#blind!jaskier

Jaskier’s hearing rivals that of a bat, his scent like a hounds, taste like a snake’s, and, if he focuses really hard, he can FEEL changes in the air.

At first he screams as a baby, the new senses like torture, but he is young and adaptable and soon he becomes used to it and grows up extra sensitive to the world around him.

He learns how to ignore stimuli that hurt and how to focus until he can taste a fresh-baked pie in the air one town over. He wears silks and soft clothing, anything scratchy too painful on his skin, and wears perfumes that gently ease his scent.

And he falls in love with the sweet, sweet sound of music and cannot get enough of it! Learns how to play many, many instruments through touch and sound alone because a lute isn’t enough to sate how the music makes his sensitive ears feel. Give him a drum. Give him a piano. Give him a harp. Give him a flute. The list goes on and on, but lute is definitely a favorite.

His journey takes him on a very similar one as canon (I’m basing it off Netflix btw) and he meets Geralt, can tell he is different by his scent, and that he doesn’t comment on his singing in Posada.

He follows Geralt like usual and it takes the Witcher a far longer time than he’d like to admit to realize the bard is blind.

(”There’s no such thing as devils.”

“Right, well, whatever it is I can hear it’s heartbeat just around that rock, behind the two rows of bushes, and 40 degrees up.”

“...How...?”

Jaskier proceeds to push his low-hanging bangs out of the way and wave his hand in front of his sightless eyes.)

Jaskier spots things before even Geralt does. Things that can be helpful. Things that aren’t at all. He knows when an attack is coming... but that doesn’t mean he knows how to dodge or fight back. He’s still pretty useless in that regard. And just because he can smell a kikimora from a mile away doesn’t mean he knows how to track it across the land in between.

Still, he turns out to be far more helpful in everyday endeavors than Geralt expected.

And Jaskier has the easiest time reading Geralt’s emotions.

Witchers have feelings, everything does, it is a reaction of the brain when presented with particular stimuli that will hopefully lead to a longer, happier life. It is survival. Witchers, however, learn how not to EXPRESS their feelings. Namely through facial features.

But Jaskier can’t see facial features. He listens to people’s hearts. Their breathing. The shift of their muscles. Readjusting feet on the ground. Smell of particularly powerful emotions on the air.

Geralt can’t hide those. He’s an open book to Jaskier. Even his fainter scents are loud and clear to Jaskier.

(Jaskier is also incredibly talented at telling when people are lying, thanks to these things.)

Geralt and Jaskier also, as they become closer through the years, use Jaskier’s blindness to their advantage in other ways.

Jaskier is 100% down with making people feel bad for him so he can get things. He’ll milk the fact he can’t see, pretend he’s constantly struggling, hold Geralt so he can “lead” him where he needs to go, and even when the Witcher is around people are still more willing to lessen the price of rooms or food or get Geralt paid more for his contracts.

Geralt, at first, hadn’t been sure about it, but then Jaskier began claiming Roach was emotional support for him to the stablehands, which ended up getting the horse even more spoiled than before.

Geralt changed his tune after that.

And Jaskier will joke about being blind. He’s comfortable with it. Think this kind of attitude.

(Geralt, without Cat, dead of night: Careful. It’s gotten dark out. Can’t see a thing.

Jaskier: Oh no. What a nightmare.

Geralt: ...Sorry...)

Jaskier is GREAT with memorization, too! He’s educated and a singer, but he can’t write or read and braille hasn’t been invented, so he has to memorize EVERYTHING. It’s great for studies, for working on songs, and for winning arguments!

He’ll memorize the shapes of things, too, for later. Memorize the layout of a room for if he feels like not paying too close attention. Memorize the shapes of people’s faces when they allow him to touch and feel and understand.

It takes a while for him to convince Geralt to let him feel his face, but eventually the Witcher relents. Jaskier is soft and gentle and reverent when he feels out Geralt’s features, marveling at his beauty, coming through his hair that he knows is “white” only because people have told him so.

(Edit: I did not realize this was not, actually, a thing, but instead imagine Jaskier pretending it is, because he totally would. “Oh, you sound so beautiful, may I map out your face? It is a common thing for those like myself to request.” “Sounds legit.”)

And that’s the only thing... He doesn’t know what colors are. And the only time he cares to look good is when he’s performing since it’s a pain to correct his hair when he can’t actually see it, or feel through his clothes for the doublet and trousers that have a veeeeeery particular threading on the sleeves and pant legs that tell him they are the same color because the person that sold them told him so.

So, usually,  he still looks great because he’s Jaskier, but when he’s relaxing or in the wild his clothes don’t match and his hair is tussled and messy. (until Geralt begins fixing it, since Jaskier WILL take the time to comb out his white, long hair, make it perfect, and feel out how it should look while not doing it for himself.

“You deserve nice things, Geralt! I can’t even see my hair and nobody’s around, so who cares?”

“Hmm...” and he continues to fix the bard’s hair until he’s nearly purring.)

He still wants to know about colors, though, but no one can define them to him the way he needs.

Until Geralt, who realizes if a color is to be described to the bard, it has to be done using the other senses.

At first, all he can manage is “Red feels... hot. Yellow is... happy.” but Jaskier is still pleased by it and keeps asking, sightless eyes sparkling with excitement And Geralt vows to try a bit harder.

It’s the most he ever talks, explaining the part of the world that his bard can never experience, loving the way Jaskier leans towards him, even more than when he’s talking about a hunt, and memorizes every word.

But Dandy might as well have been chained to the horse. Even if he somehow got down to feel solid ground beneath his feet, he would have no way of telling where he was or where he should be going. All he could do was cling onto Mika’s arms around him and pray he didn’t fall off.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity – even a couple of minutes could have been too long, could have been enough to let Geralt die all alone – he felt the horse slow beneath him. He was jostled worse than before when Roach went from a gallop to a trod, until eventually, her movements got smoother and halted completely.

There was clanging and muttered words of relief as the others dismounted. Dandy was forced to remain on top of Roach until someone tapped his leg and told him to slowly dismount.

Strong arms caught him, guiding him down until his feet reached the ground. It wasn’t the arms he had secretly hoped he would feel. Dandy knew it was impossible, but a foolish part of him had hoped that Geralt had somehow seen reason, that he had followed them and was safe with them now.

But the arms holding them felt different. The voice reassuring him that he was fine wasn’t deep or raspy enough. It was loving, but it lacked that special undertone that always tinged Geralt’s voice and made Dandy’s heart beat faster.

Now, his heart only raced with fear.

“Geralt.” His voice was but a breath. “Where is he?”

The silence that followed was answer enough. No one knew. No one had dared slow down their flight enough to see if Geralt needed help.

“He’s a witcher,” the person holding him finally said. “He’ll be fine. He came with us to protect us and that’s what he’s doing.”

“No he didn’t!” Dandy was taken aback himself by the unexpected sharpness of his voice. “He didn’t. He is with us, because I asked him to come. I am the reason why he’s in danger, because I was too selfish to leave without at least trying to keep him close. And now he might die-“ His voice cracked and his eyes began to burn. “And he will be all alone. I can’t let him be alone! I have to go back, I have to be with him-“

“Dandy!” The hands holding his upper arms tightened and the sharp tone brought his spiralling thoughts to a grinding halt. “You have to calm down. We won’t just abandon Geralt. He’s one of us. You know we don’t just abandon family.”

Dumbly Dandy nodded. The gesture felt empty, like a mask he was putting on, but there was a familiarity to it. Remembering how to react with his expressions and gestures was just enough of a distraction to stop him from going back to crashing into the abyss of terror and anger.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know. But he’s – “

“Nadine is getting help,” the person reassured him. “We’re outside a town. Nadine is talking to the alderman as we speak. All we can do is wait now for help to arrive.”

Waiting. Again. It seemed that was all Dandy could do. In his mind, he spun an impossible future, in which he swung himself onto Roach, kidnapped her and rode off to find Geralt. He found himself mentally going through all kinds of stiches and potions that might help a wounded witcher. He already dreamed about dragging Geralt back to an inn room and taking care of him until he could be sure Geralt would survive.

Rationally, he knew that those fantasies were nothing more than that: Cruel dreams that taunted him with how unachievable they were. Dandy couldn’t climb on top of a horse again. All he could do now was pull away from the person holding him - just enough to take a few steps, but still touching them for orientation- and clinging to Roach’s neck instead, her warm breath huffing against his neck and her hooves stomping nervously. It probably wasn’t the best idea to be so close to an unsettled horse, but for some reason, being near Roach was a bigger comfort than listening to his troupe’s words as they tried to comfort him. Geralt always smelled of Roach. Being so close to her, he could nearly imagine what it would smell like, if Roach’s scent was mixed with the smoke of a campfire and the heavy scent of pines.

Imaginings. That was all Dandy had now, wasn’t it? Imagining Geralt was alight. Imagining Dandy could somehow help him.

No one in their right mind would let Dandy sew up a wound and he didn’t even know if witchers truly took potions. Geralt had never talked about any such thing and neither had Dandy’s tutor ever mentioned potions – and she had made sure that he knew plenty of witchers, Geralt of Rivia especially. She would have told him if Geralt needed potions, wouldn’t she?

But Dandy could do nothing. His whole being was filled with one single thought, one unbending need: To get back to Geralt. To be with him. To make sure he wasn’t alone.

Geralt didn’t deserve to live alone. He didn’t deserve to die alone either.

By the time voices drew nearer and people were shouting about getting gallons of water onto a wagon, Dandy almost felt numb, his fantasies about how life could be no longer sustaining him.

It was only when he heard the squeaking of too slow wagons rolling away, when he snapped back to full alertness.

“Nadine!” he shouted without thinking. He had no way of knowing if she was anywhere close enough to be able to hear him, but she was probably leading the helpful townsfolk. And she would never ignore one of her family if they needed her. She hadn’t ignored him when he had still been a boy, barely deserving to be called a young man, insecure and uncertain if he’d ever be able to find his own footing. Back then, she hadn’t hesitated to give him a place in her family and not once had she let him down when he had needed her. “Nadine, take me with you! I need to go back to him!”

Painfully tense seconds passed in which no one responded. The shuffling, squeaking, shouting continued and Dandy was left as he was, feeling like he was alone standing on a rock in the sea while a storm raged around him. He couldn’t tell when the first wave was going to crash into him and drag him under.

