#creature geralt

He had begged and bargained with his father to let him attend Oxenfurt Academy. Even if he wouldn't be allowed to study the liberal arts like he'd always so desperately wanted, the university's medical college was second to none. What better place for a man of Jaskier's heritage to learn the family trade? But the Pankratz family didn't get to where they were now by parting with more money than they needed to, and so Jaskier had been shipped off to Skellige's far less prestigious university.

Sometimes he suspected the decision was less about saving a bit of money and more about keeping Jaskier out of trouble. He had to admit it was a good strategy. It was something of a challenge to find trouble on an island with nothing to do.

Jaskier followed the curve of the bay until he was past the old harbour and jumping down onto the stretch of pebbles beyond it. It wasn't quite a beach, but it was close enough that Jaskier spent most of his time in this spot, his guitar in his lap while he resolutely ignored the textbooks piled beside him. But now, shoved up against the base of the cracked boulder where Jaskier had spent so many nights sat watching the sun set over the Great Sea, was a rancid-looking pile of rubbish almost as big as Jaskier himself. Water lapped against the debris with each wave, nudging it farther ashore.

"For fuck's sake," muttered Jaskier. It was a depressingly frequent occurrence, he'd come to realise. He didn't want to imagine what kind of shit was still out there, too heavy to get washed in on the tide.

It was only as he neared that Jaskier realised there was something else caught within the tangle of old fishing nets. Something that looked disconcertingly like a person.

"Oh, shit."

Jaskier stumbled towards the silent bundle and dropped to his knees, tugging at it until he'd rolled the figure onto its back. It was a man, his pale skin marred bright, jarring red where the nets cut into him. He was deathly cold when Jaskier touched a hand to his cheek, yet the moment Jaskier's skin made contact his eyes flew open, sudden enough to send Jaskier falling back onto his arse as his heart tried to escape out of his throat.

Fortunately the sight of the man struggling against his bindings was enough for Jaskier to recover from the shock and he was back on his knees to reach for him again. "Keep still," said Jaskier. "You're going to make it worse."

The man continued to grunt and thrash beneath him like a cornered animal. It was understandable, Jaskier supposed, but he rolled his eyes all the same.

"Hey!" he barked, and the man blinked in surprise, stilled by the harshness of Jaskier's voice. His eyes were a rich, warm amber, Jaskier noticed, though he wasn't sure quite what he was supposed to do with that information. Best to focus on the more pressing matter. "I'm trying to help you, you idiot."

Grudgingly, the man cooperated as Jaskier began untangling the nets, carefully teasing them out from the deep cuts they had made across the man's body. Blood oozed from the wounds, but despite the pain the man didn't wince or groan.

"So how exactly does a person end up in the ocean wrapped in a trawler's worth of fishing nets?"

He said nothing. To be honest, Jaskier hadn't really expected an answer. He was soon distracted from that thought, anyway.

Jaskier had unwound the nets from the man's torso and reached his waist, except where his legs should have been there was instead smooth, mottled grey skin. He looked back up at the man's strange eyes with a frown.

"What are you, one of those professional mermaids? Or mermen, I suppose."

The man just looked back at Jaskier like he was an idiot. Jaskier rolled his eyes and went back to work peeling the nets away from his tail. It did go some way to explain how he'd ended up washed onto the beach, though Jaskier wasn't sure the situation was any less bizarre for it.

Yet once he had dragged the nets away where they couldn't be caught again by the tide and returned to inspect the man's wounds, Jaskier couldn't see skin beneath the torn fabric. He looked back up the man's body, to where the ivory skin of his torso met charcoal grey. There was no visible seam, no waistband hugging at his toned stomach.

He let out a slow, calming breath. "Please tell me this isn't an actual tail."

"It's an actual tail."

"Right," Jaskier sighed. "Of course. Why wouldn't it be?" He rubbed at his forehead, remembering too late that his hands were covered with blood and filthy seawater.

"Didn't ask you to help," the man said gruffly.

"Oh, because you were doing so well before I came along. It wouldn't kill you to say thank you, by the way."

The… man? Mer-person? Whatever he was, he rolled his eyes, but he met Jaskier's gaze again with a grudging, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Jaskier turned his attention back to the man's tail. "Some of these cuts look really deep."

"They'll heal."

"Not before you get an infection." He didn't envy any creature having to live out in that water. Jaskier had gone swimming in it once, during his first summer here, and had been so sick afterwards he'd spent most of the next week on the floor of his tiny bathroom with his head over the toilet bowl.

"It's fine," the man started to say, but before he could finish getting the words out a larger wave tumbled over the pebbles and water swirled around the lower half of his tail. He sucked a sharp, pained breath through his clenched teeth.

"Saltwater," Jaskier pointed out. "I can patch you up, but bandages aren't going to be much good underwater."

The man shuffled backwards on his palms, drawing himself away from the water still lapping at his wide caudal fin. Jaskier had the briefest moment to wonder what it would feel like beneath his palms before the man's tail was gone, and Jaskier was gazing back at a pair of pale, muscular legs. He followed the length of them upwards until–

Focus, Jaskier, he told himself. Despite the bitter wind, his cheeks suddenly felt too warm.

"How long can you stay out of the water?"

"As long as I need to."

"My flat isn't far," said Jaskier. "Can you walk?"

