#witcher geralt

Playing The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt for the first time.

When they do move again, the first thing that happens is Yennefer demanding Ciri show her what spell they used, and switching them back almost immediately. It is unpleasantly jarring to be thrown back into his aching, tired body, but Jaskier merely plasters a grin on his face and quickly goes to grab his lute from where it had hung off of Roach's haunch for the past five days.

(He resolutely is not thinking about the fact that no one had noticed that he—that Ciri—hadn't sung or played a single note in that time. As if music wasn't such an integral part of his very being, that he could just turn it off for apparently no reason and have neither Yennefer nor Geralt sense something was wrong.

Pushing back the hurt as he went through familiar chord progressions, Jaskier debates mentally if it was worth lecturing the other two adults on their lack of awareness. If they didn't pay attention to him even a bit, it would be all too easy for him to be replaced by a Doppler or a disguised spy, and they would be none the wiser. They would—he would be replaced, and it would take days, weeks, maybe months for them to notice, and by then there would—there would likely be nothing left of him to even find.

Jaskier swallows hard, suddenly, not all that hungry anymore.)

As Geralt and Yennefer dispose of the bodies, and they travel farther away from the scene of the fight, Jaskier thinks that that was it. That despite the very strange five days and Ciri's rant, everything is finally going back to normal.

Except that doesn't, exactly, happen.

What does happen is Yennefer magicking Jaskier onto her own horse a couple hours later, claiming she wanted to stretch her legs, and giving the bard little choice except to cling to her black mare. What also happens is Jaskier getting double his usual portion of rabbit when dinner comes around, Geralt muttering something about having caught more today. But perhaps most surprising of all, is when Jaskier wakes not to being shaken for his turn at night watch, but to bright sunlight streaming through the branches above him, signaling it was far later in the day than they usually break camp.

When he sits up, he notices Geralt quietly sharpening Jaskier's own dagger, Ciri and Yennefer bent over the book the princess had found the incantation in, quietly discussing where Ciri went wrong. All three look at him when he moves, and he has to force himself not to flinch under their eyes, unused to such attention these days.

"It seems I missed my shift," Jaskier says, feeling wrong-footed. "I suppose I'll just take over the shift for whoever covered for me tonight, if that's okay? I can—"

"Jaskier," Ciri says, voice her usual strong lilt once more. Jaskier fell silent as she went to their packs, taking out some jerky and dried bread and forcing it into his hands.

She stares hard at him with narrowed eyes until he reluctantly starts eating, mildly surprised at how hungry he was despite the fact he usually didn't eat until at least midday. Which, he supposes as he takes a final bite of bread, it nearly was, what with how late he'd apparently slept.

Seriously, why hadn't they—

"I meant what I said yesterday," Ciri continues, nodding once when she sees he'd eaten everything. It was, simultaneously, both the sweetest and most demeaning act of care he's been shown in a long time.

Still, Jaskier really ought to nip this in the bud. "Ciri, sweet princess, mischievous, fierce lion cub—I'm fine. Truly. There's nothing for you to—to worry, or fret about with me. Really, I—"

"Jaskier, you should know I could feel both of you when I switched you back," Yennefer interrupts this time, an expression on her face Jaskier can't quite read. He would have thought it held something like concern, if it had been directed at Ciri, but it—that wasn't an emotion the mage ever felt towards the bard.

"It wasn't...pleasant," the mage says, a small grimace on her face.

Jaskier tries not to bristle. It's not as if it was his fault that she'd been forced to feel such a thing, when all along he'd just been trying to help Ciri, to—

"Tired humans get sick easier," Geralt says, interrupting Jaskier's trail of thought. "Hurt, too."