Heavy steps came closer and a hand tugged at his sleeves. “It’s me, Kara.”

Dandy tensed. “Kara, please –“

She didn’t let him finish. “Mika’s helping getting the water on the wagons and Nadine is making sure the rest are unharmed.”

“I can help. I swear I’m not useless. I can help with Geralt –“

“Doesn’t matter,” Kara said firmly. “I don’t care if you’re useless or the most useful person in the world. Geralt is important to you and you’re important to all of us, so I’ll be damned if I don’t take you with me.”

The pressure that had steadily been building behind Dandy’s eyes finally became too much. Tears welled over, rolling down his cheeks as his shoulders shook with sobs. There had been no wave crashing into him. Dandy had been the one to crash. Now, he would drag himself back on land and he would make sure Geralt would emerge from the sea-tossed storm with him.

He let Kara hoist him on top of Roach again and felt her saddle up behind him. She called out to someone else – Jasof, Iva, Marin. The stagehands; the strongest of the troupe.

Dandy assumed they were riding with them, as Kara clucked her tongue and spurned Roach on once more.

Impossibly, the way back felt even longer than it had taken them to get to the town. But this time, Dandy could tell they were getting close, even before the horses slowed.

There was crackling in the air, roaring, hissing. A wave of heat hit him in the face. Immediately, his eyes teared up again and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep out the burning sensation. It didn’t work. The overpowering stench of smoke filled his lungs, choking him, drowning him.

“Geralt,” he wheezed.

Kara’s let out a noise that probably was supposed to sound soothing, but the tremble in her body that was pressed against Dandy’s proved her act a lie.

“Stay here,” Kara commanded once she had dismounted and helped Dandy down again.

Dandy did as he was bid, fisting his hand into Roach’s mane. It was all he could do.

He felt painfully naked without his cane and when Kara stepped away from him, he had no way of orienting himself, no hope of knowing if he’d be any help or put them all in even more danger if he were to move.

A new wave of smoke rattled his lungs and his whole body shook with his coughs. Roach grew more and more agitated by the second, neighing and stomping her hooves.

“Where is he?”

The shout startled Dandy out of his frozen panic.

“I can’t find him. I – there’s blood.”

No. No!

Before Dandy could think twice about what he was doing, he pushed himself away from Roach and took an uncertain step. His heart was racing in his chest, all instincts telling him to turn back, to cling to Roach, to stay where he was! He didn’t know where he was going. He might be walking straight into danger and he’d be nonethewiser.

Snow crunched beneath his feet. The fire roared to his right. Roach huffed to his left. And his friends shouted helplessly for Geralt all around him.

The cacophony of noise made him even more disoriented. Where was he? Was he even anywhere close to Geralt?

He didn’t know. And yet his feel carried him forwards, shuffling, slow and careful. One miniscule step at the time, his hands stretched out before him. He wished he had his cane with him. He wished he knew where anything was. He wished Geralt was here to gently guide him.

But he was alone.

And yet…

There was something compelling him to move. I need to find him. I need to get back to him. I can’t leave him alone!

The words repeated over and over in his mind like a mantra, like they were the essence of that his soul was made up of. Just the need to get back to find Geralt. In this moment, his entire life was directed towards that one goal and for some reason he couldn’t explain, he knew with an unnatural certainty that he could fulfil his wish. He could find Geralt. He always would.

His foot caught on something. He staggered and fell forward, catching the fall with his hands. They met something solid. Wood. It splintered and dug into his hand, but it was unmistakable nonetheless.

It wasn’t enough to orient himself or give him any clue about why a wagon seemed to be so close to the ground, but it was a start. He trailed his hands over the wood, following the edge, crawling along the line of the destroyed wagon.

Until finally, his hands found something other than wood. It was soft, warm, and moving shallowly with weak breaths.

“Geralt,” he whispered, his voice breaking with hope he didn’t dare to latch onto. His throat went tight. It was him. It had to be him!

Dandy’s hands roamed over every inch of him he could find. His fingers found cold metal and closed around it instinctively. Round, with bumps in the middle. Geralt’s medallion. It was vibrating, pulsing in time with Dandy’s heartbeat.

His hands wandered lower and met something wet and sticky.

His stomach twisted and his blood felt cold as the snow that was soaking him where he kneeled on the ground.

“Kara!” he shouted over the roaring of the fire. “He’s here! I found him! He needs help!”

His voice was raw, shrill with fear.

He heard people running towards him, felt a pair of hands pulling him away, holding him tight. He couldn’t tell if the person holding him wanted to make sure he knew where he was or if they wanted to make sure that he stayed where he was. Holding him or holding him back.

It felt like the latter.

Dandy focussed all his senses on Geralt. He heard groans, pants and splintering. The others must be lifting the wood off of Geralt. They were the strongest of the troupe. They had to be strong enough for this…right?

After another helpless eternity, the world around Dandy grew louder. More shouts. The squealing of a wooden wagon. Splashing and hissing as water met fire.

The townsfolk must have arrived and they must be extinguishing the fire. And yet no one was hastening to Geralt.

“A healer!” He heard someone cry. “We have an injured person!”

“He’s dead,” came the reply that made Dandy’s hands clench on his thighs and made him strain against the hold. “No one can survive being crushed under a wagon.”

“He can!” Dandy shouted. The arms around him tightened. “He’s a witcher! He can survive more than that. He got swallowed by a selkimore and survived. He made it through the war with Nilfgaard. He is the only witcher who survived extra trials!”

He didn’t know how much of that was even true. Maybe it was something his tutor had told him about or maybe it was just something his panicked mind was making up, trying to convince him that he wasn’t about to lose Geralt.

The shouting stopped.

“A witcher?” There was something in that unfamiliar voice. Something terrible. Cold fury. Hot, burning hatred.  “You didn’t tell us we were helping a witcher.”

“I didn’t think it necessary,” Nadine said in that tone she used when the actors messed around too much during rehearsals. “He needs help and we are –“

“We’re not helping mutants,” the stranger spat.

The sound of movement fluttered around Dandy.

“What are you talking about?” Dandy tried to pull himself free. Maybe it was better that Kara was stronger than him. It wouldn’t have ended well for him if he had freed himself. “He is a good man! He saved us and he has been saving people for a century!”

“Let him save himself then.” Dandy could practically hear the sneer in the stranger’s voice. “Or better yet, let him die.”

“How dare you, you worthless son of a –“

Quick steps approaching, Kara and Nadine shouting in tandem and then a smack in his face that flung his head to the side.

He let out a sharp cry, more out of shock than pain. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could feel Kara shift their positions, bringing herself between Dandy and the man who had hit him.

The stranger didn’t let that deter him.

“Listen here, you bastard,” the man hissed in a low voice that sent shivers down Dandy’s spine. “My town won’t help mutants like him. We are leaving. You’re lucky we don’t burn down the rest of your wagons for tricking us.” Snow crunched, as he got even closer. Dandy could feel Kara tense. “You can be lucky you’re still alive. Someone like you…breakable, gullible, expendable. Of course you’d feel kinship with someone else who’s just as unwanted as you. But you should let him die. Or else you’ll be the one to die. Maybe not today, but sooner or later, he’ll be the cause of your death and when that day comes remember that I warned you.”

“That’s enough-“ Nadine’s voice cut through the air like a knife. “Leave him alone. I appreciate that you helped with the fire, but I won’t let you talk to Dandy like-“

“I don’t care.” Dandy said, a fire coming to life in his chest, growing stronger with each word the man had spoken. “I don’t care what you say, Sir. If I had to, I would stand between Geralt and the likes of you any time. I will defend him as long as there is breath in my lungs to speak and tell people like you that you are wrong.”

For a tense moment, there was only silence. Then finally, the man huffed and retreated, the other people that had followed him here to fight the fire, following him once again.

Dandy should have felt triumph at having had the last word, but all he had was a coldness and heaviness spreading through his limbs.

He hadn’t known – Geralt had told him that not all people liked witchers. He had warned him. But Dandy hadn’t realised that this dislike, this unreasonable hatred went so deep that people would leave Geralt to die.

When Geralt had told Dandy that he was hated, he had meant for it to warn Dandy to stay away from him. All it did now, was solidify what Dandy had already known: That he would stand by Geralt, stand between him and the world if he had to and stay there until no one doubted that Geralt was worth defending – even if Geralt himself was one of the people Dandy had to convince of that.

He stood to the side, leaning against Kara, until someone pressed his cane into his hand. The familiar weight made him let out a dry sob. It was too much. It was all too much. And he was doing too little.

He could do nothing but listen as the others carried Geralt into one of the wagons, only moving to say that they could put him in Dandy’s wagon. He heard Clarisse say that stitching up wounds was nothing like sewing costumes, but she would still try everything in her power to treat Geralt’s wounds.

As Dandy waited, something nudged his shoulder from behind. Warm breath ghosted over his neck.

“Roach,” he said without thinking about it twice or asking anyone if he assumed correctly. A weak smile stretched his lips as he caressed her nose. “He’s going to be fine. I promise, he will be alright.”

He wished he could believe it himself.

Later, when he was finally allowed to go into his wagon and see to Geralt himself, he sat down on the bed heavily. His hands twitched at his sides, before finally, he reached out, finding Geralt’s hair and running through it in a soothing motion. He didn’t know if he was trying to calm Geralt or himself.

Once he started touching him, he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t be apart from him again. Not now, not after being left unknowing for so long whether Geralt would live or die.

“Geralt,” he whispered, leaning closer until he could feel Geralt’s breath ghosting across his face. “Geralt, can you hear me?”

No reply. Dandy pressed his free hand against Geralt’s chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest, tracing the medallion that hummed at his touch. His fingers tapped a rhythm onto it. A melody was at the tip of his tongue, but couldn’t fully form. He wished he could sing for Geralt now. He wished he could do anything to make sure Geralt would stay with him forever.

“Don’t leave me, Geralt,” he whispered and meant more than such simple words could say. “Don’t ever go. I can’t lose you. Don’t make me lose you.” His words came from deep inside his soul and yet, they somehow felt like someone else’s words, like an echo of something he had heard before.

Geralt was still out. But he would survive. He had to. But in case he didn’t…

“I love you, Geralt.” He tilted his head forward, his lips meeting a scarred cheek. His fingers came up caressing the scar as if it could take away the pain that had caused it.

