this isnāt ready for ao3 yet bc i have more planned and i donāt want to make it chaptered, but iām actually quite pleased with how this turned out, so please enjoy this first taste of my banshee/siren hybrid jaskier story!
part 2
minor warning for gore
wc 745
now on ao3
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Jaskier knows the taste of death.
He tastes it more often than heād like (which is to say, at all); every few towns or so, whenever he makes eye contact with the wrong person. An old woman putting out her washing, a young man in a tavern, puffed up and boasting while his fellows egg him on to show off, a girl with bruises on her arms and her eyes downcast, walking in the shadow of her husband. The sickly taste of rot will coat the back of his tongue and heāll feel a Song rising in his throat.
He never Sings it.
Heās tasted the deaths of a hundred strangers, and while his heart breaks a little every time, he fights down the Song and swallows the rotten bile and turns away, knowing he has no power here. There is nothing he can do for them, now.
This time is different.
This time, the Song he can feel building in his chest isnāt for a stranger.
Itās for Geralt.
Somethingā breaks, inside him. The Song, which has always before felt like a living thing unto itself, separate from the man who hosts it, just waiting to be unleashed, expands to fill his lungs. For a moment, Jaskier chokes on the sudden absence of air, before his world narrows down to a single thought: No.
He feels the moment when the magic inside him changes, when the Song becomes a part of him instead of simply a parasite. For the first time since his failed training as a child, he lets it loose.
The first to fall is the bowman in the treeline, the one Jaskier saw but Geralt didnāt. Jaskier is too far away to see his face when his hands turn the crossbow on himself, but he can taste the moment when his body falls from his perch, leaving his fellows without cover.
Geralt has felled four of the remaining bandits, but three still encircle him, and Jaskier can see him slowing.
āA single thread
hangs limply down,
and I breathe,
āNot now,
not now,āā
All three men pull back from their attack on Geralt in an instant. The witcher doesnāt stay his strike and cuts down the one immediately in front of him before whirling to stare at Jaskier in shock, but Jaskier canāt stop now. The Song isnāt finished. Geralt isnāt safe.
āAnd I find you all
unwoven,
trying desperately
to sew,ā
The two bandits left take jerky steps towards each other, swords raised, eyes wild and terrified. The leader makes a low, despairing sound as his friendās innards spill beneath his blade.
āAnd I know the kindest thing
is to leave you
alone.ā
As the last man drags his own dagger across his throat, his eyes never leave Jaskierās.
The magic cuts off abruptly, the Song finished with the death fulfilled. Not Geraltās death, somehow, not anymore. Heās done what he swore he never would, heās outed himself as a monster, but Geralt is still warm and breathing behind him, so it was worth it. Whatever fate he meets at his witcherās hands, it was worth it.
Jaskier can taste nothing but decay and blood, and he doubles over, his stomach heaving painfully as he expels his breakfast.
Heās still hunched over the ground, coughing on the lingering taste of death while spots dance in his vision, when he hears Geralt come up behind him. His footsteps are more tentative than Jaskier is used to. Understandably cautious around an unknown threat, Jaskier thinks bitterly. Heād known it was coming, itās what he expected, but it still chafes. Most of all, he just wishes he had more time. More time with Geralt, but just more time in general.
Still, he wonāt die crouched in a puddle of his own vomit like some beast. Whatever his parentage, he has more dignity than that. Heāll meet Geraltās silver sword standing tall, and it will still be a better death than he could have met if heād stayed at home, like his sire had expected. Love doesnāt need to be spoken to be worth dying for, after all.
Except, the spots in his vision donāt fade when he stands, like heād expected; in fact, they grow. He sways on his feet as the world tilts alarmingly. The last thing he sees before the world goes totally black is Geralt, hands empty of silver or steel, lunging to catch him, his eyes wide with concern.
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You know lifeās good when you drive by a peacock in the middle of the road with no other cars in sight at 5 am drinking an iced coffee and listening to Go! by M83
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Qualityā Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming