed to light up for any injury worse than a paper cut. But no matter how much money they spent, or how many mages they inquired with, nothing could be done to help their son feel pain. To be able to operate like a normal child, a normal adult, a normal viscount. And everything they did to protect him only made him more miserable, made Julian ask why life is worth living if he’s not actually living.

And they love him, dearly, so they tearfully let him go off to live how he likes at fifteen, sure that they will never see him again.

Julian—Jaskier—sends home letters every month or so, so that they…well.

Thus, when Jaskier meets Geralt at eighteen, a good decade or so past when he really should have died, he decides he’s had a rather good life. And yes, he’ll probably be eaten by some beastie or other, but oh, what an adventure it will be in the meantime, hmm?

And Geralt doesn’t know what to do with this weird human. The human who has trailed after Geralt for three days without asking for a break, just ambling along beside Roach and pestering the witcher for details about old hunts. It’s as infuriating as it is confusing, especially because Geralt has refused to give the bard any of his food for the past three days, hoping the hunger would drive him away, and yet Jaskier continues to act as if it doesn’t bother him. As if the only thing he needs in life to subside is the occasional drink of water and Geralt’s words. It doesn’t make sense, it’s—

Geralt freezes as the wind shifts, halting Roach. He turns to the bard, harshly asking him where he’s bleeding. And the bard, the utter fool, tilts his head before just—patting down his body. Like he doesn’t know where it is the blood is coming from, what the—

And then Jaskier pulls his flashy, shiny boots off to reveal socks absolutely drenched in blood. The sight and smell, not masked now by a layer of leather, has Geralt cursing loudly as he slides off of Roach, reaching for his bags. He scolds Jaskier as the bard tugs off the red-stained material, revealing large blisters and other bodily fluids that make Geralt frown, aware that such infection kills humans far too easily.

He asks why Jaskier didn’t say anything, didn’t ask for a break, and the bard shrugs sheepishly as he turns away, and that—Geralt blinks, suddenly understanding what about this situation feels so wrong. The witcher is bandaging wounds that would make even the fiercest witcher wince, yet the bard acts like it’s not even his own feet the witcher is touching.

Making sure the bard’s head is still turned, the witcher pokes one of his legs once, then twice, unsure if the lack of reaction is due to lack of wanting to respond or being unable to respond. Finally, a third poke has Jaskier’s head whipping back around, a scowl planted firmly on his face as he bats the witcher’s hand away, saying he can feel that, he just…can’t feel pain.

Which is…that’s not…

Geralt humms, unsure what to say besides that Jaskier shouldn’t be traveling with a witcher if he can’t even tend to his own body. Which clearly isn’t the correct response, as Jaskier’s expression darkens before he states, quite firmly, that if the witcher doesn’t want him to travel with him then he’ll have to kill Jaskier himself, or let some other monster get him.

And that…that’s true, isn’t it? Because apparently nothing short of death or being too, well, unconscious from blood loss or something would keep the bard away.

So Geralt grunts and turns, pretending like he doesn’t care what happens to the bard either way for a while. Besides insisting that the bard eat something every time Geralt does because, now that he’s looking for it, Jaskier almost seems skeletal. And it looks bad, he says gruffly, if a bard traveling with a witcher looks starved.

When he sees the pendant for the first time, it is purely on accident, Jaskier having seemingly forgotten to remove it before taking a swim in the nearby stream while Geralt rids himself of Endrega guts. After a thorough questioning, where Jaskier bashfully admits just what the necklace is for, Geralt insists he stop hiding it underneath his chemise and doublet. Jaskier protests, and they end up agreeing Jaskier will wear it out when it’s just the two of them, but not when around others, which Geralt begrudgingly agrees would only draw unwanted attention.

Jaskier has been traveling with the witcher for two years when he gets so drunk at a very welcoming tavern that Geralt has to physically carry him back to their room before the bard hurts himself. And Geralt knows Jaskier is drunk, but it doesn’t stop the way a pit forms in Geralt’s stomach as Jaskier thanks the witcher for keeping him alive. Doesn’t stop the way a part of him he’d thought had died long ago aches when Jaskier says he didn’t think he’d make it this long. That he wouldn’t have if he’d met a less kind man.

And Geralt wants to refuse that, to demand the bard take the words back, but the bard has fallen asleep and left Geralt with only his thoughts. Which makes Geralt think, really think, about what might have happened if Jaskier had never met Geralt.

For one, Jaskier never would have rested his arm when he’d dislocated it in that bar fight four months ago. He’d put up such a fuss when Geralt had tied the injured limb to his chest, and strictly enforced no moving it for anything. Would Jaskier have had permanent nerve damage that stopped him from playing, no matter how hard he willed his body, if Geralt had not insisted he give his injury time to heal?

And Jaskier definitely wouldn’t be eating enough, would have spent his money on a fancy new doublet sooner than a poor-tasting bowl of stew. Would the bard have had enough wits to realize what he was doing to his body without the hunger pangs to tell him, or would he just have collapsed on the side of the road? Become some predator’s dinner because his body didn’t have the energy to run?

Or…Geralt swallowed, what if he’d come across a different sort of predator? One who had use for a man that couldn’t feel pain, that wouldn’t succumb so easily to…to torture, or experimentation. Because Geralt was not nearly as innocent as he’d been when he first started on the Path, and he knew there were many people out there who would see Jaskier’s lack of pain as a sign to take and take and take until there was nothing of the bard left to give.

And maybe the witcher’s side wasn’t the safest place for the bard to be, but the witcher could admit to himself, in the safety of his own mind, that there likely was no place for Jaskier that would be entirely safe. Unless, perhaps, if he spent his life locked away in some palace court, the bard playing for his room and board all his life and never wanting for anything.

But try as Geralt might to picture Jaskier in such a role, he knew it would never be possible. The other man would sooner give up a limb than let himself be confined to one place for the rest of his life. The bard would likely actually claim that, going so far as to say something or other about preferring to be run through by a Leshen than pander to some noble for the next fifty or sixty years.

(So perhaps…perhaps it would be okay, just this once. To have this…this small happiness. If it was for Jaskier’s good.)

Jaskier was exhausted the next day, and did not understand why Geralt needed to see a mage so badly that they had to leave the inn at the break of dawn. And Geralt was his usual tight-lipped self, no matter how much the bard needled and whined about being up before the roosters.

When Geralt does find a certain witch with violet eyes, Jaskier is twenty and more than a little moved to see Geralt paying a great deal for a pendant that is linked to Jaskier’s, one that buzzes when Jaskier’s own is going off. Geralt mutters something about Jaskier’s inability to not choose the wrong bed and needing more of a warning, but they’re both aware that an injury such as that has only happened once. Which, really, is not a lot in comparison to the many times Jaskier has accidentally injured himself during his sleep or while otherwise unsupervised.

Jaskier is quite pissed off at Geralt when the Djinn happens, though the bard finds it ridiculously sweet how panicked the witcher is and how Geralt goes so far as to buy him a new chemise and doublet after the fact. It helps soothe the ache of Geralt sleeping with the witch, especially because he knows how the witcher would feel if he’d told the man how Yennefer looked at him, when Geralt wasn’t around. The way she eyed him like a particularly intriguing specimen, the same glint in her eyes as the mage his parents had hired when he was eight that insisted Jaskier needed to be taken away for “treatment.”

Jaskier hadn’t been able to sleep for a week after he’d overheard what the man said to his assistant, before he was almost shipped off to his death. He was just glad his parents had believed him, that they hadn’t—hadn’t—

Either way, Jaskier was feeling nothing but bitter when Jaskier and Geralt followed the witch up the mountain. And then—and then—

Well, Jaskier was good at faking pain, helped by the fact that he was actually terrified of having to live the rest of his life without the use of his hands. And then Geralt was there, except he didn’t…didn’t seem to care that Jaskier was hurt. Didn’t even seem to notice.

Which was…it was fine. It wasn’t Geralt’s job to keep track of Jaskier’s body, the witcher had a literal child to care for now. He didn’t need a useless bard that couldn’t even take care of himself following along like some handicapped puppy.

(Jaskier didn’t know that Geralt had his pendant taken from him when he was imprisoned. And the witcher, so used to being alerted via pendant, doesn’t remember he ought to check Jaskier for injuries. It’s been so many years, he’s forgotten what it used to be like, the not knowing and constant worry that Jaskier could be hurting himself or dying and even the bard wouldn’t notice.)

And then Voleth Meir happens, and Geralt is so busy with Ciri and his witch that Jaskier finds himself spending a lot of time with Lambert, of all people. He and the witcher get on like a house on fire, which is…something that hasn’t happened yet, fortunately, but not for lack of trying.

It’s fun, to have somebody else who knows about his…condition, but not baby him or forcefully, silently handle him, like some injured pet. Lambert points out his blue lips, says his coat is on fire after a close call with a bomb, mentions he heard a rib crack, and does he want a hand wrapping that?

