"What?"
Geralt asks, frowning, a furrow in his brow.
"I turn into a wolf every full moon." Jaskier repeats.
"How-"
"You were always away on a hunt. You'd just meet me back in the morning."
"...You were a werewolf this whole time?"
"..Yes. I- I'm sorry, Darling. I never wanted to lie."
"Why didn't you trust me with this? Did you think I would hurt you?"
"No! I thought I would hurt you. I'm not myself on full moons, Geralt. I can't even remember them. All I know is that the moon raises, i feel this ache in my bones, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up the next morning, nude, with a full stomach of what is HOPEFULLY nothing gross."
"...You've not transformed in towns, have you?"
"No! Of course not! I'm terrified of hurting someone, Geralt! That's the only reason I'm telling you now! I got the charts mixed up, I thought the moon was still a week away, but it isn't, and we're near a town, and I need you to keep me restrained."
A long pause settles between them.
"You want me to guard you?"
"Guard them. From me. Keep me trapped in a shack and- And lock it up tight. Chain me, hurt me, knock me out, whatever you must do. Keep me from being a danger. I never wanted to be a terrifying beast, Geralt."
Jaskier says, with those damned wet doe eyes of his. Geralt agrees. Because he doesn't know a world where he wouldn't.
Mere hours later, Jaskier is sat against a beam in an old rundown barn. He's tied up with rope, and chained on top of that. There are no windows in the barn, the door is fully barricaded and locked, and Geralt guards it.
"You really should guard it from outside" Jaskier had said. "I'm not leaving you to do this alone. You never should have had to." Geralt replied.
Thus, Geralt stands and watches as Jaskier pales and starts twitching. The moon is rising.
"It's coming- I'm going to be a beast."
Jaskier says with fear, before the transformation takes the air out of his lungs. Geralt watches in horror and awe as Jaskier's body changes, changes, changes....
In...
Into a songbird?
sitting on the ground is a fat little songbird. It easily hops over the ropes and chains, now much too lose to hold it.
Him.
Oh my gods.
Jaskier's not a werewolf.
He's a... were.... werebird...
And not even a scary one.
Jaskier starts pecking the barn floor and Geralt rubs a hand over his face in exhaustion. He prepared for the worst, and instead is treated to watching Jaskier struggle to bathe in a trough.
"Jaskier, it's too deep."
He tells the bird, as it fluffs up it's wings.
"Jaskier, you're going to-"
Jaskier tries to take a step into the birdbath, only to fall, dunking his whole fat little body into the depths of the trough. He flails about in the water, chirping panickedly. Geralt rushes to his aid, gently lifting him out of the water with gentle hands.
Perhaps guarding over Jaskier will still be a challenge after all.
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@duckprintspress a 5×4×5(ish) drabble for the May Trope Mayhem Day 18 prompt 'Wing Grooming'!
Can be read without any fandom knowledge, but it's meant to be about wing!Jaskier x Geralt x Eskel, specifically an AU of the AWAU by @inexplicifics :)
Cross-posted to Ao3.
~
Hands smooth down his wings,
Fingers underneath tousled feathers,
Gentle touch, warm and welcome,
Helping new feathers grow strong.
~
Golden eyes tracing the sight
Stepping out of the shadows
The white wolf joins his lover
Aiding their songbird's flight.
~
He had never had this
Back when he lived amongst
The people professing to be
Better, more human than he
~
More humane they never were -
Hurtful, never seeing his truth
Leaving his wings ungroomed
but for his own hands' touch.
~
Now the songbird leans back
Against strong hands of two wolves,
His Witchers, his loves
None of them monstrous at all.
~~~
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The appeal of Creature!Jaskier fics is in the tragic dichotomy of Jaskier and Geralt being so close and caring so deeply for each other whilst being inherant enemies.
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(This fic was written in honor of this embroidery piece made by the talented @flowercrown-bard. Hope you like it my dear! <3)
Read on AO3
The mouse keeps following Geralt.
It’s a tiny little thing with brown hair and round eyes, squeaking like any other mouse slithering in and out of roadside bushes, and it keeps following Geralt.
With Roach tired from a full day’s travel, they only walk slowly side by side, with Geralt holding her reins. The sun hangs low above the horizon, lazily casting warmth on Geralt’s skin.
The tiny mouse stays by his feet, running on his little paws to keep up his long strides. Geralt could speed up the pace and make it so much more difficult for the creature, but his mood is too good when the sun is kissing his eyelids.
“That your friend, Roach?” Geralt asks absently.
