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gwyllionTitle: For All the Things We Wished We’d Done
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Geralt of Rivia | Geralt z Rivii/Jaskier |Dandelion
Rating: R
Words: 41,668
Warnings: Rape/non-con elements. Mind control. Implied/referenced mind control. Implied/referenced homophobia. Canon-typical violence.
A/N: For All the Things We Wished We’d Done was written for The Witcher Big Bang 2020. Please see Chapter 1 for additional notes.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!
“What the absolute fuck?”
Geralt was roused awake. He instinctively reached for his sword, but it lay with his armour in a heap, halfway across the room.
“Geralt?” Jaskier rasped, his voice ragged with disuse.
“Jaskier?” Geralt assured him. “I’m right here.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jaskier asked, waving his hands wildly, then shouting “Ow, ow!” when he realized the state of his fingers.
“Jaskier, you’re injured. You were beaten. It’s for the best that you don’t move around,” Geralt pleaded. And where the hell was Yennefer when he needed her? He held onto Jaskier’s arms to try to contain his agitation.
Jaskier raged on, “Where the fuck am I?”
“You’re here with me, in Novigrad,” Geralt said.
Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he gaped at Geralt. “Oh, no! Why are you here? The last I heard, your most earnest wish was to be as far away from me as possible. Well, wish granted. I’m getting the fuck out of here.”
“Jaskier, no!” Geralt demanded.
Jaskier grabbed at the covers and tried to get out of the bed. “Ow! Fuck! What the fucking hell?”
“Yennefer is going to help you. I found you. You were injured. I brought you to her.”
“You? You brought me to that- that- that- witch?” Jaskier shouted with fire in his eyes. “You know, I thought you might try to apologize, but bringing me to her? Well, well, well, that truly shows how much you care about me!”
“I do, Jaskier,” Geralt insisted. “I do care about you, you idiot.” He tried his best to shove Jaskier back under the covers without injuring him further, but it would have been easier to wrestle a kikimora. Finally, he resorted to the only tool he had. His eyes flared as he pinched his fingers together and cast the axii sign at Jaskier so he would relax.
A wisp of smoke emanated from Geralt’s hand. He hated to assert such control over the bard without his knowledge or permission, but it was the only thing he could do to keep him from behaving like a feral animal.
Jaskier’s eyes glazed over. He sunk down into the bedding and whimpered, “Geralt…”
“I’m here,” Geralt said. He straightened out Jaskier’s tunic, which had become dishevelled in the struggle. Bits of Jaskier’s chest hair peeked from the loose neckline. Geralt tugged the blankets up so they reached Jaskier’s chin.
“Where were you? Geralt?” Jaskier asked lazily.
Geralt rested his palm on Jaskier’s shoulder, trying to calm him.
“I dreamed you were with me… don’t leave me….”
“Hmm,” Geralt muttered. He had no idea what the bard was prattling on about. He must have remembered part of his rescue, or the ride on Roach. He’d have to ask him about it later.
Jaskier muttered a few more incoherent words before his head slumped to the side, buried in the lavish pillows of Yennefer’s bed. He slept once more.
It was then, that Geralt noticed Yennefer standing in the doorway.
“Fuck,” Geralt said.
Yennefer crossed her arms and leant against the door frame.
“Axii makes humans babble incoherently sometimes,” Geralt explained.
“For the moment, I’ll try to ignore the fact that you have again exerted control over another by using some form of magic. Aren’t you worried that the bard might be embarrassed by his babbling? That is, if he survives?” Yennefer asked.
“You’ve been known to use magic to get what you want. And you needn’t listen to him,” Geralt said, lowering his head to sidestep giving away his thoughts which contained so many questions for the bard. “Besides, he didn’t make much sense.”
Jaskier was never one to be easily embarrassed anyway, Geralt recalled. The time he told a nobleman that Jaskier had been kicked in the balls by an ox as a child was met with a smile, Jaskier catching on quickly enough to understand that Geralt was only seeking to help Jaskier avoid harm. Geralt longed for those days and their easy camaraderie.
“He made perfect sense,” Yennefer said.
The mage pushed herself upright off the door frame and entered the room. It was only then that Geralt realized that she carried a satchel of supplies with her.
She walked to Geralt and paused, raising her hand to play with his hair.