The bard's brows scrunch up for a moment as he tries to parse the witcher's words. That almost sounded like—if Jaskier wasn't mistaken—

Jaskier fights hard not to smile at what his two emotionally constipated traveling partners are trying to say without outright putting it into words. He relaxes a bit, letting go of tension he didn't even realize he'd been holding as he basks a bit in the knowledge that—that Geralt and Yennefer did care, they just—just hadn't known. Hadn't been aware that Jaskier has been struggling so much, horribly terrific actor that he was.

He bites back a yawn as he makes eye contact with Ciri again, letting himself match her small grin. It seemed she, too, understood what the others weren't able to say, and found it equally amusing.

But then, horribly mischievous child that she is, she turns to Geralt.

"He's still tired."

Jaskier splutters at her words. "I am not. Really, I slept so much last night, best rest I've gotten in ages!" He insists fervently, well aware of the way that amber eyes were examining him far too closely right now.

He stands up, moving to fold up his bedroll, when one hand grabs his shoulder gently and he notices another—

"Somne."

Jaskier sags instantly, and would have fallen painfully to the floor if he didn't suddenly find the arm on his shoulder wrapped around his back entirely. He blinks slowly up into familiar golden orbs as he is lowered back to his bedroll, thoughts like a fly stuck in honey.

But anyway, I know we're past when The Witcher, at least on Netflix, was the thing, but...would anyone want to read it on this blog?

Me @ Y'all:

It takes five weeks on the Path with Geralt, Yennefer and Jaskier for Ciri to finally admit what has been haunting her in her sleep. She stutters and cries as she explains, worried about what they'll say about such foolish thoughts, and—

"You will always have a home at Kaer Morhen," Geralt finally rumbles, physically unable to keep the words to himself any longer as he places his hand on Ciri's shoulder.

The girl's tears slow as she leans into the touch, but don't stop, and so Yennefer wraps around her other side—"and I have a manor. In Vengerberg. There will always be a room there, just for you."

And Ciri gives a small smile to the mage, and looks to Jaskier—

Except the bard isn't looking at her. He is staring resolutely at the fire, which is—it's fine, Ciri has Yennefer and Geralt, and that's enough, truly! It's just she'd thought—with how he'd sung for her and taught her how to play his lute and all—

"You will...you'll always have a place, by my side. If—" Jaskier swallows visibly in the faint glow of the campfire's embers. "If you want it, that is."

Oh.

Ciri blinks as the witcher and witch tense.

"And...Lettenhove?" She asks hesitantly, vaguely surprised she remembers the name, as it wasn't mentioned by the bard nearly as much as—"Oxenfurt?"

The bard shrugs, a purposely relaxed motion that is not at all convincing. "I—didn't leave, on the best of terms. And, I suppose—I get temporary housing, when I teach there in the winter sometimes, so there's that," the bard shrugs again, even more stiff this time, the smile on his face twitchy as if he can't quite make it want to stay.

No one says anything for a long moment, and then Jaskier claps his hands once, the noise startlingly loud in the unsettling silence.

"Well, I for one am still quite knackered, and seeing as the sun is still far from making an appearance, I think I'll get some more shut-eye," he announces with his usual flare, walking back over to the bedroll he'd abandoned in his aid to comfort Ciri. And it was that most of all which was telling, really, because Ciri woke him with her screams more often than not and never once did he make a complaint about missed sleep.

Suddenly, Ciri finds she's untangling herself from the other two adults, grabbing her own bedroll before making her way to the bard. Jaskier looks at her with mild bemusement as she lays hers down so close to his they touch, before lying down. She ignores their stares as she gets settled, reaching out and grabbing the bard's hand firmly in one of her own.

"Thank you," she finally says, when the bard has relaxed some. "For...for making yourself my home."

The bard's breath stutters, and his hand squeezes hers tightly for a long moment, loosening as he looks at her with the first genuine smile she's seen on his face since she woke up. She notices how his eyes gleam brightly, the fire reflecting the tears in his eyes that don't fall, before she lets her own fall shut.

In the morning, she'll pretend to be asleep as Yennefer and Geralt have a similar conversation with Jaskier, about a home always being there if the bard wants it. She can tell in his voice that he doesn't believe it, that he can't accept that there is a place he can go that doesn't have to be earned, where he will never be turned away. It is sad, if perhaps a bit expected, and Ciri resolves to drag the bard along with her to Yennefer's manor and Kaer Morhen until he understands that a home is not just a place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.

Jaskier knew what the older, more powerful gods thought of his choice to live amongst mortals. He knew the danger it posed, the risk it brought to allow oneself to be shaped, to be influenced by the whims and minds of temporary beings. He remembered the anger, the worry his sister had shown him all those years ago, that Jaskier would somehow lose his will to sing, to maintain his godhood.

Jaskier had laughed at the very idea that one day, he would lose the will, the desire, to sing.

Jaskier wasn’t laughing now though.

He wasn’t really doing much of anything.

After all, what good is a bard without a lute? What’s even the point of a bard when they’re trying to do the opposite of drawing attention to their motley group of mage, witcher, and wanted princess?

Nothing, that’s what.

And for the first time Jaskier feared less what happened to a god that walked away from their domain and more what Geralt would do if he—if he managed to piss him off enough to—

(Jaskier couldn’t, he wouldn’t, go back to that life, of singing songs to other gods and goddesses who had no interest in music and dying slowly from the inside.)

Jaskier wasn’t sure how gods and goddesses died though. Not really. So when one early morning, he woke up to Geralt frantically patting him, to the witcher speaking of a heartbeat that had stopped and a form that seemed to flicker, Jaskier was just as surprised as him. But then there was a second—just a split second, truly, Jaskier would swear on it—where the bard’s recognition must have been written on his face, because Geralt froze. He stared at Jaskier as the bard tried to stammer out an excuse for what must have happened, of catches of light and strange breathing patterns and—

“You’re lying.” The witcher said, voice flatter than Jaskier had ever heard it and impossibly distant.

Jaskier looked away, because he knew. He was intimately aware of how no one could truly lie to a witcher, not even a god, not with how—how weak, he’d recently become. The birds didn’t chirp as brightly as before, the streams gurgled harshly, and even Geralt had looked at his sword in confusion for a moment, the other day, when he went through forms with Ciri and the steel didn’t seem to—

Jaskier should care, he thought, that he was dooming the world to live without song by his actions.

In reality, as Geralt turned the bard’s face until he was forced to look into smoldering golden eyes, he found he couldn’t care less if it meant the witcher put up with him for one more day.

“What is wrong, Jaskier?” Geralt asked, voice low and faintly demanding.

Jaskier glanced to the side, surprised, distantly, to find that Yennefer and Ciri were awake now and talking quietly a distance away. They looked his way for a moment, and Jaskier could see in the grey of dawn the…the concern, on their faces. And that was—he hadn’t meant to—

“Jaskier,” the witcher—he’d been gripping the bard’s shoulders before, but now was leaning over him, and oh—when had—Jaskier hadn’t mean to lie down—

“It happened again,” the witcher hissed, voice noticeably more ragged than before. “Jaskier, I don’t care what you did, but you need to tell me what’s happening. I can’t—I can’t fix it, not if I don’t—”

Jaskier shook his head, ignoring the witcher's growl as he blinked—

Jaskier stared at the small group surrounding him now, wondering when that had happened. Three pairs of eyes looked down on him with a mixture of concern and relief, which was—it was—

"Sing, Jaskier," the mage said, and Jaskier stared at her, trying to figure out how she knew— "you need to sing, now!"

Jaskier frowned, honestly not really wanting to sing. He felt so...so floaty, so detached from his own body, in a way that felt nice. Like all of the world's problems were just floating away from him, or really that it was him, flying away from them all—

"Please, Jaskier. Sing for me?"