He wished Geralt could somehow feel his touch and know that he wasn’t alone.

“J’skr.”

Dandy’s whole body tensed when Geralt let out the garbed sound.

“Geralt?” he urged him.

Geralt let out a long sigh and beneath his fingers, Dandy could feel Geralt’s face stretch into a faint smile.

“Jaskier…” Even in his sleep and with the pain that must still be racing through Geralt’s body, his voice sounded unbearably warm and fond.

“I’m here,” Dandy said, caressing his cheek. “I’m-“

He froze. It hadn’t been his name. Jaskier. For a brief, beautiful moment he had been so sure Geralt had spoken his own name.

Bitterness welled up in Dandy. Of course he had been foolish enough to think such a thing. How could he not imagine Geralt saying his name in that tone? It had been what he had dreamed about for months. Sometimes he had even let himself think he could have this, could have Geralt.

But now…

He gave a weak smile. A mask. An act.

“It’s alright,” he whispered. “You’re not alone.”

But Jaskier wasn’t here. Geralt was calling out for someone who didn’t sit by his bedside, who couldn’t stroke Geralt’s hair, who couldn’t coax him back to wakefulness. All Geralt had was Dandy.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish I could be more.”

He swallowed, starting to pull his hand away, when Geralt started mumbling again. Dandy had to strain his ear to understand what he was saying.

“Love you…Jaskier.”

Dandy squeezed his eyes shut. He had known. Long before now. The way Geralt sometimes spoke about his friend, never even mentioning his name out of the pain it would bring. Of course Dandy had known that Geralt loved his friend, his Jaskier.

It was different hearing him say it like this.

What was even worse, was what followed the next hours. Dandy didn’t leave Geralt’s side for a single moment. He spoke to him softly, caressed his hair in comfort and held his hand. Above all, he let his own heart break, listening to Geralt cry out for Jaskier, begging his long lost love not to leave him, to come back to him, to live again.

He listened to Geralt live through Jaskier’s death again.

“I wish you didn’t have to go through that,” Dandy said softly, his voice thick with all the tears that had already dried up. “I wish you never have to go through that again.”

--

Dandy twirled the dandelion Geralt had plucked for him in his fingers, an amused smile on his face.

“It’s always the yellow flowers, huh?” He teased, bumping his shoulder against Geralt, who was sitting next to him on the grass a little away from the other actors that were preparing lunch or going over their lines again. “I take it buttercups and yarrows are yellow too?”

Geralt hummed in agreement and leaned his head against Dandy’s shoulder, his hand coming up to play with Dandy’s curls.

“Dandy?” Geralt said, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. “That dandelion you have isn’t yellow anymore. It’s white.”

“Seriously?” Dandy scowled as if the flower had personally offended him. “That’s just ridiculous. Why would flowers change colours?”

“Why do you change your hats?”

Dandy gasped in indignation. “Don’t you dare bring my hats into this. I have been told they are very stylish. And they are important to me.”

Geralt’s lips twitched. “If it’s any consolation, there aren’t many flowers that change like that.” He turned his head to place a kiss against Dandy’s neck.

“So this one just wants to be special then?”

“I think it is.” Geralt was sure Dandy could hear his smile in his voice. “You are special to me, my Dandelion.”

Dandy nudged him again. “Look at you sweet-talking. One of these days you’re going to become an actor after all.”

“Wasn’t acting,” Geralt mumbled against Dandy’s skin. “I meant it.”

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.” Dandy pressed a kiss onto the top of his head and let out a mock-exasperated huff. “You know, if I didn’t love being able to just kiss you whenever I want now, I would have said it’s a shame that you already told me that you love me too.”

Geralt grunted quizzically.

“I’m just saying, I could have used this dandelion to wish for you to love me. That would have been a good wish.”

“What are you going to wish for instead?”

“I’m not telling. Wishes don’t work when you say them out loud.”

With that, Dandy took a deep breath and blew the dandelion seeds off into the wind. Some of them got caught in Dandy’s hair and Geralt brushed them off.

It wasn’t until he saw them drifting off with the breeze, that he remembered a different dandelion, lifetimes ago.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes snapping from the now barren dandelion in Dandy’s hand to his face. It couldn’t have been that simple…could it?

A dandelion flying off while Geralt begged Jaskier to open his eyes and look at him again... Could a simple wish have done this? Geralt had made too many wishes in his lifetime and only the twisted ones had come true, even if just for a short time, always hurting Jaskier in the process.

Why would a witcher be granted this? Why, after having set a Djinn on Jaskier, after wishing for Destiny to take him off his hands, why would Geralt be given this second chance, being trusted with Jaskier’s life again?

A lifetime of pain and misery, of learning that nothing came easy in life but death and heartbreak, had taught Geralt that this couldn’t be, that it was too simple. And yet, Dandy leaned his head against Geralt’s, having so easily accepted the truth and still being by Geralt’s side, as if it really could be that simple.

Perhaps, it wasn’t all that impossible.

--

It took Geralt embarrassingly long, before he finally asked why the hats were so important to Dandy. If he was being honest, he had never put much thought into why he was wearing them so often. The only times he had actively thought about them was when they were big enough to nearly shield Dandy’s face from view fully.

As it turned out, that was exactly their intended reason.

“While I have been told that I have the most gorgeous face –“ Dandy began in a teasing and over the top tone, but Geralt let out a hum of sincere agreement that made a smile flicker across Dandy’s face.

“Geralt! Don’t interrupt me by being all sweet,” he chided and swatted in Geralt’s general direction. “I’m trying to tell you something important.”

Geralt hummed again, this time encouraging Dandy to keep talking.

“It’s just that sometimes it’s a bit hard to keep making facial expressions. I mean, I learned them all when I started acting. I can give appropriate reactions with my face and I love doing it, but sometimes it can be really exhausting. Of course some things come just natural, but there are some expressions that I have to put effort in. I can’t just mimic what other people do, I always have to remember what my face needs to do and … I don’t know. It’s hard sometimes. With the hats I can hope that I can hide my face enough to not react falsely or do it to a lesser extend without appearing rude.”

“You don’t have to do that around me,” Geralt said. He reached up until his hand came to rest against the brim of the hat. He hesitated, waited until Dandy gave a small nod, before pulling the hat off, brushing his knuckles softly against Dandy’s cheek as he did so. “I don’t mind. I just want you to be comfortable. You have the most beautiful smile, but I don’t want it, if it’s exhausting for you.”

“I – thank you, Geralt.”

“You have nothing to thank me for.” Geralt’s lips twitched. “I guess I never told you, but I don’t change my expressions much either. At least not in a way that people notice.”

Images of the eyes Yarrow had painted flashed through his mind, the miniscule details only noticeable for those who had known Geralt for a long, long time.

“Oh?” Dandy perked up. “What expression do you have on your face most of the time then? Are you looking at me with dreamlike adoration? Are you smirking like you’re mentally insulting everyone around you all the time? Are you staring forlorn into the distance, being all dramatic?”

Geralt snorted.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said. “You - Jaskier used to call it my ‘scary face’.”

Dandy barked out a laugh. “Oh no, my dear. As much as it pains me to say this, but Jaskier was an idiot. I’m sorry to tell you, but if I ever said this, I was dead wrong. There’s no way you could ever be scary, even if you tried.”

In that moment, Dandy’s description of Geralt looking at him in dreamlike adoration was closer than Geralt would ever admit.

--

“Dandy?”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t remember your past lives, do you? You don’t remember exactly who you used to be?”

“No.”

“But you still trust me.”

“Of course I do.”

--

“It’s not just dandelions.” Geralt scowled up at the trees that forced him to remember the passing of time. “Leaves turn brown in autumn.”

Dandy brushed a leaf that had fallen onto his head away and crushed it between his fingers, lips twitching up at the sound. “I like how crunchy they get.”

Geralt smiled and watched Dandy shuffle through a pile of leaves, all the while grinning like a child and telling Geralt to come join him.

Geralt didn’t have the heart to tell Dandy that he hated the fall. It meant that winter would come far too soon.

--

“You should go,” Dandy told him, for what felt like the tenth time that day.

“I want to stay.”

Dandy sighed and rolled over in bed, so that his back wouldn’t be pressed against Geralt’s chest anymore, but he’d be able to embrace him instead.

“I know. And I want you to stay.” He placed a kiss against Geralt’s chest. “But you should go see your family. They must be worried about you. You have to show them that you are still alive and not still torturing yourself over things you can’t control.”

“What about your family?” Geralt countered. “The troupe, I mean. Won’t the winter be hard for you without protection?”

Dandy buried his face into the crook of Geralt’s neck. “Of course it will. But we’ll be fine. It’s possible that I exaggerated a little when I told you how dangerous the roads are for us.”

Geralt’s brows drew together. “You didn’t. I fought the skullwarg, remember?”

Dandy hummed, a pained little noise. “You wouldn’t have had to do that if you had been safe in your witchers’ keep.”

“I told you I’d get hurt again for you.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is.”

Geralt’s hand came up to play with Dandy’s hair, brushing it out of his lover’s forehead and pressing a kiss against the crown of his head.

“I can’t leave you,” he said, half muffled against Dandy’s hair. “I can’t risk you getting hurt while I’m away.”

“Nothing is going to happen.”

“You can’t promise that.”

Dandy sighed. “Of course I can. If it makes you feel any better, I can write my parents and ask them if we could stay with them for the winter. It will be a bit awkward performing for them, but they would definitely let us stay and perform until we wanted to leave.” Dandy snuggled even closer. “And when spring comes, we’ll be right there waiting for you to join us again.”

Geralt let out a long breath. It was the perfect solution. They would both get to spend the winter with their respective families and Dandy and the troupe wouldn’t have to worry about the cold or being short on supplies. And yet…

“I still don’t like it.”

“I know. But promise me you’ll think about it.”

--

Geralt had never been good at saying goodbye. It had taken him years to allow Jaskier to hug him when they split for winter. More often than not, the idea that someone liked Geralt enough to care if he just disappeared without goodbye, hadn’t even occurred to him. Until Jaskier had made it abundantly clear that he very much cared.

Still, there was a difference between hugging one bard goodbye and saying goodbye to a whole group of affectionate players.

Thankfully, most of them were satisfied with just nodding or waving at Geralt. Mika and Kara clapped him on the shoulder and Nadine pulled him into a tight embrace, telling him sternly to take care of himself.