As uncomfortable as the gesture made Geralt, he didn’t dare complain, lest Yennefer refuse to help Jaskier. She tauntingly curled a strand of his hair around her finger. She was as beautiful as ever, but Geralt feared that she might be twice as dangerous since their falling out. He was unprepared for what she said next.
“He’s in love with you.”
“Hmm?” Geralt asked before he had time to process her statement.
Yennefer ducked her head to hide a demure smile. “When I touched his forehead, he inadvertently gave me more information, besides his body temperature.”
“You read his mind?”
“I’m a mage. Sometimes these things can’t be helped.”
At first, Geralt was angry on Jaskier’s behalf. The violation of Jaskier’s thoughts, relinquished for the scrutiny of a virtual stranger, who might seek to do him harm, was dangerous. The anguish it caused reminded Geralt of the training he endured in Kaer Morhen when his will was often not his own. He let the anger pass as Yennefer strode to the other side of the bed.
She removed a vial of amber liquid from her satchel. Setting the vial on the pillow, she climbed onto the bed and knelt beside Jaskier.
Geralt disregarded Yennefer’s proclamation that Jaskier was in love with him. Although the notion was absurd, it made Geralt wonder what other information Yennefer had extracted from Jaskier. Maybe he could learn from it, but only if Yennefer would share what she had discovered.
Reaching forward with both hands, Yennefer cradled Jaskier’s head and turned it gently.
Geralt soothed Jaskier by stroking his forehead with his palm. He wished he had the powers of understanding over Jaskier that Yennefer had. He wanted to know why Jaskier dreamed about him. Maybe it involved Jaskier’s disappointment over Geralt’s harsh words, judging by how angry Jaskier was when he regained consciousness. More importantly, he needed to know if he had a chance to earn Jaskier’s friendship again. He wanted to know if Jaskier was in pain. Why these things concerned him, he hadn’t a clue. He was a witcher. He hadn’t a care for the trials and tribulations of mere men.
“What else did you learn from him?” Geralt asked. He fully considered the possibility that Yennefer wouldn’t tell him the truth.
“Many things,” Yennefer said, tipping Jaskier’s head back. She pulled the stopper from the vial and dripped the potion onto Jaskier’s mouth.
Geralt slid his thumb over Jaskier’s cracked lips, holding his mouth open to receive the treatment Yennefer had prepared for him. He only hoped that it wouldn’t kill him.
“You’ve never noticed?” Yennefer asked, replacing the stopper on the bottle.
“Hmmm?” Geralt grunted.
“The way he follows you around. The way his every song is about you.”
We were back to this again. “That’s coincidence,” Geralt said. “He’s simply a bard looking for tales to sing about. I can’t help it if he finds monster hunting so interesting.”
Geralt knew how most people reacted when confronted with a witcher. Witchers were hated and feared by people with more sense than Jaskier. But Yennefer’s suggestion that Jaskier loved him was ridiculous. She was still angry about the way he manipulated her into sharing his bed, and she obviously sought to use Jaskier’s deteriorated state to take some revenge.
“Well, it’s no coincidence that he got into this mess because he bedded Lord Mathen’s son,” Yennefer said. She reached into her satchel and removed a roll of unspun wool and a few pieces of thinly carved wood.
“Ethain,” Geralt recalled.
“What do you know of him?” Yennefer asked. She drew back Jaskier’s covers and freed his right hand.
Jaskier didn’t make a sound. His fingers had been cleaned, but the bones had not been set. They looked painfully crushed.
“Tall. Sturdily built. Long blond hair. Handy with a blade,” Geralt said.
Yennefer raised an eyebrow. “Jaskier pursued the son of Lord Mathen because he reminded him of you, Geralt.”
“I’m much older,” Geralt said, sceptically.
“That’s not the point,” Yennefer said. “Give me your hand.”
Geralt did as Yennefer asked, holding Jaskier’s damaged fingers so Yennefer could treat them.
She slid a piece of wood beneath the four fingers of Jaskier’s right hand and waved her own hand over them. Geralt felt the bones of Jaskier’s fingers magically slot into place where they could knit together to mend.
Jaskier’s face looked peaceful. It seemed he hadn’t felt anything since Geralt manipulated him with axii.
“Jaskier sought the love that was available to him because the lover he truly desired did not return his affections,” Yennefer continued as she wrapped the wool around Jaskier’s hand to hold his mending bones in place.