The mare snickers, and Geralt chuckles to himself.
“Of course not. You’d never befriend someone so stubborn.”
The mouse squeaks as if offended.
“Don’t take offense, little guy. It’s not a bad thing to be.” Geralt muses to himself, slowing to look at the mouse who, somehow, looks confused. Maybe it’s because his face is covered in mud.
The mouse follows him until the night sets in, refusing to be left behind. The sense of déjà vu makes Geralt’s chest swell with something inexplicably warm.
“I have a friend who would have liked you,” he says. “He can teach you a trick or two about following a witcher.”
~~
The mouse is still there when Geralt makes camp. He starts the fire with Igni and realizes that his spot on the log is rudely overtaken.
“Not giving up, huh?” Geralt spreads his palm and leaves a few berries next to the mouse, who looks down at them and then up at him again. “It wasn’t a small feat, keeping up this far. I thought you’d be gone at the first chance.” He pauses. “Hmm. You truly remind me of him.”
The mouse makes another tiny noise, before picking up a smaller berry and biting into it. For a mouse, he looks too careful with his food.
“Eat well, then. We have a lot of miles to cover tomorrow, don’t we, Roach?”
The mare has wandered too far into the woods to hear him, and Geralt shakes his head in amusement. Gods know why he expects the tiny mouse to be there tomorrow. He’s fed now; he should disappear in no time.
It’s good, Geralt thinks, he can’t keep them as pets. Unlike a certain someone, he will never try to sing harmonies with small rodents.
“Good luck, little guy, wherever you may end up,” he says to the log where the mouse perches quietly. “And good night.”
Only silence answers him.
~~
The next morning, Geralt wakes up with dew in his hair. He packs away the equipment and runs a hand down Roach’s mane. The mare greets him but remains still.
On top of her head is the tiny mouse. He’s curled into himself and buried into Roach’s hair, and he’s sleeping soundly.
Geralt takes the horse’s rein and begins his journey with a smile.
~~
They pass a stretch of meadow by midday. The ground is peppered with wildflowers, and Geralt inhales the fresh smell of early spring.
“Don’t you want to go?” he says to the mouse, who has now woken up and sitting on Roache’s head. “You should. You belong in the wild. Life on the path is not for a fragile thing such as yourself.”
The mouse turns to the sunlit meadow and jumps right off Roach’s head. He runs straight into it, and Geralt only catches sight of a tail before he disappears into the grass.
“Oh,” Geralt says, blinking. “Alright.”
It’s only natural. Wild animals are no travel companions. Geralt has been saying it all day.
It’s just that he wasn’t expecting the mouse to actually leave. He curses himself silently, feeling ridiculous about the emptiness inside his chest.
“It’s just us now, Roach.”
Geralt takes a step forward, and then another.
The meadow is almost out of sight when the little guy catches up with them, with a broken stem of buttercup in his mouth.
Geralt laughs and picks up the mouse in his hand, catching the flower in his palm. The little guy stares at him as if anticipating something.
“Why thank you,” Geralt answers gently.
The mouse keeps staring.
“I said thank you.” Geralt frowns, confused. “Do you understand me?”
The little guy lowers his head. Geralt would say he’s disappointed if a witcher is one to believe mice could have emotions. He places the mouse on Roach’s saddle and journeys on.
~~
“What’s with all the flowers?” Geralt takes the half-bloomed dandelion from the little guy’s tiny paws, and adds it to his collection of six buttercups and three cornflowers. “A romantic, are we?”
The little guy squeals, jumping up and down before Geralt begins putting away all the flowers in his pack. There’s dandelion fluff sticking to his back.
“What?” Geralt raises an eyebrow. “Would you rather I held them all day? I need my hands, little guy.”
The mouse dives into the bush and, within a few heartbeats, emerges with another buttercup petal.
“More buttercup?”
The little guy squeaks, his round eyes fixing on Geralt expectantly.
Geralt pauses, before breaking out into laughter.
“Oh, that is a good one,” he says, cheeks sore from smiling. “I’d name you buttercup, little guy, but he isn’t here to appreciate the joke.”
The mouse squeaks sharply all of a sudden before running away from Geralt to sit on top of a rock. With his back turned to Geralt, it almost looks like he’s sulking.
“Hmm, I was right.”
Geralt wipes the grin off his face. Thankfully he’s alone; no one should know he just considered naming a mouse after Jaskier and the thought of it made himself giggle like a young maiden. What would it do to his reputation?
“Jaskier would like you,” he adds. “He’d make something for you with all these flowers, and he’d give you all these sweet names. Shame I can’t do either.”
