#tallqueen

“Flower,” the bard sighed happily. The Witcher’s slow heart nearly burst in his chest at the dreamy quality of his lover’s sleep-addled voice; he could tell from the younger man’s breathing that the bard was still asleep. It made his Beloved’s unconscious mutterings of his favorite pet-name all the more special. The hand in his hair slid ever so slightly down to cup the base of Geralt’s skull supportively, Jaskier’s fingers still carded through those long white strands. His darling bard often held him like this when he was about to initiate a kiss. His shining pink lips parted and he murmured against the Witcher’s collarbone softly, “Oh, my sweet Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

The way the pale, thin light of the morning sun was bringing out the red-gold highlights in Jaskier’s hair made the younger man seem even more angelic. More fragile. Geralt knew that Vesemir’s potion had lengthened his Beloved’s life and given him incredible healing capabilities, but he couldn’t help his naturally protective (and possessive) nature. It was part of him.

Even now as they lay undisturbed in their rented bed, one of the Witcher’s large hands was spread protectively at the base of Jaskier’s spine and the other had settled between the bard’s shoulder-blades. This positioning secured him atop Geralt’s chest while also keeping him from getting a crick in his neck.

His darling Beloved had left behind a life of luxury to travel at his side, camping in ditches and sleeping in rainstorms. Keeping him from being mildly injured was the least Geralt could do. After all, he’d been actively avoiding the boy while Jaskier had left his parent’s grand estate to find the Witcher and be by his side.

“I stole one of my father’s largest traveling maps, you know,” Jaskier had told him once. “It was ancient and dog-eared. There were scribbles about cheap inns and warring factions along the edges; valuable information for a merchant Lord but useless to his adventurous son. I was crossing off every city I didn’t find you in as I worked across the Continent with my lute and my shiny new degree in the seven liberal arts. If I made it all the way to Skellige without finding you, my plan was to turn around and do it all over again. All the way to Kaer Morhen if I had to.”

“You would have found me,” Geralt had replied then. He’d taken a sharp breath in, as if he was surprised. As if he didn’t already know that Jaskier would have found him and claimed him come the nine hells or high water.

“Of course, my Flower. I'll always find you. I couldn't stop thinking about you. You’re all over my skin.”

His little lark lay caged in his arms at the moment, flightless and breathing so, so sweetly into the crook of Geralt’s neck. When he woke it would be different. He would be talkative and animated and his face would scrunch its way into all sorts of different expressions and his arms would weave through intricate gesticulations to emphasize his emotions. He would whirl through the room like a summer storm, sweeping up their belongings and sorting their packs as he went. He would order them breakfast, pay for it with the coin he earned as last night’s entertainment, and beam so brightly that Geralt’s heart would surely skip a slow, lingering beat.

“And you made Jaskier into a dryad?” Vesemir asked.

“Aye, in return for his services as musician and party host.”

“It was great fun,” the bard beamed from his place beside the Queen. “I do miss those parties. Midsummer was always wonderful.”

“You’re all welcome back again this year. I’d love to have you perform again. Perhaps your darling husband can join you for a dance or two?”

“We’ll see,” Geralt grimaced. Public adoration wasn’t really his thing. Neither was dancing. Both were very common when he visited the Faerie Realm with his well-loved wife. Jaskier thrived on it.

“Hmm.”

The bard pushed his husband’s arm out of the way and leapt out of bed. He tossed on his favorite shirt and trousers, which he’d taken with him from the Faerie Realm after his wedding to Geralt last summer. He flew down the stairs two at a time and out into the open mountain air. Standing statue-still in the middle of the greenery was the Faerie Queen, smiling widely. “True Thomas! How well you’ve taken to the mortal world.”

“I was a mere human not long ago,” the young dryad beamed, bowing lowly. 

“Ever the dramatist,” the Queen sighed fondly. “Embrace me, child, for I have missed your music.”

“Come inside! We’ll provide you a meal and I can play for you once again.”

“I’ve actually come to see the child,” Aine said. “I would like to meet the Lion Cub of Cintra truly and officially.”

“My daughter is quite the charmer.”

“Your daughter?”

“Papa!” 

“Cirilla!” Jaskier turned back towards one of Kaer Morhen’s many doors, which he’d left hanging open in his hurry to greet the Queen. Aine’s eyebrows lifted. She really does consider him one of her parents. “Come and meet My Lady, the Queen of the Faeries!”

“Call me Aine, child,” the redheaded woman insisted. She held out her hand, which Ciri kissed respectfully. The Queen hadn’t expected that and she grinned at the girl’s politeness. “I’ve come to give you a very belated birthday gift, dearest Ciri.”

“Don’t all Faerie gifts come with terrible prices?”

“Not mine.”

“Ciri,” her Papa scolded, blushing. “She has been far kinder to your father and I than we could ever have thought possible. I thought you knew better than to suspect such tricks from Lady Aine.”

“I’ve heard so many stories of Fae trickery,” the ex-princess apologized “I’m very sorry, my Queen.”

“You haven’t offended me in the slightest. My sister and her court have always been known for their mischief making and I very rarely leave the comfort of my own Realm to correct such tales. Anyway, you’ve more than earned this gift,” Aine smiled. She reached forward and pressed the heel of her hand to Ciri’s forehead, much like she’d done when taking Jaskier’s memories away so many years ago. This time, however, the girl’s face broke out into a placid grin. Her eyes shone with happiness and magic, her fair skin glowing slightly where it touched against the Queen’s. By the time Aine pulled her hand away, Geralt had joined them.

“My Lady,” he greeted with a short bow. Aine curtsied back and turned her attention to Ciri once more.

“I hope you enjoy it.”

“What did she give you?” Jaskier asked, ever the curious forest spirit. 

“Peace,” the Princess answered. Her eyes were full of tears but the smile threatening to split her face in two revealed her utmost joy. “She gave me peace.”

Aine spent the day with them, eating at their table and sharing in their happiness. She danced with Ciri before the fire in the Great Hall as Jaskier performed all of her old favorites from his time in the Seelie Court. Yen asked the Queen a few basic questions about being royalty and the finer workings of Fae magic but mostly just sipped at her wine and enjoyed herself quietly. 

Nobody in the room was a normal human; each had their own odd and special powers or enhancements. Somehow, though, she knew that this was the epitome of human nature. This room was filled with the purest parts of human existence.

Love. Family. Compassion.