“You’re mistaken if you think this is about me. No human, especially not an educated man like Jaskier, would seek affection from a witcher,” Geralt said.
This simply wasn’t possible, although there seemed to be no other explanation. Geralt’s chest drew tight as if Jaskier’s invisible hands were squeezing his heart. The crack in his veneer had split open when he discovered Jaskier injured. And now the emotions it protected threatened to spill out.
“He’s a bard,” Yennefer said. “He thrives on evoking feelings with his words. He brings laughter to people with his songs. He sometimes brings the sadness to the surface and makes tears fall when his audience recognizes themselves in his songs. Perhaps he thinks of an unfeeling witcher as a challenge?”
“Hmm,” Geralt mused, dismissing the notion. And then, because he knew Yennefer would appreciate it if he tried to use his words more, he added, “Thank you for telling me what you found. You didn’t need to. I think you’ve grown wiser with each day that has passed since we met.”
Yennefer bit back a laugh. “A lifetime of suffering has its rewards, I suppose,” she said.
Geralt’s eyes went to Jaskier as he lay motionless on the bed. Yennefer had saved Jaskier once before. Maybe what she told him about Jaskier was once true before Geralt fucked it all up with his careless words. It certainly wasn’t true now. Jaskier was furious with him.
Yennefer rose and went to Geralt’s side. “You need to move, so I can tend to the fingers on his other hand,” she said.
Geralt got to his feet and switched places with Yennefer. He knew Jaskier’s fingers needed special care if he was ever to play his lute again. He helped as Yennefer used the same magical techniques on Jaskier’s left hand that she had used on the right.
Even with Yennefer’s magic, it would take a long time for Jaskier’s fingers to heal.
As the tiny bones slid into their proper alignment, Geralt hated to imagine Jaskier’s terror when someone intentionally broke each of his fingers. He pressed a palm to his chest, trying to quell the ache that arose when he considered Jaskier’s pain.
Yennefer carefully wrapped Jaskier’s hand as she finished.
“He’s going to sleep for a long time,” Yennefer said. “And you could use a bath.”
Geralt groaned. Not this again.
~
Geralt sank down into the heated water. His muscles ached from days of riding and, for this reason alone, he welcomed Yennefer’s invitation to bathe. Her lavish manor house featured a marble-tiled bathing room where he was provided with a large tub, clad in copper.
Yennefer dismissed her staff of young scantily-clad men after they filled the tub with buckets of water that the carried on their able shoulders. She showed no sign of leaving Geralt on his own. Fortunately, this time, she remained outside of the tub. But the experience was anything but a private one. She lurked in the dark corners of the room as if she waited to spring on Geralt like a monster.
“The next days will be critical for Jaskier,” Yennefer said, lighting another candle with a magical flash of her eyes.
“Hmm,” Geralt acknowledged.
“A fever may flare up. The wounds on his back were many.”
Geralt filled his hands with water and splashed it over his face. “The potion—”
“It should help, but it will be up to Jaskier to fight off the worst of any infection.”
Geralt nodded. He inspected the stab wound he earned in the skirmish with Jaskier’s captors. The once bloody gash was now covered with fresh skin. The bath helped Geralt relax and Yennefer’s willingness to treat Jaskier helped to put his mind at ease.
Geralt reclined back and let the water soak his hair. For the first time all day, he believed that Jaskier would be strong enough to survive the beating and whatever physical consequences it brought. He simply had to be. The bard had been such an integral part of his own journey. It was difficult to imagine a life without him, despite the harsh words Geralt had for him on the mountain.
“I want to thank you again,” Geralt said, making an effort to rub fragrant soap through his long white hair. “For what you’ve done for him. It’s more than I have any right to ask for.”
“You can ask for whatever you’d like,” Yennefer said. “Nothing ever came from not asking for what we want.”
Geralt knew an uncomfortable conversation was coming. Yennefer never did anything that wasn’t in her best interests. She expected something important in return for her help with Jaskier. He submerged his head and rinsed the soap from his hair.
Yennefer pulled a chair up to the tub and sat at the edge. She dipped her fingers into the scented water and flicked a splash of droplets at Geralt.
“I was thinking of what reward would please me most,” Yennefer began, leaning forward to touch his arm.