When Geralt walks away, he peers over his shoulder to watch the mouse, who follows after a beat, although he now seems slower, somehow dejected.
Geralt slows down a little, just enough for the little guy to keep pace.
~~
“I do miss him,” Geralt brushes down Roach’s coat and turns to the mouse at his feet. “It’s been a while since we parted, so he must be in some trouble again. No, I don’t know how he does it either.”
The little guy chirps.
“He fills the silence.” Geralt takes in a deep breath. “He talks on and on so I don’t have to, and I…I just got used to it.”
He crouches down and lays his palm flat on the ground so the mouse can perch on his gloved hand.
“Too used to it. Now the silence is lacking.”
The little guy makes a sad little noise in response, and Geralt feels the corners of his lips tug upward.
“Thank you. You help, you know? Never thought I’d be so alone I’d start talking to a mouse.” Roach snorts in protest, but Geralt goes on. “But I am alone. Didn’t know that until he swooped into my life with his lute and songs and incessant chatter. Not having him hurts now, but he doesn’t know. I’ve never told him this.”
The mouse squeaks, grabbing at the laces on Geralt’s glove.
“You think I should?” he asks softly. “Perhaps. There are too many things I should have told Jaskier, things that he deserves to hear. You are right. I just wish he was here with me. It’s spring, after all.”
He lets the mouse rest his tiny head on his thumb and makes sure not to squish him.
“Guess we know where to next. Have you seen Oxenfurt? It’s a nice place. I’ll even introduce you after I tell him all these important things.”
Geralt thinks about the way Jaskier’s eyes light up at the sight of him and feels his cheeks heat up. He places an arm around his middle, imagining the hugs Jaskier gives him at every reunion, those strong arms squeezing tightly and lifting his feet off the ground.
“Maybe not all the important things,” he says wistfully. “Just that I missed him. If I told him the other ones, I think… I think he might leave. I shouldn’t risk it, right?”
The mouse stays still.
“Yeah, I agree. If he knew, I’d lose him, and I can’t. I don’t know what I’d do.” Geralt swallows, his lips pursing. “I’ve never said it out loud, so you’re lucky, little guy. You are the first to know that I…” he sucks in a shuddering breath. “I love Jaskier. I love him so much that I lose all the words when I look into his eyes. I love him, because he’s my best friend. Because he sees me, and I wish I could see him.”
Geralt’s heart aches for the briefest moment before his medallion begins buzzing against his chest.
His turns around in alert, holding the mouse closer to his chest. His senses sharpen immediately, but there are no threats near them, no monsters, no beasts.
Only the tiny mouse in Geralt’s hand vibrates with magic.
“Little guy?” he asks, eyes round.
The mouse lets out one last squeal, and a puff of smoke blinds Geralt, making his eyes water before it recedes.
Suddenly, Geralt finds himself with an armful of bard, the newly transformed human weighing heavily in his embrace. Messy brown hair sticks into Geralt’s nose, almost choking him and knocking him off balance.
“Hey, there,” Jaskier says after a second of disorientation, his eyes sky blue and full of mischief. His face is impossibly close, and he licks his lips teasingly. “Did you mean it?”
Geralt is still processing the fact that he’s holding Jaskier bridal style in his arms, not his little rodent friend.
Oh.
He’s holding Jaskier in his arms, who is very much naked.
Geralt’s throat dries, and he can only let out one quiet word.
His wolf was raging–on the edge of fully feral–and wanted vengeance for all that had happened.
He barely remembered the days that followed learning who they’d captured. Saving Aiden was only a gift in that it meant Jaskier’s biggest weakness was safely protected by the Kaer pack. There was no relief knowing that it also meant that Jaskier was captured by Emhyr and surrounded by enemies.
Because he’d tried to save Geralt.
Images of the dark wolf leaping over him to rip into his enemies haunted him. He thought of how many days he’d spent angry at Jaskier for keeping secrets and hiding his identity from Geralt. All of it felt vapid and ridiculous now. Jaskier had never harmed the Kaer Pack beyond the implications of his existence. Even after Geralt lashed out at him, he’d continued to protect him.
It’s a hell of a courting gift. Eskel’s words haunted him.
He didn’t want to think about what he’d let slip out of his fingers. It felt too much like accepting that he wouldn’t get it back again. Losing Jaskier had erased the feeble lies he’d been telling himself about why Jaskier had been so important to him from the moment they’d met. It whispered of a truth behind the way his eyes always found the musician in the room and why learning he was gone had nearly broken him.