"Probably."

Jaskier nodded, slipping his rucksack off his shoulders and rooting through it for the change of clothes he always kept shoved at the bottom, just in case he didn't make it home before the next day's lectures. "Here," said Jaskier. "It might be a short walk, but a bleeding, naked beefcake wandering the streets will still draw people's attention."

Like a baby deer the man stood on shaking legs, and Jaskier helped him into his jeans and sweatshirt. He didn't have a spare pair of boots, and he winced at the sight of the man's bare feet on the shale, but the dozens of deep cuts and abrasions from the nets would probably distract him from the pain in his feet anyway. Jaskier placed himself under the man's arm to prop him up and turned them in the direction of the town.

"So, merfolk are real, huh?" said Jaskier as they made their way up the beach towards the street. Luckily there weren't many people about, but the ones that were still shot the pair odd looks – Jaskier's clothes might be hiding the blood but the man was still drenched from head to toe, the matted mess of his long, silver hair dripping frigid water down Jaskier's side.

Jaskier really hoped nobody was about to call the police.

"Evidently."

"What about sirens? Are they real, too?"

"Yes."

"The Loch Ness Monster?"

"What?"

"Never mind. Do you have a name, by the way? Not that knowing a person's name is usually a prerequisite for me inviting them home, but I find it generally makes things a bit easier."

"Do all humans talk this much?" he groused.

"You're just lucky, I guess."

He let out a deep grumbling noise that Jaskier enjoyed rather more than he should have, and finally said, "My name is Geralt."

"Pretty name. Here we are."

Jaskier propped Geralt against the wall as he unlocked the door to his building and they made their way up to Jaskier's top floor flat. It wasn't much more than a kitchen with a bed in it, but it was the best Jaskier's meagre budget could stretch to. Geralt didn't seem to care, at least. He looked around the cramped room curiously, his silver brows furrowing as he picked up various bits of clutter that Jaskier had never found a proper home for to study them more closely.

"Come on then, Ariel," said Jaskier once he'd rooted through the cupboards for his first aid kit. "Let's take a look at you."

He led Geralt into the bathroom – and if it had felt too small before, it was nothing compared to how claustrophobic the room was with two of them pressed into the space. Especially when one of them was the size of a cart horse. Surely there couldn't be any need to be that impossibly well-built when you spent your whole life underwater. Jaskier swallowed as he watched Geralt strip out of his clothes again.

"Take a seat."

Jaskier cleaned and stitched Geralt's injuries, trying his best not to think about how much more fun he usually had kneeling between a naked man's thighs. He focused instead on the look of fascination on Geralt's face when Jaskier turned on the tap, feeling a smile tug at his cheeks as Geralt placed a tentative hand beneath the stream of water.

He pulled it away again sharply. "It's warm," he said.

"Makes a change," muttered Jaskier, and Geralt looked back at him in confusion. "Welcome to the human world," he said, louder this time. "It's mostly pretty shit, but at least we have your basic creature comforts."

Geralt considered that for a moment, then placed his hand back under the water.

Eventually Jaskier finished tending to the last of Geralt's wounds and surveyed the patchwork of plasters and gauze covering his skin. He hadn't thought about what came after this point. It wasn't like he could just send Geralt back to the beach to sit and wait for his cuts to heal.

"Are people going to be looking for you?" said Jaskier.

"None that I'd want to find me."

Jaskier nodded. "You'll be safe here until you're able to go back in the water," he said. "Just try to keep out of sight, maybe? If my landlord thinks I've got a roommate he'll put up my rent."

With a nod Geralt got to his feet and followed Jaskier back out into the main room, taking a seat on the edge of Jaskier's bed before giving it a few experimental bounces. He hadn't bothered to put clothes on again. Jaskier wasn't quite sure what to make of that. He forced his eyes to remain on Geralt's face.

"Uh–" he began. "Do mer-people need… I don't know, fresh fish three times a day? A special heat lamp?" Jaskier used to keep tropical fish when he was a child, but this was considerably different.

Geralt just shot him a disdainful look that was already becoming familiar. "I'll be fine," he said.

"Right. Well, uh, I'll let you get some rest, then."

What Jaskier was going to do with himself in the meantime, he didn't know. He really wished he had a separate chair, at least. Geralt had lain back, stretched out on one side of Jaskier's bed as his eyes slipped closed, already looking quite at home. Careful not to disturb him, Jaskier perched at the foot of the bed and rested his chin in his palms. He could probably get some schoolwork done while Geralt slept, though it hardly seemed important now.

"You never told me your name," said Geralt after a long stretch of silence, and Jaskier started. He peered over his shoulder to find Geralt watching him.

"Oh. It's Jaskier."

Geralt's eyes stayed fixed on him for a moment. Jaskier could feel his cheeks heating under the scrutiny. "Thank you, Jaskier," he said finally.

"Don't mention it."

There was another excruciating beat where Geralt's gaze remained firm, and Jaskier found himself helpless to break it, until Geralt lowered his head and closed his eyes again. Once his breathing had slowed, his chest rising and falling steadily as his exhaustion finally got the better of him, Jaskier let out a breath of his own. With nothing better to do, he lay back on the bed beside Geralt. He allowed himself one look at Geralt sleeping peacefully before forcing his gaze to the low, damp-stained ceiling.