Dandy, of course, embraced him too, much warmer and long enough that Geralt began to suspect he would stay like this for the rest of the day if no one intervened. So Geralt did, by pulling Dandy towards him and pressing a soft kiss against his lips.

And another. And another.

“I’m going to miss doing this,” he said in -between kisses, feeling Dandy smile into the next kiss.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“You don’t have to,” Geralt said, brushing his thumb over Dandy’s cheek. “I could still stay.”

“No. I know you miss your family.”

He did. He really did, but –

“The winter will be long without you.”

“We’ll see each other again in spring.”

That dark, cold thing that had been half-asleep in Geralt’s stomach reared its ugly head again. “What if we won’t?”

What if something happens and I’m not there to protect you?

It went unsaid, but they both knew it was what Geralt was thinking.

“Then I’ll still find you again.” Dandy hesitated, before pulling something out of one of the many pockets of his ridiculously long leather coat and handed it to Geralt, who took it without thinking.

“What is this?” he asked, turning the thing, that was wrapped in one of Dandy’s shirts, in his hands.

“It’s a gift. You can open it when you miss me.”

Geralt had a feeling that he would have to open it not an hour after he watched the wagons disappear from view. Still, he resolved to keep it wrapped, at least until he reached Kaer Morhen.

--

After having travelled comfortably with wagons and a group, being alone again was harder than Geralt liked to admit. The forest floor he slept on were cold and hard and the occasional rooms he manages to rent at inns were too quiet without the troupe’s constant bustling and by now familiar heartbeats around him.

With every step he took further away from his newfound family, Geralt’s heart grew heavier and colder. More than once, when bitter winds bit into his skin, he thought about turning around and joining the troupe again.

All of those thoughts were washed away in a heartbeat, when he found the familiar walls of Kaer Morhen towering above him.

He urged Roach to go faster and once he reached the yard, he didn’t hesitate to jump of Roach and bring his brothers and Vesemir, who had approached him, into a hug.

It had been too long since he had seen his pack, too long since he had told them how important they were to him.

He hadn’t realised how much he had truly missed them, until he had become part of a family that was able to spend each day of the year together and talk and hug whenever they wanted.

The wolves only had the winter, but Geralt was determined to make the best of it.

Silently, as Eskel ruffled his hair affectionately and Lambert grumbled unconvincingly about the hug having gone on for far too long already, Geralt thanked Dandy and wished he got to hug his family like this as well.

--

Had Geralt thought he would look at Dandy’s gift immediately upon arriving, he was now proven wrong. True, he missed Dandy with all his heart and it happened increasingly often, that he would think about how he was going to tell Dandy all about the things he did this winter, but he didn’t miss him with the ache he had come to expect but with an excited anticipation of seeing him again in a few month’s time.

For now, he had enough to do, fixing the crumpling walls and ceilings or listening to what his brothers had gotten up to during the time they had been apart.

Still, Geralt looked at Dandy’s gift that remained wrapped safely in the shirt every evening, tempted to open it.

It wasn’t until a few weeks into his stay at the keep, that he couldn’t wait any longer.

His breath caught in his chest when he unwrapped the gift in the privacy of his own room at the keep. For a moment, he didn’t even register what he was holding, too overwhelmed by the feeling of the soft fabric of Dandy’s shirt. Almost reverently, he ran his fingers over the familiar fabric, imagining that it was Dandy he was touching instead.

He was certain that, had Dandy wanted to, he could have found something else to wrap the gift in. Paper or some cloth that wasn’t needed anymore. The fact that he let Geralt have this, made that warmth in his chest glow like a beacon.

It took more strength than he would like to admit, not to completely forego the actual gift and bury his face in the shirt, drowning in Dandy’s scent again, as if he was right here next to him in this too big, too empty bed.

But Geralt set the shirt aside, turning his attention to the thing it had concealed.

The corners of his lips tugged up. It was a notebook. Of course.

His thumb ran over the edges and the cover of the book, before opening it. Like with Yarrow’s sketchbook, there was a note in the front.

Geralt ran his finger over the bumps in the page, the way Dandy had taught him, despite being able to see the dots that made up the letters. It would have been easier to just rely on his eyes, but he didn’t regret asking Dandy to teach him the way he read it.

Reading the note took him frustratingly long, no matter how much he had practiced with Dandy. It had been easier when his lover was sitting right next to him, correcting him where he misread and pressing kisses against his skin when he made it through an entire line.

His fingers faltered after the first line and he had to force himself to keep reading.

This was no simple note. It was a letter.

‘Dearest Geralt,

It feels like forever since I promised I would write this for you, but I didn’t know how I should go about it. As it turns out, writing a sequel to a play with a climax that is apparently based on my old memories, is harder than I thought it would be. But I hope you’ll enjoy it still.

I know reading this script is still hard for you, so don’t worry about reading all of it, if it’s too much. Nadine promised that we would start rehearsing as soon as we reach my parent’s place, so you’ll probably get to watch a performance when you get back. I still wanted you to have this.

I know the text might be a bit personal. But it had to be. Now stop it with your ‘scary face’, love. I didn’t just write this because I wanted our beloved pirate and knight to become friends in a different lifetime. I did it, because I want the same for us. I want to be able to know that I will always find you and know to trust you.

So I will make sure that this will be our best known play. Every child will know this story and hopefully, when the time comes, the next me will know it as well and know to go looking for you. I am a smart man, I’ll be able to read between the lines, in any life.

I know this isn’t something you like to think about, but it’s important to me. I want to meet you again. I want to be able to hug you and kiss you again. In spring, every day of my life. And I will do everything I can to make sure that you won’t be alone in my next life either.

I love you.

Yours, forever,

Dandelion.’

Geralt’s fingers were shaking when he reached the end of the letter, needing to run them over the letters again and again until he could be sure of the meaning. And then he did it again, just to read the last words once more.

“I love you too,” he whispered into the emptiness of his room.

--

Despite Dandy’s understanding words and the amount of focus it took Geralt to read the script, he read it all. Not all in one go, of course, but whenever he had time between sparring with his brothers or repairing the walls, he pulled out the book and read.

At first Lambert had teased him for staring at and touching a seemingly empty notebook that was only filled with dots that didn’t make sense to Lambert, but soon, the teasing died out. It didn’t take long for Geralt to tell his family everything that had happened. It took even less time for Eskel to wrap him in a long, warm hug and hold him as tightly as he could, when Geralt began trembling as he recounted the way he had met Dandy.

However comforting Eskel’s hug was, it was nothing compared to the shock of Lambert’s reaction. The usually so abrasive witcher quieted down, his face softening with a hope Geralt hadn’t seen on him since he had heard the rumours of Aiden still being alive.

Lambert didn’t voice any of his thoughts, but for once, they were written plainly on his face. He hadn’t dared to hope that Geralt’s theories of reincarnation were correct and now he realised that he might be able to see his best friend again.

Over Eskel’s shoulder, they shared a long look. They didn’t hug, not yet. But when they all got drunk that evening, too overwhelmed with the revelations that year had brought, Lambert leaned into Geralt and thanked him with the most sincere voice, Geralt had ever heard him use, that he had found Jaskier again.

--

It took him nearly all winter to finish reading the script for the play. When the snow thawed and Geralt made his way down the mountain, his mind kept going back to the play.

To the two almost-friends who had found each other again in a different life, as a witcher and an actor, to become lovers, who would always find each other again, no matter how many lifetimes it would take.

He couldn’t wait to find Dandy again and take him into his arms again.

--

“Dandelion!” Geralt called out to him, as soon as he saw him.

Dandy turned to him so quickly that for a moment Geralt feared the ridiculous hat he was wearing would fall off.

Geralt ran towards him and pulled him into his arms.

“You’re safe.”

“I promised you I would be.” Dandy’s voice got muffled in Geralt’s neck and Geralt could feel his smile against his skin. “You sound happy.”

“I am. I am happy to have you back.”

“I missed you too, love.” Dandy’s hand came up to cradle Geralt’s head. “How did you like the play I wrote?”

Geralt didn’t answer. He just placed a hand beneath Dandy’s chin and tilted his head up to capture his lips in a kiss.

--

The first time the players performed the sequel Dandy had written, it was at Dandy’s coastal home, with the sound of the waves and the seabirds’ cries in the background.

Watching Dandy play the part of himself was an experience Geralt hadn’t been prepared for. It was one thing reading the script haltingly. It was another thing entirely, to have Dandy speak lines that Geralt had told him Jaskier had said before or make references to his previous lives as Geralt had recounted them. He put so much heart into this performance; it was impossible not to see how much it meant for him.

Watching the play, Geralt didn’t cry, but when he came to see Dandy after the performance, he could do nothing but bury his face in Dandy’s curls and tremble while Dandy rubbed soothing circles into his back.

The play wasn’t just good, it was a masterpiece, destined for renown.

For the first time, Geralt thought that Dandy’s plan might work, that somehow this play could transcend lifetimes and bring Dandy back to him when the inevitable happened.

“My genius, brilliant Dandelion,” he whispered, pressing kisses into Dandy’s hair. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Still, he prayed with all his heart that the inevitable wouldn’t happen for decades to come. He hadn’t had enough time with Dandy yet.

No amount of time would ever be enough.

--

Before they left the coastal town that Dandy called his home, Geralt went into town on his own while Dandy spent a last day with his parents. He didn’t know much about instruments, but he had heard Jaskier play often enough that he could recognise when a lute sounded nice.

It took most of the coin Geralt had saved from contracts he had taken on his way back to the troupe, but an hour later, he made his way back to Dandy with a lute case slung over his shoulder.

He wouldn’t give it to him just yet. It would be hard keeping it a secret from Dandy, partially because Geralt was sure Dandy would notice that Geralt wasn’t telling him something and partially, because Geralt couldn’t wait to see Dandy’s face when he would hold the lute in his hands for the first time. Nor could he wait to hear him play again.

But he had to be patient. This was supposed to be a gift for Dandy’s birthday and the anniversary of the day they had confessed. Though Geralt didn’t doubt that Dandy would appreciate the gift no matter when he received it, he was a dramatic actor at heart and he would love a grand gesture like that.

It was only a couple more months of waiting. Geralt could be patient. Nothing would be lost by waiting a little longer to give Dandy this gift.