Geralt stifled a groan. This was going to be more painful than he imagined. He could not predict what Yennefer wanted from him, but the way she ran her finger over the ragged scar on his left shoulder made him guess that she wanted to bed him again.
He wouldn’t object. Yennefer was beautiful. After all, he had the same desires as most men. The mutations from his witcher training hadn’t damaged his libido as they had his fertility. But this new knowledge about Jaskier being in love with him put a wrinkle in his desires.
“Since I learned about your child of surprise, I’ve been intrigued,” Yennefer said.
Geralt set his jaw. He should have seen this coming.
“Surely you have wondered about her.”
“Or him,” Geralt said. Whenever he imagined the child, he thought of it as a boy. He supposed it seemed only fitting that Yennefer thought of the child as a female.
“It’s a girl, Geralt,” Yennefer said. “It doesn’t take a team of researchers from Oxenfurt to uncover that the child is Queen Calanthe’s granddaughter, the Princess Cirilla. Have you had your head buried in the sand for all these… what, how old would she be now?”
“I hadn’t given it much thought,” Geralt said. “Nine or ten, perhaps.”
“Wouldn’t you like to meet her? Wouldn’t you like to get to know her?”
Geralt didn’t need to think for more than a second. What was he supposed to do with a child? He couldn’t exactly take her on the Path with him. “It would be wrong for me to interfere. She has been cared for her whole life by the only family she has ever known,” he said. “I wouldn’t take her away from them.”
“You wouldn’t be taking her from her family permanently,” Yennefer said. “But what if she were to pay you a visit?”
It was unlikely that the child’s parents would allow a visit, barring some Continent-wide catastrophe. And Geralt had no intention of disrupting a child’s life by becoming involved after all this time.
“Her parents wouldn’t approve,” he said grimly, as if his disposition would dissuade Yennefer from her motives.
“Her parents are dead, Geralt.”
Geralt turned his head so quickly that water splashed over the edge of the tub.
“Her parents were lost at sea, but she’s been raised by her grandmother,” Yennefer said.
“Apparently I haven’t kept up with the gossip of the Cintran court,” Geralt said.
“You could spend time together,” Yennefer continued. “You can’t say you’re not curious about her. I would be happy to host a meeting here. You’ve got to admit, my accommodations are lovely. What little princess wouldn’t want to spend time here?”
“Her grandmother would never allow it.”
“You could be persuasive. You have the Law of Surprise on your side.”
“Fuck.”
Geralt could see where Yennefer was headed. If she couldn’t have a child of her own, she was determined to forge a relationship with his child of surprise. He sunk down deeper into the bath water and let the heat soothe his aching back. He could have predicted that Yennefer would ask this of him. She had chided him for neglecting his child of surprise when they had their argument on the mountain. It was the worst kind of irony—that Geralt had a child who he hadn’t attempted to meet or to learn anything about, when Yennefer craved a child of her own.
Would he even recognize the child if he saw her? It was by chance that he claimed the Law of Surprise that put the child in his care, that night long ago when he served as Jaskier’s unwilling bodyguard. Aside from that repayment for saving Duny’s life, he had no connection to his and Pavetta’s offspring, not biological, or by being a presence in her life. In fact, Yennefer had just as much connection to the child as Geralt did.
“After what I’ve done for your bard,” Yennefer said. “You promised me whatever I desired. You know I desire a child more than anything. My request shouldn’t come as a shock to you.”
“Hmm,” Geralt murmured. It truly didn’t.
Yennefer leant over and folded her arms on the rim of the tub.
“When I was a child, I was unloved and uncared for. All I ever wanted was to be important to someone—you know that, Geralt. You’ve denied me this once already when you manipulated me with your wish for the djinn. I won’t let that fakery happen again,” Yennefer said, pillowing her cheek on her folded arms. “Is it so wrong of me to want to show a child the love I never had? If I can’t have a child from the flesh of my own body, at least grant me some satisfaction by letting me spend time with your daughter. All I’m asking for is to meet the girl, your child by law. I promise you no harm will come to her. Surely you can give me this.”
Geralt held his breath and sunk beneath the surface of the water. Yennefer had a point. He had promised her whatever she asked. Was Jaskier’s health worth the price of allowing Yennefer to meet the girl?