It’s…refreshing, to have someone who is so matter of fact about it, who cares enough to help but doesn’t feel the need to smother him.

It’s great, until he comes to breakfast with a wrap around his head after some loose rubble hit him last night. He’s prepared to tell Vesemir that really, the structural integrity of that abandoned part of the keep was already poor, Lambert’s bomb was just the final thread. He’s not expecting Geralt to practically pull him into his lap as he asks what happened, already reaching for the bandage.

Geralt seems stunned when Jaskier slaps his hands away, when Jaskier outright scolds him and says Lambert already looked at it yesterday. Geralt’s face is scrunched up in confusion as he reaches for his pendant, only to look at Jaskier with panic the bard hasn’t seen since the Djinn when the witcher doesn’t find it. Which is…weird. Jaskier thought he’d thrown it away, that he’d—

And Jaskier knows that look in Geralt’s eyes, he just…never thought he’d see it again. But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still in front of what is, for all intents and purposes, the witcher’s family, so would he please stop trying to undress him with his eyes! Seriously, it’s not—okay, and now he’s being dragged away after that, and based on Lambert’s cackles he can only imagine too well what must be going through everyone’s minds right now.

This is…Jaskier can’t remember the last time he was so embarrassed, really—

But then Geralt explains, as Jaskier pulls off his doublet, that he had the pendant taken from him. That he didn’t…didn’t mean what he said. On the mountain.

And Jaskier is so busy trying not to cry, he misses the moment Geralt notices the wrapped ribs and bruises covering a good portion of the bard’s body. What he doesn’t miss, however, is the way that Geralt growls his brother’s name before storming out the door.

Which leads to Ciri watching as Lambert bolts from the table, swearing as he runs away right before Geralt enters, hot on the witcher’s heels, with Jaskier running after a few seconds later in his smalls yelling not to hurt him.

The princess decides the lover’s spat is, arguably, the most normal thing she’s experienced in the past several months, and goes back to eating her porridge as Jaskier leaves the room.

(That doesn’t stop her from waiting until Eskel has taken a bite before asking if he’s sleeping with Jaskier too, in as innocent a voice as she can muster up.

What can she say?

Arthur, sweetie, this is no way to look at your manservant.

Ship: Geraskier

Summary: When a monster hunt goes wrong and Jaskier is left in the dark, he must learn to adapt to his new world with Geralt guiding the way

On AO3

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There was a flash of light, burning hot fire blazing against Jaskier’s skin as he was thrown backwards into the house.

“Ahh!” he screamed, his head still throbbing from the sudden bright light, dots drifting in and out of his vision before the pain in his body got too much and everything faded to black.

When he awoke he could hear Geralt talking to Roach, her whinnying in response. He wasn’t quite sure where he was, only that his entire being seemed to ache. It felt like he’d been dragged through a drowner nest and he blinked as he opened his eyes, preparing for the light in the cave, house, camp, wherever they’d ended up. 

But it was still dark. 

Blasted witcher probably hadn’t bothered lighting a fire. He could see just fine in the dark, and Jaskier felt fairly cosy so it couldn’t have been that cold out. If they were camping then there was no need for a campfire to draw unwanted attention if Geralt could see. Only Jaskier couldn’t see and he didn’t like it. Normally, even at night, he’d be able to make out vague silhouettes of trees, and the moon and stars up above, but there was nothing. It was completely black, as if even the night sky had been extinguished. 

“Geralt?” he called, reaching out into the inky darkness. 

There was grass beneath his fingers. So they were definitely outside, not in a stable. It was unlikely to be a cave either. Jaskier took a deep breath through his nose, trying to ascertain more about his surroundings. He might not be a witcher but he could still pick up a scent or two in the forest. 

Burning. 

That would explain the crackling noise coming from in front of him - a fire.

“I’m here,” Geralt’s voice was gruff in his ear, and a lot closer than Jaskier was expecting. 

He stumbled back, startled by the witcher’s sudden closeness. Had he not opened his eyes properly? He was pretty sure he’d opened his eyes. Frowning, Jaskier blinked purposely, feeling the motion in his muscles, but everything was still pitch black. 

“Geralt? Where are you?” he whined, dread creeping over his skin. “Geralt!”

“I’m right here, Jask.” Something warm touched Jaskier’s hands, rough calluses brushing against his skin. “I’m right here.”

Fuck. Oh fucking, fucky… fuck. Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat and he gripped Geralt’s hand tighter. “Geralt, I can’t see.”