--

The scratching of Dandy’s cane across the pavement might have grated on Geralt’s nerves had it come from anyone else, but like this, it created a soothing background noise when their conversation faded into comfortable silence. Which it barely did.

They had been travelling again for a couple of weeks until they had reached a town big enough that Nadine deemed it worthy of staying here for a while. Ever since the troupe had reached this new city, Dandy had been unusually jittery. When Geralt asked about the cause, Dandy just shrugged.

“Don’t know,” he said, pulling a face. “I guess it’s just nice being on the road again. Don’t get me wrong, visiting my parents was lovely, but I’m not used to staying in one place anymore and it’s been months – months! – since we’ve been out and about.”

Dandy tilted his head back, so the sun could reach his face, before he scrunched up his nose from the sudden heat and lowered his head again, so that his feathered hat with the wide brim would give him shade once more.

A fond feeling welled up in Geralt. Gently, he took Dandy’s free hand and pressed a chaste kiss against his knuckles.

Without further ado, the two of them had separated from the other players, most of which were stretching their legs or taking care of the horses and wagons they had left outside the city walls for the time being, while Nadine went to speak to the alderman and negotiate the price for them being allowed to set up their stage in the town square.

Geralt was content letting Dandy tug at his hand and accompany him to make sure he wouldn’t get lost.

Or rather…he would have been content doing so, if it weren’t for that strange feeling of vague familiarity this place emitted. It wasn’t impossible that Geralt had been here before, years or decades ago. Cities changed, after all, and Geralt had often made a point of spending as little time as possible inside city walls, unless it was strictly necessary. After living for as long as he had, places tended to blur together.

Still, the sense of unease – a prickling chill at the back of his neck telling him that this place was important somehow - didn’t leave him.

He tried to distract himself by listening to Dandy’s chatter but even Dandy quieted down uncharacteristically, the longer they spent walking around.  

Geralt didn’t understand, until they reached the town square. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring with wide eyes across the space, his heart picking up the pace, like a rabbit running for its life.

He knew this place.

“We need to go,” he said hoarsely.

“What? Why?”

He had been here before. Decades ago. Though last time he had seen this town square, it had been tumultuous, filled with terrified screams and people scrambling to get away. Away from Roach, the cockatrice head fastened to her saddle – and the artist, who had brought her here.

“Geralt?” Dandy asked concerned, when Geralt didn’t reply.

This was where Yarrow had lived. Where he had died.

Geralt’s blood ran cold and his hands began to tremble uncontrollably.

“Geralt, you’re scaring me.” Dandy’s hand tightened in his, but all Geralt could see was Yarrow being dragged away by guards. All he could hear was Yarrow’s voice that had been so small and lonely, echoing in that cell. All he could smell was the stench of sickness that had clung to the place where Yarrow had waited for Geralt, only to die thinking that Geralt had abandoned him.

“We have to leave,” Geralt repeated, unable to form any other words.

Still, Geralt remained frozen to the spot, until Dandy tugged at his hand, tearing him out of his spiralling thoughts.

Geralt moved, leading Dandy back as quickly as he could, all but fleeing this place. He didn’t take the route they had taken to get here but the more direct route, the one he had walked before, when he had run after Roach and the drunk thief who had attempted to steal her.

People stared at them and began whispering, as they hastened past them.

The inn. There was the inn. This was where Yarrow had waited for him, where Geralt had let him down. Where he had let him die.

That was when he heard the first shout. Angry murmurs that had followed them here, culminated in one shout, which cracked through the air like a whip.

“Get out of here, mutant!”

Another voice chimed in, shushing the first one. “Shut up, don’t make the witcher angry. Don’t you know what happened to the last man who pissed him off when he was here?”

Geralt came to a skittering halt, nearly making Dandy lose his balance at the unexpected stop. His head whipped around to the woman who had just spoken up. She didn’t look much older than Dandy, maybe by a couple of years, and her hair hung down her back in a long braid. She returned his look with wide, terrified eyes.

Geralt hadn’t known. He- he hadn’t thought that people remembered him here.

“What?” He asked, voice carefully blank. “What happened to the last man who pissed me off?”

The woman swallowed, her eyes darting around to the group of people who started to gather around them, lured in by the commotion.

“You killed him,” she said uncertainly. “Bewitched him somehow so he couldn’t leave your horse and then he – he died, right there.” She pointed a shaky finger at the inn. “Please, witcher, just leave us. We don’t want your curses and misfortune here.”

Geralt reeled back. Was that what people said about him? That he had killed Yarrow?

His heart sank. They weren’t wrong, were they?

“Take that back!” Dandy’s shout, sudden and angry, made Geralt flinch. “Geralt wouldn’t do that! Right? Geralt, tell them.”

It was impossible to breathe, to form words. He had done it. In a way he had bewitched Yarrow, had somehow bound Jaskier’s life to his. Had made Dandy fall in love with him.

Jaskier had died. And Yarrow had died.

Geralt’s hand in Dandy’s became numb. He could do nothing to defend himself, as more and more people joined the first man, hurling shouts and insults at Geralt.

Some of them were old enough that they might have been children during that fateful Belleteyn Geralt had spent here, remembering only the terror they had felt and the destruction the chaos had caused. But most people appeared younger, though no less spiteful.

Geralt was no stranger to how rumours worked. Stories and words held greater power than any sword, Jaskier had used to say. Rumours could turn into legends; stories of a vengeful witcher who would terrorise and curse every town he came across.

Those words cut into Geralt like daggers, tearing at his heart and mind like claws.

Decades had been enough to turn the story of an unwanted artist that had died waiting for his friend into a cautionary tale, a reason to shun witchers, an excuse to be as brutal as the townsfolk pleased.

Throughout all the shouts, Dandy stood beside him, never letting go of Geralt’s hand. He didn’t stop defending Geralt with his words.

Dandy couldn’t see the first stone flying through the air.

Geralt didn’t see who had thrown it. It didn’t matter. He barely noticed it landing hard against his shoulder. All he could see was the stone grazing Dandy’s hat, taking it right off.

It was too close. The stone had come so dangerously close to hitting Dandy in the head.

Within a heartbeat, Geralt pushed himself in front of Dandy, shielding him from any more harm. He bared his teeth, uncaring that it only perpetuated the rumours these people already believed, spurned by hatred and fear.

A sharp cry came from somewhere in the crowd, but when Geralt’s eyes snapped to the woman with the braid that had cried out, she wasn’t looking at Geralt in fear. Her eyes were trained on Dandy, who did his best to push past Geralt and stand beside him again.

“It’s him,” she whispered, blanching as if she’d seen a ghost. “That’s…that’s the one who died.”

She pointed a trembling finger at Dandy. “It’s him! I saw him as a child and he’s…”

“The witcher brought him back!”

Gasps and curses went through the crowd, some staggering back in fear, others stiffening, their hands clenching as if readying for a fight.

“He’s dishonouring the dead!”

“Filthy mutant!”

“We don’t want your kind here!”

“You’ve brought enough death to this city!”

For every insult, Dandy shouted something back, but Geralt couldn’t hear a word he was saying. All he could think of was that he needed to get Dandy away, make sure he was safe.

But Dandy wouldn’t budge. No matter how Geralt pleaded with him to leave, Dandy stood his ground, refusing to leave until he hadn’t convinced these people that Geralt wouldn’t kill anyone who didn’t deserve it.

Geralt’s pulse was racing, his hands were clammy and he couldn’t fucking focus! At the edge of his vision, he saw some people running to the stables, saw them emerging wielding  shovels and  pitchforks.

“Dandy, we have to go. Now.” He grabbed Dandy’s arm, pulling him away.

“No, Geralt, let go off me, I’m not done here yet –“

“The witcher is going to kill him again!” The cry was accompanied by a stone hitting Geralt square in the head.

Sharp pain erupted on his brow, blood dripping into his eyes.

The mob came closer, shouting and waving their improvised weapons, stinking of mindless fury.

Geralt pulled Dandy back, but Dandy thrashed in his grip.

“He’s not hurting me, you idiots!” He yelled. “He is the kindest-“

The people didn’t hear. Geralt saw it in their eyes, the terror and anger turning into thirst for blood.

One man rushed forward with a cry on his lips. Geralt’s blood ran cold. He yanked Dandy back at the same time that Dandy twisted in his grasp and finally managed to stand before him, assuming a fighting stance.

Ice filled Geralt’s chest, his lungs, his mind. It had been he who had taught Dandy this stance. He was the reason why Dandy was now filled with the hubris of believing himself able to stand his ground and fight against those people.

Geralt tried to yank him back, but it was too late.

Dandy never saw the pitchfork coming that pierced his gut with a sickening squelch.

“No!”

Geralt’s cry of anguish was louder than the shouts of the mob. Blood rushed in his ears and he saw Dandy gasp for breath, his sightless eyes wide and his lips forming silent words.

Time stood still. The charging men faltered as Geralt’s cries roared through the street. The stench of fear spiked through the air, but Geralt spared the attackers no glance. He couldn’t tear his eyes off Dandy.

Dandy, whose legs gave out from under him without warning. Geralt caught him, held him as tightly as he could.

“Dandy! Dandy, no, stay with me.” He pressed his hand against Dandy’s stomach. Something sickeningly sticky and wet drenched Dandy’s coat. Geralt’s hand came back red. “No, no no! You’re going to be fine, you hear me? I won’t let you die, I won’t!”

“Geralt-“ Dandy gasped, his voice trembling and the nauseating smell of salt and iron making it impossible to think.

Without hesitating, Geralt picked Dandy up, cradling him in his arms.

His eyes were blazing when he turned, people shying away from him, parting in fear to let him pass.

Geralt knew what they saw. In this moment, he looked exactly like what they had feared. Blood smeared across his skin, a snarl showing his teeth and burning eyes that promised that if they didn’t let him go to take care of Dandy, there would be more bloodshed this day.

A healer. They needed a healer. Geralt hadn’t been fast enough with Yarrow, but he could save Dandy. There still was time. He could do it. Dandy would make it.

Geralt had heard of witchers who had died from wounds caused by pitchforks.

Dandy felt so small in his arms, so breakable.

His blood didn’t stop gushing out of the wound. Geralt needed to stop the bloodflow!

He cursed, coming to an abrupt halt. As gently as he could, he set Dandy to the ground, but it wasn’t careful enough, making Dandy cry out as the motion jostled him.