And—and oh, the sweet child seemed so sad, so distraught, and he could—he could fix that, right? He knew just the right—

Against his will, his eyes found Geralt, and he let his mouth fall shut. That was right, he wasn't supposed to—

"Sing, Lark. You don't—let me hear you sing," the witcher said, voice strangely choked, and no, that wasn't right, Geralt shouldn't—

"Pick me flowers from the paths, we walk together, hand-in-hand," Jaskier sang, his voice little more than a whisper. "A different bouquet every time, and not one that's bought from a stand."

Jaskier inhaled, finding the action easier than it had been in weeks. "So all the times I walk alone, I feel your presence always there," he smiled a bit, at the lyrics to the old lullaby. "In every fragrance that I smell, by forests, lakes, nigh everywhere."

Jaskier closed his eyes a moment in the silence that followed, only to feel a small hand wrap around his wrist, squeezing insistently until he opened them again.

"The one about the dove, Jaskier," Ciri said, voice shaky but insistent. "The—you know—"

Jaskier nodded as best he could, and felt as the witcher moved behind him, helping him to sit up some. "There is a dove that's hard to catch, it's sweet and lovely as can be. It comes to those who have good hearts, it does not judge by what eyes see."

Jaskier took a deep breath, "And it avoids those who are cruel, all those who'd like to do it harm. Although they grin and play pretend, the bird avoids them with alarm."

The bard frowned a bit, wishing Ciri had requested something a bit nicer. Something that wasn't so painfully real, that made him feel grounded in a way he no longer wanted to be. "The worst people in life are those, who know they won't receive your love. And so they settle for your tears—these are the ones who shoot the dove."

"Good, that's—that's good, Jaskier," the witcher spoke, his words a rumble through Jaskier's chest. The bard realized, suddenly, that he was practically sitting in the witcher's lap. "How do you..."

"Better," Jaskier confessed quietly, noticing suddenly that his voice was now barely audible over the sound of the birds in the trees and the wind pulling leaves to and fro.

The witcher's arms tightened around him, just a bit. "I've...I like the dancing one," Geralt confessed, sounding painfully awkward at his admission. " With the stars."

Jaskier swallowed, biting back a laugh at the realization that of all the songs Jaskier had written over the years, the hundred or so alone he'd written about the witcher himself, Geralt had requested the one song Jaskier had ever sung about himself. About a glimpse of what he was, before he was the White Wolf's bard.

It took him a second to even remember the tune, as it had been many years since he'd even thought about it, but when he did...

"I danced amongst the twinkling stars, I laughed and twirled and spun and sang. Time had no start and thus no end, of pain I felt no single pang." Jaskier smiled, brighter this time, taking in the genuine looks of interest on Yennefer’s and Ciri's faces to the song that was new to them. "The asteroids played their music so, they strung the strings within my soul. Colliding with such awe-some bangs—artistically, with great control."

Jaskier's fingers tapped out a quiet beat on his thigh, "And suns beamed down upon my face, the spotlight I had often yearned. Of brighter things I had seen none, but my eyes twinkled, unconcerned."

Jaskier rocked his head a bit, instead of the full-bodied thing he usually did at this part. "The black holes pulled me here and there, they wanted me within their grips. And so I swayed between them all, with leaps and sometimes even dips."

Jaskier laughed in surprise as Geralt leaned them both back at his words, like the bard was wont to do at that part. And then, voice almost too quiet for him to hear, let alone the others, he sung, "the planets moved their moons along, still never did I try to stop. For if I ever tried to breath, I fear it's then that I would drop."

Jaskier settled his head against the witcher's shoulder, feeling strangely drained. But it was, for once, a good feeling. Like the ache in one's muscles after a long day of walking, or the sting of Jaskier's fingers after a long performance.

"Rest," Geralt said, voice softer and warmer than it had been since he'd—since—

Jaskier closed his eyes once more, allowing himself to put aside that thought for later. For now, he would let the sound of his traveling companions whispering lull him back to sleep.