Geralt let the water fill his ears. The heat coaxed the knots out of his muscles. The soothing motion of the water washed over his skin like the touch of a lover. Maybe someday, Geralt would know what it was to feel love. Real love… not the kind that you got by spending coin at the brothel and not the kind that you got by wishing it from a djinn. To know the kind of love that transcends all boundaries of order and courtly decorum, the kind of love that deep down he knew Yennefer would have for a child of her own. He remembered what Yennefer told him after she read Jaskier’s thoughts. Geralt needed to know more. He would regret it until his last hunt if he didn’t try to find out if what Yennefer said about Jaskier being in love with him was true. An introduction between Yennefer and the child he never met…
Yes, the decision was not too difficult. Jaskier, and the promise he may hold for Geralt, was worth this request, and more.
Geralt grasped the edge of the tub and surged upwards, heaving in a breath of air.
“Yes, I’ll find her and bring her to meet you,” Geralt said through the rivulets of water that ran from his hair and into his eyes.
Yennefer looked surprised. Her mouth opened with a gasp before she got control over her reaction and broke into a smile.
“But I want to make sure Jaskier recovers first,” Geralt said.
“That is acceptable,” Yennefer said, her violet eyes alight with happiness. “I will do everything I can. We’ll watch him closely in the days ahead.”
“Hmm,” Geralt grunted. He hoped he wouldn’t regret this.
Yennefer reached for a towel that had been stacked on a shelf beside the tub. She spread her arms and the towel wide before tossing it over Geralt’s head.
“Thank you so much, Geralt,” Yennefer said. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
Relieved that his decision had been made, Geralt towelled off his hair.
“I’d like to check on Jaskier when I’m finished here,” Geralt said. “I don’t think I should leave him alone.”
“The potion will help him sleep deeply,” Yennefer said. “But I can understand why you want to go back to check on your bard.”
“Hmm,” Geralt acknowledged.
Yennefer rose to leave. “Now that you’re scrubbed clean, I’ll take your clothing to be washed. I’ll send in one of my servants with something fresh for you to wear… something that will complement your best features. You wouldn’t want to disappoint Jaskier by looking like a sad silk trader when he awakens.”
“I have much to discuss with him when he wakes,” Geralt said. His attire was the least of his concerns.
~
Geralt opened the door slowly when he went to check on Jaskier. He was grateful that the handmaidens Yennefer had assigned to care for the bard seemed intent to leave the two of them alone. He paused and waited while they exited the room. Despite Yennefer’s assurances that the potion she administered would make Jaskier sleep like a babe, Geralt slipped into the room quietly so he wouldn’t disturb him. He tiptoed across the marble floor, across the handwoven rug, to Jaskier’s bedside.
The trickle of water as it peacefully ran over the smooth rocks of the interior waterfall was the only sound.
Thankfully, Jaskier remained asleep. The prolonged rest could only help him heal.
If Geralt didn’t know better, because of his heightened senses, he may have thought Jaskier was dead. He watched Jaskier’s chest rise and fall only fractionally. The soft blankets undulated like gentle waves on a calm lake.
Yennefer deserved a wealth of gratitude for the help she was giving Jaskier at Geralt’s request. Her handmaidens had provided Geralt with comfortable clothing, in lieu of his travel-worn leather armour that he wore when he arrived through the portal with Yennefer. Trousers of the softest calfskin hugged his thighs. A black tunic fit loosely around his shoulders before narrowing to tuck into his wide waistband. His witcher medallion dangled safely from his neck and peeked out from the tunic’s slashed neckline. He had tied his hair back using a strip of leather. He knew Jaskier favoured it that way because the bard had finger-combed the tangles out of Geralt’s hair and styled it that way after more than one bath that they shared together in their years of travel. A lightweight cloak, umber and embossed in a rich brocade, was draped over Geralt’s shoulders, but it was much too warm in Jaskier’s room to wear it. He hung it neatly over the back of the plush chair that flanked Jaskier’s bedside.
Geralt had no intention of sitting in the chair. Instead, he tugged off his new boots, also provided by Yennefer. The payment he promised her should have weighed heavily on him, but it seemed unimportant when measured against Jaskier’s potential transition from his beaten and abused state to his healthy self again.
Geralt knelt on the bed, careful to make only a minimum of disruption to the blankets and furs so he wouldn’t wake Jaskier. He tucked a pillow under his shoulder and propped his head on his hand to get a better look at the bard.