He pillowed Dandy’s head in his lap and let go of him to shrug off his own shirt, ripping it into strips to bandage Dandy with.

It wouldn’t be enough. It had to be enough!

Dandy whimpered at the loss of contact, his free hand blindly reaching out for Geralt, while the other was gripping his cane so tightly as if his life depended on it.

“Geralt!” He sounded so afraid, his voice garbled by pain. “Geralt!”

Just his name, over and over, as if there was nothing more important to Dandy. As if he wasn’t fighting for his life, because Geralt had been too slow, too reckless freezing like that and too stupid to realise where they were before it had been too late.

“I’m here,” he croaked out, as he tore Dandy’s shirt open, revealing the wound.

His stomach churned. It was too deep. There was no hope the pitchfork had missed everything vital. Still, Geralt pressed his shirt against it, trying desperately to stop the blood, even though he knew it was useless. Even if he were able to stop the blood, the pitchfork had caused to much internal damage. It was a cold certainty, that the desperate part of his mind couldn’t accept.

“I’m here, Dandy. I’m not going to let you die.”

Dandy’s hand found his. Geralt watched in horror, as it too turned red from blood as he tried to pry Geralt’s hand off.

“No, Dandy, stop. I need – I need to save you-“

“Geralt…” Dandy’s wild and panicked expression made way for the smallest of smiles. “Kiss me.”

“I cant – I can’t lose you.” Geralt ignored Dandy’s attempts to get him to stop, putting even more pressure on the wound. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.” Dandy’s breath came in rattles. “Kiss me. Please.”

It was that plea that made Geralt falter. He had to save Dandy, he had to –

The one hand that Dandy held, stayed on the wound, pressing down on it even now, even though Geralt knew it was too late. His other hand went up to cup Dandy’s cheek, smearing a red handprint over it.

His eyes prickled and he didn’t know whose tears he could taste on his tongue as he leaned down to press his lips against Dandy’s in hopeless desperation.

He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see Dandy’s bloodied skin, so he could imagine for even a moment that Dandy wasn’t bleeding out in a dark alley, as if the past year never happened; as if Geralt had been too late to save him that first time.

All he focussed on was the copper taste of Dandy’s lips beneath his as Dandy smiled into the kiss.

Then, Dandy’s lips stopped moving against his. When Geralt pulled back, he felt no breath ghosting against him.

“Dandelion?” He whispered, broken and scared like a little child calling out for his mother, knowing she won’t come back for him.

Sometimes, Dandy dictated the lines his mind created to Geralt or one of the other players. Other times, he wrote them down himself, in a scrip that Geralt had never seen before. The rest of the troupe knew how to read it though, for Nadine read over Dandy’s scripts with a critical eye and gave suggestions where she saw fit.

More and more often, Dandy also asked Geralt for his opinion on what he was writing. His mouth formed a surprised “Oh” when Geralt reminded him that he didn’t know how to read what Dandy wrote.

From then on, Geralt spent most of their evenings after the performances or the fight scene rehearsals with Dandy, who taught him patiently how to read the way he did.

“Here,” Dandy said, when he was satisfied with Geralt’s progress on recognising individual letters. Out of a pocket in his coat, he produced a single sheet of paper and handed it to Geralt. “This was the first thing I ever wrote.”

Geralt hesitated, before unfolding the paper carefully. “You always carry this with you?”

Dandy hummed in affirmation. “I almost left it for my parents to keep. They were so proud when I finally learned to write and read. My mother actually cried and my father hugged me so tightly I thought he was going to break my back.”

A soft smile spread across Dandy’s lips and his fingers gently ran over the paper, tracing the word he had written there decades ago.

It did something strange to Geralt’s chest. “Why did you keep it then?”

“As a reminder. Of my parents.”

Geralt’s hands clenched and unclenched, not knowing what to do.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, placing one hand over Dandy’s. “I know you never mention them, but…if you want to talk about it…”

Dandy’s sudden laughter startled Geralt.

“Oh, no no, they aren’t dead or anything like that.” Dandy turned his hand to guide Geralt’s fingers to the thing he had written there. “Here, read that.”

Geralt did as he was told. “Leon Nowak, Baron of Whitecoast?” Geralt looked up at Dandy to see if he had read it correctly. Dandy beamed and pressed a kiss against Geralt’s cheek. It was a fleeting little peck, nothing more, but Geralt wished it would linger, wished he could just lean down and steal a real kiss from Dandy.

Instead he ran his fingers over the name again.

“Who is that?” Geralt asked.

“Oh.” Dandy waved his hand around, accidentally – or perhaps not so accidentally – swatting Geralt’s chest in the process. “That’s me.”

Geralt’s brows shot up. “You’re a baron? I thought you said you weren’t rich?”

“Well, it’s true. I’m not. My parents are.”

Geralt’s jaw clenched. “They didn’t disinherit you, did they? Because you’re…”

“No. Gods, no they would never do that.” Dandy looked affronted by the very notion. “If I wrote them a letter asking for money, they wouldn’t hesitate to send me a small fortune They even offered the troupe their patronage, should we ever be in need of it.” He let out a small, content sigh. “But I don’t want that. Don’t get me wrong, having money is nice and I love visiting them and not sleeping in a wagon or an inn for once. But I like earning my own coin. Even if it’s not nearly as much as they could give me.”

Geralt gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re good at acting. You seem happy when you’re on stage.”

“I am.” Pride tinged his voice that made Geralt’s heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wings. “It’s really important to me being able to do that.” He let out a short laugh. “I can’t say my parents weren’t worried when I announced that I wanted to travel, but they have supported me every step along the way until I could support myself.”

Geralt ran his fingers over the bumps and dots that were Dandy’s name once more. “They taught you how to write.”

“Eh, not exactly. They had no idea that this kind of script even existed. But they have wealth and influence and they love me enough to use it to get me the best tutor they could find. A sorceress, if you can believe it.”

Geralt’s breath hitched. “What? Sorceresses don’t just become tutors. They are at court or work for the lodge or –“

“Yeah, believe me, I have no idea why Philippa agreed to teach me.”

Geralt’s heart skipped a beat and his blood turning cold. “Philippa Eilhart?”

Dandy drew back in surprise. “You have heard of her?”

“I know her.” I asked her if reincarnation could be possible. I asked her if you could still be alive.

A strange expression flickered over Dandy’s face. “That makes a lot of sense, actually. She talked about you a lot. I always wondered by she kept insisting that should I meet a witcher I should go with him.”

Geralt’s mind was racing, unable to grasp what Dandy was saying.

“She said…that’s why you reacted like that when you found out I was a witcher.” The realisation hit Geralt like a punch, leaving him breathless. “When I told you who I was, you said you needed to think, but you didn’t hesitate to ask me to come back.”

Dandy scooted closer again. “I did. But, Geralt, believe me, I didn’t just ask you to come back because Philippa had told me to. I mean, that was a part of it, sure, but I also wanted to get to know you. And I’m glad I did.”

“I-yeah. I’m glad too.” His thumb caressed Dandy’s knuckles, a soft, soothing motion that was more for Geralt’s benefit than Dandy’s. There was too much to think about, too much he didn’t understand. How long had Philippa known that Geralt’s theory of the reincarnation had been true? And why had she agreed to tutor Dandy without telling anyone who he was?

Knowing that the sorceress had a hand in Dandy’s life, perhaps even orchestrating the way his life would go, left Geralt with a sense of unease. Especially since it was Philippa. The sorceress had never done him any intentional harm, but not once in the long time they have known each other, had she been open about her goals, always playing a different game than anybody else.

“Geralt?” Dandy asked tentatively, when Geralt had been quiet for too long.

Geralt forced himself to snap out of his crushing thoughts and put as much teasing as he could in his voice as he said, “I just have one more question. Why Dandy? Out of all the new names you could have chosen for yourself, why this?”

Dandy let out a bark of laughter, burying his face in Geralt’s shoulder. “I know. It’s a terrible name. In my defence, I didn’t exactly come up with it myself. Technically.”

Geralt chuckled. “It’s not a terrible name. I think it suits you.”

Dandy poked a finger in Geralt’s side with a little growl. “Don’t let Mika hear you say that or I’ll never get to hear the end of it.”

Geralt gave a questioning grunt to which Dandy replied with an overly dramatic sigh.

“You see, when I joined the troupe, I wanted to give myself a stage name.”

“Naturally.”

“Exactly! Good to know we’re on the same page.” Dandy stopped poking Geralt, instead sprawling his fingers across Geralt’s side. “I wanted to call myself Dandelion. You know, sort of as a little wink to my given name. Dande-Leon, as it were.”

Geralt didn’t even try to supress the snort. “That’s a terrible pun.”

“Ah the others agree with you there. No one appreciates my remarkable wit and humour.” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “They kept teasing me about being all posh and a dandy when I first joined and somehow that name stuck. Oh, you wouldn’t believe how indignant I was when they started calling me Dandy, but…it was also nice. I’ve never really had friends that would tease me before. Maybe it was because no one wanted to piss off a baron or maybe they thought they needed to be extra careful with me because I’m blind. But the way the troupe talks to me and teases me…it makes me feel like I really, truly belonge.” He nuzzled closer into Geralt and Geralt wasn’t sure if he imagined the stifled sniffle. “And to be fair, Dandelion probably wouldn’t have been the best name.”

“I think it would be a fitting name,” Geralt said softly, stroking Dandy’s hair soothingly. “It’s always the yellow flowers with you, isn’t it?”

The words escaped him without thinking. Dandy’s brows furrowed in confusion, but then he snorted.

“I wouldn’t know about that, now, would I?” He tightened his hold on Geralt.

Geralt hummed in contemplation. “It still fits. My friend always used to wish on Dandelions. Just small things that would come true anyway. ‘I wish for the next performance to go well.’ Or ‘I wish that Roach will start recognising me as a friend and stop trying to bite my fingers.’”

Dandy’s shoulders shook with a chuckle. “Those sound like great wishes. Did they come true?”

“Hmm. He always said they did. But I am pretty sure he just snuck Roach treats behind my back until she started liking him.”

“Sounds like a wise man. If Roach didn’t already love me, I might have tried the same thing. But why would Dandelion be fitting for me then?”

“Because being here with you is everything I could have wished for.”

“You did it!” Dandy beamed with pride. “You read your first play!”