Geralt is, of course, a gator trapper, and is rather married to his work, until the day he gets a call from CPS. Apparently his one night stand nine years ago had resulted in the birth of a little girl, Ciri, which the woman he’d slept with had neglected to tell him. He likely never would have known that he had a daughter, the sweetest, kindest person he's ever had the pleasure of meeting, if the girl’s mother hadn't gotten into a terrible car accident.

He feels bad, truly. But as soon as he sees Ciri for the first time, clutching a small lion stuffed animal and gazing up at him between strands of long platinum blonde hair that matches his exactly, he feels a small pit of emptiness in his heart he didn't even know he had filling. It feels…it feels like everything wonderful he didn’t know he needed.

But the problem is, Geralt works. A lot. And he needs to work even more to support this new child, buying her all the necessities and furnishings and looking into a bigger place with a yard and in a good school distict and—

So, he hires a nanny. Or, well, a manny, to be more precise.

Ciri loves him.

Geralt comes home the first day to find them singing along to karaoke on the TV, Ciri's smile bigger than all the one's she's given him so far in the week he's known her, and he decides he doesn't like Jaskier at all.

(Seriously, what kind of name is Jaskier? And who does he think he is, messing up all the blankets and rearranging the furniture to make what is, unfortunately, a rather impressive pillow fort. It’s infuriating, because now Geralt has to pick it all up, and listen to Ciri talk for the next half hour as he puts her to sleep about how great the aspiring musician is, and honestly, his singing was subpar at best—

Geralt definitely doesn't pause outside of the front door the next day for five minutes, just listening to them sing some song about having a friend, and sticking together and loving each other. To his dying breath, he'll deny the uncomfortable twist that forms in his stomach at the words.)

He meets Ciri in February, and in April he's able to get a week off to take her to Legoland and Universal, which the little girl absolutely loves. He finds himself buying her overpriced food that she doesn't finish, and at least a dozen souvenirs that he knows she probably won't end up playing with for more than an hour or two when they get home, but she's—she's so happy, and he can make her happy. He suddenly understands why so many of the kids he ends up meeting through his work are spoiled brats, and finds that the thought of Ciri growing up spoiled in the same way fills him with no small amount of his own happiness.

Even the musician, over time, begins to grow on him. It helps that the man takes to cooking dinner for the group of three, even going shopping for ingredients when Geralt begins sending him with his card. He's wary of course, at first, but finds that not only does the man spend a reasonable amount at the grocery store, but that he simultaneously teaches Ciri about the value of a dollar and the benefit of saving a bit here and there in order to splurge on something worthwhile. It's a lesson that Geralt can admit, begrudgingly, he would have struggled to teach her.

So Geralt no longer subsides on frozen dinners, Ciri comes running to greet the gator trapper every day after work, and Geralt finds himself willingly trading his nature documentaries for children's movies the girl has half memorized and sings loudly along with, only a little pitchy these days due to the musician's occasional vocal lessons. Life is...honestly, a lot better than it has ever been for Geralt. He would, tentatively, call it good.

And then, well...

School lets out for the year.

And one awkward conversation later, Geralt realizes that Jaskier actually has a part-time job outside of being a manny for him and making music, which somehow...the quiet man had never realized.

Which forces Geralt to, reluctantly, fire Jaskier.

It's...it makes sense. It does! It was one thing to have Jaskier there for the few hours between when school ended and Geralt was finished with work, but now Ciri needs someone to watch her ten hours every weekday, to be a stable presence in her life for the next two and a half months, and he should get someone with more experience. Someone who has a background in teaching kids maybe, or can show her how to do more things than sing.

Jaskier seems to understand, and gives him a sad smile as he walks out the door, looking one last time at where his former-charge is sleeping on the couch after falling asleep. The movie they'd been watching, something with a clownfish and a girl with braces, plays quietly in the background as Geralt picks up his daughter and carries her to bed. He can't help but smile a bit as he tucks her in, happy at how peaceful and content she looks, a far cry from what she was like four months ago.