Some colour had returned to Jaskier’s cheeks, although he needed a shave. A small quirk of a smile tugged at Geralt’s lips. Jaskier had always been meticulously groomed, even when they were travelling in the most wretched wild lands or spending a night in a dilapidated inn with no amenities. Jaskier always managed to look handsome. It was no wonder that he was so popular with the ladies… and the gentlemen of the Continent, as well.
Jaskier let out a little huff while he slept. It was almost as if he sensed Geralt was thinking about him with admiration.
Geralt reached out and stroked Jaskier’s cheek gently with his knuckles. He hoped that Yennefer’s magic could save him again, as it had done once before. Then, maybe he could find out more about why she believed Jaskier was in love with him. No one could love a witcher, least of all a handsome bard who could have his choice of lovers from any of the beautiful countesses or lords of the land.
Jaskier…. Yennefer… Geralt deserved the friendship of neither of them.
A log crackled in the fireplace.
Geralt looked up, but Jaskier didn’t move. Geralt slowly settled back into the warm comfort of the blankets beside Jaskier.
Geralt let his eyes rove over Jaskier’s skin. The bruises on Jaskier’s throat seemed lighter than they were before Geralt bathed. Perhaps the handmaidens used some magical technique to alleviate Jaskier’s suffering. Geralt ran a finger down Jaskier’s pale neck. He stopped when he felt Jaskier’s pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips. He wasn’t sure whether it was his imagination that it seemed stronger, making him believe that Yennefer’s healing potion was working. He wished Jaskier had the ability to heal like a witcher did. He’d be right in no time at all.
Geralt rested his palm on Jaskier’s chest and sent soft waves of healing energy to the bard. For as cruelly as Geralt had treated him, he never wished for Jaskier to be hurt so badly.
“Jaskier, I don’t know if you can hear me. Yennefer is trying to make you well again. We both are,” he assured the sleeping Jaskier.
A candle flickered with the transference of energy, but Jaskier remained silent, his chest warm beneath Geralt’s palm.
Geralt closed his eyes in meditation, searching for the right words to say before speaking again. He whispered words that were heartfelt, if not rehearsed in Geralt’s mind from the moment he hoisted the bard onto Roach’s back.
“I’m sorry for the things I said to you when we were on the mountain,” he said, his palm feeling for the soft thump of Jaskier’s heartbeat beneath his tunic. “I’m sorry I didn’t travel quickly enough to find you and prevent you from being hurt. I’m sorry for so many things.”
Geralt wished that Jaskier could hear him. He had utterly disappointed himself a few times in his life, from his failure to convince Renfri to leave Blaviken, to how he manipulated Yennefer with his wish to the djinn. He did not want Jaskier’s name to be added to the short list of people who he loved but could not save from themselves.
Love… the word summoned by his own mind shook Geralt. It wasn’t supposed to feel this way. It wasn’t supposed to be felt by a witcher at all. But the hollow void of it with its ragged edges burned him at his core.
“You’ve always been so generous to me. You’ve been such a… friend. And, graceless beast that I am, I said some cruel things to you,” Geralt said tenderly. “If anything, I’ve learned the value of your companionship in the weeks since we were last together. I miss you. I know I hurt you deeply, and for that, I’m sorry.”
He stretched upward and pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead, cool from the potion that Yennefer had given him to stave off his fever. Settling back atop the coverings, Geralt would stay here with Jaskier until he awoke, and then he’d repeat his apology again, and as often as necessary.
~
With his cheek resting on Jaskier’s shoulder, Geralt woke from a restful sleep some hours later. He stretched his legs and enjoyed the warmth of the room and the warmth of Jaskier asleep in his arms. He was making a habit of falling asleep when he intended to watch over Jaskier for his well-being. It was a habit he intended to continue. He ran through his apology again in his mind and felt better, having said what he needed before he fell asleep, even if Jaskier didn’t quite hear him. His apology helped make the burdensome weight of guilt start to rise from Geralt’s chest. He felt lighter, more satisfied with his agreement about bringing his child of surprise to visit Yennefer.
Yennefer’s assertion about Jaskier loving him, no matter how improbable it seemed, needled at his thoughts. It couldn’t be true. Witchers served a purpose in this life. They weren’t meant to be loved. They were a functional piece of machinery that helped the Continent run without too many lives lost. They functioned, but that was all. As pleasing as it would be to muse upon, Jaskier could never love him as Yennefer had said.