Geralt grunted, but Dandy’s joy was contagious. “With a lot of corrections and help from you. And it was a short play.”

“So?” Dandy nudged Geralt with his shoulder. “You still did it. I can’t believe you really learned to read like that for me.”

“It’s important to you.”

“It is,” Dandy agreed softly, before a sly grin spread over his face. “Now that you’re able to read my scripts, you will be able to learn the lines for your first role.” Mirth brightening his voice and he twirled his cane in excitement.

Geralt made a noise not unlike a startled horse. “My role? I don’t think so.”

“Ah, but my dearest Geralt,” Dandy drawled his name and leaned forward with a shit eating grin. “You promised me you’d play with me if I joined your lessons.” That cheeky bastard.

“I meant the lute.”

“Well, I didn’t. And I don’t have a lute.” He nudged Geralt playfully. “Now come on. I’d love to see you act.”

Geralt put up some more token resistance, but he still joined one mock-rehearsal the players put on, all of them cheering for Geralt to join them and read the lines of the witcher-character.

He felt ridiculous, trying to mimic the actors’ dramatic gestures and way of speaking. It hadn’t taken long until everyone agreed to never have Geralt act on an actual stage, but between his laughter, Dandy assured Geralt, that that was the funniest performance Dandy had ever had the pleasure to listen to.

From then on, the only times that Geralt read lines and tried his hand at acting, was when he helped Dandy practice his own lines by reading the other parts.

Geralt closed his eyes and hummed softly, as Dandy played with his hair.

It was a peaceful moment. Had anyone told Geralt a couple of months ago that he would get to have such moments again, he would have laughed in their face.

And yet, here he was, with Dandy, the man he fell in love with more with each day they spent together. Every morning when he woke up holding Dandy close, his heart felt like it would beat out of his chest. Every time, Dandy laughed at Geralt reading his lines, Geralt wanted to taste that laugh with a kiss. Every time Geralt practiced reading the script Dandy had taught him and Dandy squeezed his shoulder with pride, the words ‘I love you’ burned on Geralt’s lips, begging to be spoken. He thought maybe, Dandy already knew.

It was moments like these, that Geralt was sure that he knew Dandy felt the same way, telling him with each touch he gifted Geralt and each word spoken softly between them.

It felt simultaneously strange, so familiar and right, lying with his head in Dandy’s lap, as if he belonged there.

The soft tug on his hair was soothing and nearly enough to lull him to sleep, but Geralt fought his heavy eyelids, unwilling to let this moment be taken away from him by sleep.

Softly, Dandy hummed the melody of the lullaby Geralt had taught him. It was a little off, since Geralt himself hadn’t been able to sing it right, but the melody was just as tender and tearing at his heart as it always had been.

Eventually, the song faded.

“What’s on your mind?” Dandy asked quietly, his fingers never stopping.

Geralt hummed quietly. “Who says that something’s on my mind?”

“There always is.” Dandy’s voice was full of fondness.

“Thinking about you.”

“A very good thing to think about,” Dandy teased and he tugged lightly on Geralt’s hair for emphasis.

Geralt didn’t know if it was the comforting feeling of Dandy touching him or the tone of his voice that loosened Geralt’s tongue and make him ask the question that had been burning at the back of his mind for months.

“Where did you get the inspiration for that play? The one about the pirate?”

Dandy’s hands stilled.

Months ago, Geralt would have begged him silently, please, remember me. Please remember that you loved me.

Now though, that voice inside his head was quiet. Geralt awaited Dandy’s answer with mere curiosity and not that desperation from before. Dandy didn’t need to remember his former feelings for him. It was enough that he was trusting Geralt and holding him dear enough to lie with him as they did now. Even if it turned out that it wasn’t what it had been before, it wouldn’t be any less perfect for it.

“I don’t know,” Dandy said finally. “It just came to me. Sometimes you just start writing and have no control over what comes out and it just felt right, writing that.”

Strangely, Geralt’s heart didn’t sink at that admission. Instead, he gave an acknowledging hum.

“Inspiration is a strange thing,” Geralt repeated what he had said once before, decades ago, when Jaskier had tried to explain to him why exactly it was so inspiring about watching Geralt fight.

Dandy let out a quiet laugh and resumed his ministrations.

“It sure is. And lately, I’ve found that I am chockfull of inspiration.”

Celebrating Belleteyn with the troupe was even more opulent than the festivities Jaskier had always dragged him too. And yet, it was nothing compared to the celebration that came about a week later.

The players pulled all the stops to make Dandy’s birthday truly unforgettable. With food, music and wine to spare, it would have been hard to believe that they were not-so-humble actors instead of nobles, if it weren’t for their total disregard of manners as they celebrated.

Dandy was blossoming in the attention like a flower in the sun. He was filled with so much palpable happiness that Geralt didn’t have the heart to refuse when Dandy grabbed his hand and asked him for a dance. It wasn’t one of those complicated danced with far too many steps to remember, that Jaskier had loved so much. It was but two people swaying in place, holding each other close. Geralt wasn’t sure if Dandy had chosen this dance because learning the steps to any of the elaborate dances was exhausting work for him, or because he liked holding Geralt close just as much as Geralt loved being near him.

That feeling in his chest was warm and fuzzy while they swayed and when Dandy rested his head against Geralt’s chest, he was sure he must hear his heart fluttering. Dandy’s hands on Geralt’s shoulders wandered a bit, playing with his hair and Geralt’s hands on his waist twitched in response, tugging him impossibly closer.

They slowed until they were barely moving anymore. Geralt couldn’t tell which one of them brought the dance to a halt first. All he could focus on was Dandy’s closeness.

Ever so slowly, Dandy lifted his head off Geralt’s chest, one of the hands leaving their place on Geralt’s shoulders and wandering up to cup Geralt’s cheeks.

Geralt leaned into the touch, like a drowning man leaning onto a piece of wood to keep him afloat. In this moment, he knew Dandy’s touch was the only thing keeping him from drifting away, from drowning in the miserable life he had led before Dandy.

“Geralt,” On Dandy’s lips, his name sounded almost like a plea, like a whisper of awe. “Thank you. For being here with me.”

“No place I’d rather be.” He had never meant anything more in his life. A soft smile spread across his lips. “My Dandelion.”

A small gasp escaped Dandy. His hand slowly trailed down until his thumb brushed against the corner of Geralt’s lips.

It wasn’t enough. Geralt wanted more, more, everything. He wanted Dandy. He wanted him to know that he was everything to Geralt.

Had their faces always been that close or had one of them moved closer?

Geralt’s heart sped up when Dandy tilted his head up a little. He was so close. All Geralt had to do was lean forward and capture Dandy’s lips in his.

“Geralt.” This time there was no mistaking that it was a plea.

They were so close that their breaths mingled. Geralt leaned forward and –

He froze, just before their lips could touch. He couldn’t do this. Not now. Not like this, with Dandy trusting him so openly to not even have his cane with him, just Geralt to guide him. But he couldn’t trust Geralt. Not when he lied and kept secrets and pretended that they were nothing more than two men who had found each other out of pure chance when there was something so much bigger and more terrible going on.

He pulled back and pretended that his heart didn’t shatter when Dandy’s face fell.

“I think we should join the others again,” Geralt said, his voice rough. “I’m sure Kara is sick of playing that slow song by now.”

“Oh,” Dandy said, his lips pressed into a thin smile that couldn’t hide his disappointment. “Yeah. You’re right. Still got a birthday to celebrate.”

Geralt led Dandy the few steps back from the makeshift dancefloor to the other players.

It shouldn’t have hurt when Dandy let go of Geralt and grabbed his cane again. The ache in Geralt’s chest dulled to a numb throb as Mika whisked Dandy away and brought back the smile that Geralt had stolen from Dandy.

Seeing Dandy happy again – singing and joking with his friends, letting them show him how much he meant to them – was beautiful, but Geralt couldn’t keep dark thoughts from creeping up at him.

He did his best not to let them show, to put cheer into his voice or not speak at all when it became too much, but Dandy noticed anyway. Of course he did.

Dandy didn’t mention it in front of the others, but he did take Geralt’s hand in his, holding it tightly and running his thumb over Geralt’s knuckles in a comforting gesture that soothed Geralt’s whirling thoughts, even though it wasn’t enough to fully keep them at bay.

“Do you want to get away for a while?” Dandy whispered, while Mika and Kara challenged each other to a drinking contest under the shouts and hollers of the others. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. I just don’t want you to feel bad.”

Geralt’s throat grew tight. “I don’t want to ruin this for you. This celebration is yours, you should enjoy it.”

“I’d enjoy it much more if I knew you were comfortable too.” Dandy squeezed his hand. “It’s fine if this is all a bit too much for you. I don’t mind going somewhere quieter. You know I love being alone with you just as much as I do being the centre of attention.”

“It’s not- it’s not that. It being too loud and too much. I-“ His voice broke off. He couldn’t say it. Not here, not while his friends were cheerful and happy.

Dandy let him take his time but Geralt could read the burning question on Dandy’s face. If it’s not too loud and too much, am I the reason why you’re miserable?

When Geralt didn’t continue, he tugged lightly at his hand. Geralt followed without any resistance, as he always would.

They didn’t walk far, simply putting some distance between the celebrating actors and themselves. They were still close enough to hear the cheering and singing, but it became background noise, same as the wind in the trees or the birds flying up above.

They sat down in the grass, Dandy laying his cane across his lap and pulling Geralt close, until his head leaned against Dandy’s shoulder.

A tremble went through Geralt’s body, as Dandy put an arm around his waist and held him tightly. So often, it was Geralt holding Dandy protectively, whether it was in his sleep or when sitting next to each other while talking. So rarely did Geralt get to feel like he was the protected one, like he didn’t need to carry the weight of the world on his own shoulder. But here Dandy was, offering to share the weight or at least have Geralt tell him just how heavy it was.

And so he did. The words came haltingly, as if a rope around his neck grew tighter with every attempt to speak. Dandy waited patiently for him to gather the courage to share his burden.

When he finally did, it felt both like he could breathe again freely for the first time that day, and as if the words were cutting into his own flesh.

“Today is the anniversary of a…friend’s death.”

Dandy stilled, his only movement came from his free hand plucking out grass nervously.

“Jaskier?” He asked, hesitating.

Geralt blanched. “How do you know that name?”