And then Geralt tells her he's looking for someone else to watch her for the summer, and, well...

It's the last time he sees her with anything close to a positive emotion for the next two weeks. He tries four different nanny agencies, as well as two freelancers who have glowing reviews online. All of them quit after the first day or two, unable to handle the emotional taxation of a child who just...doesn't stop crying. Won't stop howling, practically, to the point that the cops are called at one point, and then Geralt misses half a day of work sorting all of that out.

And Geralt is so tired. He knows he shouldn't give in, that it's wrong to punish bad behavior with a reward, but Ciri's eyes are permanently puffy and red with eye bags that match his own, and he can't help but ask her where she wants to go. If there's any place he could take her, that would make her happy.

So they end up at Disney World that Friday after he calls in sick. Magic Kingdom, to be more precise. Which, honestly, he probably should have taken her to sooner with how often the movies she watches are made by the company.

It's good, to see her screaming in delight on a roller coaster and stuffing cotton candy her mouth. She doesn't smile quite as widely as she usually does, but it's something, and more than enough for the gator trapper to put up with the noisy crowds and frequent shoves that make his skin crawl.

Geralt would honestly call the day a win. Ciri is practically bouncing on the balls of her feet as they stand in line to see Prince Charming and Cinderella. It's as adorable as it is confusing, because of all the princess movies he's been subjected to, Cinderella had never made the list, as far as he is aware. Truthfully, he's tempted to ask Ciri if she wouldn't rather go see Moana, who he knows Ciri practically idolizes, but, well...quite frankly, she seems so happy. He doesn't want to risk making her upset, not when she's smiling for the first time in a fortnight.

But then they're at the front of the line and Geralt, for lack of a better word, freezes. Because he suddenly understands why Ciri wanted to go to Magic Kingdom instead of one of the other parks, why Ciri wanted to see Prince Charming and Cinderella.

He stares into bright, surprised, familiar cornflower blue eyes, and realizes that while Geralt might not have known what Jaskier's other job was, or even where he worked, Ciri was well aware of both of those facts and had not hesitated to use the information to her advantage.

His smile was more of a grimace as she dragged him over to Jaskier, not even giving the actress playing Cinderella a second glance as she told Geralt in a no-nonsense, quiet voice that she would scream, loudly, if Geralt did not re-hire Jaskier. The manny-musician-prince did not lose his grin, trained as he was, but his eyes did widen for a moment in clear alarm as he glanced between Ciri and Geralt.

Geralt sighed as he was directed to pose, his daughter’s beady eyes never once leaving his person despite the photographer’s gentle coaching.

“Jask—”

Ciri elbowed him, and the gator wrangler winced at the sharp stab of pain.

“…Prince Charming. I don’t suppose…”

“Say cheese!”

Geralt reluctantly smiled wider, his arm around Ciri’s shoulder and steadfastly ignoring the warm pressure of Jaskier’s own arm wrapped behind his to Ciri’s other side.

“Next Monday, at three?”

Geralt let his smile drop into something a little more natural.

“That—that works.”

And then the next family was being ushered forward, and Jaskier was greeting the children with a wide smile and treating the little girl like she was a princess, bowing to her, and it was—it definitely wasn’t sweet. The man was utterly infuriating, and had completely bewitched his daughter with his—his food, and his singing, and his games, and his—

Well. At least Ciri was excitedly babbling about all the fun activities she planned to do with Jaskier when he came over. Sighing quietly, Geralt let himself be dragged to a mountain that was apparently in space.

At least Jaskier was also making a fighter out of his daughter. That was certainly a positive in his books.

BEHOLD! I have added a link to the Witcher stuff I have on Ao3 to my profile, and put it all into a series for your convenience. WARNING YOU NOW THOUGH, if you don't find it on Ao3, or find something on Ao3 by me that isn't here, it's because I'm lazy and haven't gotten around to putting it on the other one yet lol