Dandy’s hand on his waist twitched. “It’s the name you said when you were hurt.” His voice was tight, but soft. “I don’t know if you recognised anything around you, but that’s the name you called out then.” He hesitated. “You say his name in your sleep too sometimes. Did you know that?”

Geralt’s mouth went dry. “I…what?”

A strange smile appeared on Dandy’s lips, too small to be a real one. “Just before you fall asleep. And sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, because you pulled me closer. You always ask me not to leave. And you always call me Jaskier.” The smile was still on his face, but now the stinging scent of salt pierced the air. “He must have been really important to you.”

“He was,” Geralt said quietly. “So are you.”

“But not like him.” Dandy let out a strained laugh that held no humour. “I don’t… I shouldn’t say that. Especially not today. I’m sorry. I should be comforting you. I didn’t mean to…to make it about me.”

“It’s always been about you.” Geralt only realised how his carelessly spoken words must have sounded, when Dandy winced and his hand retreated. Geralt’s hand shot out to stop him from pulling away. “Not like that. It…it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

Geralt’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s not Jaskier who died that day. Not exactly.”

Different expressions flickered over Dandy’s face, as if he couldn’t decide which reaction to settle on. Finally, the uncertainty and confusion won out.

“What do you mean?”

An iron fist enclosed Geralt’s heart, squeezed until he thought he would burst. He couldn’t tell Dandy. He couldn’t put that knowledge, that burden, that pressure on him.

But with every second that Geralt hesitated, something crumbled in Dandy’s expression more and more. Geralt couldn’t begin to imagine what was going on in Dandy’s head, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be anything good.

Jaskier had sometimes cried in Geralt’s arms, thinking he wasn’t good enough, he was too loud, too much, too annoying for anyone to like him enough to stay with him for more than a night.

Yarrow had sounded so broken when he had asked Geralt to be his friend and then he had died alone.

Dandy was his own person, with his own struggles. And with his own doubts and the doubts of all the lives before pressing down on him. Geralt ruining his birthday, the day that should be a celebration of Dandy and nothing else, must have only made things worse.

The only thing Geralt could do to try and make this right, was tell him the truth and hope he didn’t destroy Dandy’s life with it.

He took a shaky breath.

“There was someone else. His name was Yarrow. He was…” Jaskier. You. “someone I met on Belleteyn.”

“Oh.” Dandy’s brows drew together. “You met during the feast of lovers. Is that what he was to you then?”

“No. I think he could have been. Or maybe we could have just been friends. Anything would have been better than what really happened.” When Geralt broke off, trying to find the right words, Dandy remained quiet, giving him all the time he needed. Time. The one thing Geralt hadn’t had with Yarrow. “We met in prison. I- We were both alone. He asked me to be his friend. I gave him some light and – I said we weren’t friends.”

Dandy’s breath hitched.

“Geralt,” he said slowly, a palpable tension in his voice. His body was rigid, not daring to move a single muscle. “You asked me about my first play. Geralt, why did you ask me about that play?”

Geralt closed his eyes, focussing all of his attention on Dandy’s hand in his, praying it wouldn’t be the last time that he would get to hold it, knowing that there was little chance Dandy wouldn’t tear it away when he knew what Geralt had hidden from him all this time.

“Because Yarrow and I were friends. In a different life.” His smile turned bitter as he quoted the final line of the play. “Long before I ever met Yarrow – lifetimes before – I was friends with Jaskier.”

“Friends?”

Geralt winced. “First and foremost friends. But also so much more.” His voice broke and he was sure Dandy could feel the tremor of his hand. “And when he died… I couldn’t let go of him. Somehow he came back to me, only the gods know why. He wasn’t the same, but he was. Yarrow wasn’t a bard. He was an artist. But he was Jaskier.”

When he opened his eyes again and glanced at Dandy, afraid what he would find, he saw Dandy’s lips tremble. “Geralt. Why did you call out Jaskier’s name when you were hurt? It was… it wasn’t just you being delirious, was it.”

“No.” Geralt’s throat grew tight, the noose around his neck becoming tighter with every word and yet, he kept going. “When I woke up, I thought I saw him. It was you, of course, but…”

“But it was also him.” Dandy’s voice was completely void of emotion. “Geralt, you don’t think that I’m Jaskier, do you?”

It wasn’t a question. Not really.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt whispered.

This was it. This was when Dandy would pull away his hand as if burned and tell Geralt to leave.

Instead, Dandy’s hand tightened its hold on Geralt, clutching him almost hard enough to hurt.

“What are you sorry for?” Dandy asked carefully.

Geralt looked away, unable to watch Dandy’s face twist in anger.

“I’m sorry because I couldn’t save them. Jaskier, Yarrow, all the other ones. They…they all died. I could have prevented it, I could have done something, but I didn’t even know who they were and then I saw you and –  I couldn’t let you die. Not again.”

Dandy’s face did something complicated. The hand not held in Geralt grasped his cane so tightly that Geralt could see the white of his knuckles.

“Geralt, please answer this honestly. Why did you agree to stay with me?” He blinked furiously, but the salt smell only got stronger. “Is it just because I look like him? Because a play I wrote was similar to something that happened to you? Because while you’re with me you can imagine that I’m someone else, someone more important to you?”

“Dandy.” The name tasted like a storm on his tongue, waiting to get unleashed. “You are important to me.”

“Then why? If you think I’m Jaskier and you loved him – if I am important to you, why didn’t you kiss me?”

“Because I love you.”

There was no storm. Only the frightening calm, the fear of what was to come, the terror of having already destroyed all there was.

Geralt’s breath came ragged, while Dandy stilled completely.

“I love you,” Geralt repeated, his voice breaking on the last word. “Which is why I can’t kiss you and lie to you.”

“Because... you only love me because I am him?” Dandy looked so small, so helpless.

Geralt closed his eyes, letting his face fall. “That’s exactly what I was afraid of. That you would think that.”

“It’s not the truth then? You didn’t love Jaskier?”

“I did,” Geralt said sincerely. “I always will. I would have loved him in any lifetime. But I also love you. For being you.”

Geralt shifted so that he was no longer sitting next to Dandy, but facing him.

“I love watching you go on stage and silence an audience with your performance. I love listening to you sing with your friends, as if music was more beautiful to you when shared. I love that you still hum that lullaby for me all on your own, even if you still get the melody wrong.” His voice became thick with emotion, but he couldn’t let himself stop. Not before Dandy knew it all. If he still decided to leave then, at least he would know what Geralt saw when he looked at him. “I love that you fiddle with your cane when you’re nervous or content. I love that you wear ridiculous hats and curl your hair. Jaskier did none of those things. And I love them still, because they are a part of who you are, my Dandelion.”

He prayed Dandy would still be his after this. His friend, if nothing else. Because no matter what, Geralt would always be Dandy’s.

Hesitantly, his free hand came up to Dandy’s face, hovering just above it, close enough that Dandy would be able to feel its heat. For a terrifying moment, Geralt thought Dandy would jerk away, but then he leaned into the touch, turning his head just enough to press a kiss against Geralt’s palm.

“Dandelion…” The name was naught but a breath on Geralt’s lips. A breath like the one a drowning man sucked in when he realised that he was saved.

“Are you sure?” Dandy asked softly.

“That I love you? I have never been so sure of anything in my life.”

“That I’m Jaskier. I- please, Geralt, I need to know that you are absolutely certain.”

“I am. I’m sorry.” Even while he said it, he could see Dandy think of every interaction they ever had, viewing it all in a new light. Dandy’s lips parted and Geralt could practically see the pieces of Dandy’s life slot into place, creating the same picture Geralt had seen since he had met him.

Philippa telling Jaskier to go with Geralt, should he ever meet him. The inexplicable burst of inspiration that had driven him to write his first play. The nearly immediate trust he had put in Geralt. The rhythm he sometimes tapped out and that Geralt just so happened to recognise.

Perhaps there were more puzzle pieces that Geralt had never seen. Strange memories that Dandy had never shared with him but that made more sense now than they ever had.

Whatever details of his life Dandy was thinking about, Geralt could see the moment the uncertainty changed into total conviction. For some reason Geralt couldn’t dare explain, Dandy didn’t draw back, didn’t yell at him, didn’t push him away. Instead, something soft and warm spread across his face; the sun breaking through the stormclouds.

“And you love me.”

“With all my heart.”

“And when I die, I will come back to you again?”

Geralt’s insides went cold. “Dandy, don’t- I’m not going to let you die.“

Dandy’s quiet laugh interrupted him. “That’s sweet, but I’m afraid it’s inevitable. Just, tell me. Will I come back?”

A muscle twitched in Geralt’s jaw. “I think so. I’m sorry, I don’t know why or how, but somehow we are bound to each other. You always come back and sooner or later I find you.”

“That’s good. I would hate for the man I love to be alone again.”

“Dandy –“

He never got to finish what he was going to say, for Dandy let go of the cane, finding the back of Geralt’s neck again and bringing him closer to him.

Their first kiss was little more than a tentative brush of lips against each other, Dandy searching him and Geralt not quite believing what was happening, not yet understanding that he could have this.

Dandy pulled back again, just enough to be able to speak. “Geralt? Just to make this clear, I love you too. I love that you saw me at my most vulnerable but you still don’t think that I need help in everything I do. I love that you are a terrible storyteller and an even worse actor. I love that you tell me of your contracts and help me with rehearsals even so. I love the way your scars feel beneath my fingers and I love the way you don’t let me go in the mornings, even when you wake up first.” He drew in a breath and pressed their foreheads together. “I love that you can love me for me.”

Geralt let out a wet laugh, unable to blink back the burning in his eyes or fight down the tightness in his chest.

“You just had to make a better declaration of love than I did,” he said, too full of emotion to even attempt a teasing tone.

“Of course.” Dandy darted forward, stealing another kiss that felt more like a gift. “You know I can’t let a chance to be dramatic pass by.”

Geralt hummed, his hands tracing Dandy’s face, his thumb caressing his bottom lip.

“And that’s another thing I love about you.”

“Careful,” Dandy said teasingly, pressing a kiss against Geralt’s thumb. “If you keep making such dramatic declarations yourself, I might consider putting you on stage again in the role of a lover.”

“The point of theatre is that it isn’t real,” Geralt repeated Dandy’s favourite opinion. “This is real.”

Dandy surged forward, pressing a sweet kiss against Geralt’s lips.