Besides, Geralt wasn’t blind to all human traits. He would have noticed Jaskier’s desire. They had travelled together, off and on, for years. Surely he would have realized that the bard wanted him in the way of a lover.
Geralt inhaled sharply when he remembered the casual winks Jaskier threw his way, the nights huddled together beneath the furs, the baths where more skin than necessary was bared and touched with longing fingers.
“Hmm,” Geralt hummed quizzically.
Why hadn’t Jaskier said something? He was forthcoming about every other stray thought that crossed his mind.
“Fucking humans,” Geralt whispered to himself.
Jaskier’s eyes opened.
Geralt had no way of knowing how much time had passed while they slept. The fireplace kept the room warm with a seemingly unlimited supply of fuel. The waterfall trickled its peaceful melody as if it were part of one of the many forested campsites that he and Jaskier had shared over the years. Yennefer was nowhere in sight.
Jaskier blinked, but he did not raise his head. His clean hair had dried into unruly waves that spread out on the soft pillow. His eyes scanned Geralt’s face.
Geralt couldn’t help but smile in wonder when he saw the sparkling blue peering back at him from Jaskier’s eyes. He hadn’t ever noticed how pretty they were before, but at this close range, they warmed him from the inside. Something unknown stirred inside him. It felt like some kind of magic decreed by a Law of Surprise or some other once-in-a-lifetime event. His heart had inadvertently taken possession of some wonderful unknown thing, as proclaimed by Yennefer’s discovery, and he was happier for it.
“You’re awake,” Geralt whispered, unwilling to let Jaskier fly into a tirade as he had done previously upon awakening.
Jaskier swallowed with difficulty and licked his ragged lips. “Your powers of observation, witcher, are second to none,” he replied.
Geralt waited, but he did not release his hold on Jaskier, his limbs warm beneath the covers.
Jaskier closed his eyes, then opened them, looking questioningly at Geralt.
When Geralt realized Jaskier was not going to rail at him as he had previously done upon awakening, he said, “I’m waiting for you to shout at me again. You can, if you want to.”
Jaskier looked at him for a moment and Geralt hoped he was forgiven.
“Don’t assume you’ve been granted reprieve. Oh no-no-no, you deserve to be shouted at,” Jaskier said, his voice rough.
“Hmm,” Geralt agreed, acknowledging Jaskier’s truth.
Jaskier didn’t shout. Instead, he scanned the room with curiosity. “Melitele preserve me, I can’t believe you brought me here, of all places,” he said with a roll of his eyes.
“It was the only way to save you, to keep you alive,” Geralt said. He held Jaskier and enjoyed the feel of him beneath the blankets. His rib cage expanded and collapsed with the breath of life as he lay in Geralt’s arms and Geralt knew that he had done the right thing by bringing him to Yennefer.
“Still alive,” Jaskier said, taking a moment to free a hand and wave his fingers in the space between Geralt and himself. “A bit worse for wear, however.”
Geralt closed his eyes. He was reminded that Jaskier might never play the lute again, and that was what spurred him to repeat his apology—this time with a conscious Jaskier.
“Before you say another word, I want to tell you that I’m sorry,” Geralt said. “I’m sorry for what happened on the mountain… Borch… Yennefer… all of it. I took my anger out on you. You didn’t deserve it. I was wrong.”
Jaskier’s splinted fingers touched Geralt’s lips. “You don’t need to—”
“I do need to,” Geralt said, gently taking Jaskier’s hand away and returning it to his chest. “This never would have happened to you if I hadn’t blamed you for my misfortunes… if I had been quicker when I realized how wrong I was… if I had gone after you sooner….”
“Well, that’s true,” Jaskier said, with a small amount of the usual mischief in his eyes.
“I’m trying to apologize here.”
“You’re doing a good job, surprisingly,” Jaskier said with a wave of his hand. “Keep going.”
Geralt sighed, glad that Jaskier was returning to his normal self.
“I searched for you as soon as I realized my mistake. What were you thinking?” Geralt asked, his voice low. He wanted to hear the whole of what had happened to Jaskier. Remembering the scent of mud, blood, and semen, he steeled himself and prepared to listen to whatever Jaskier would share with him.
Jaskier said nothing.
Geralt prompted him. “I spoke to a barmaid in Temeria, who told me that you performed at the tavern there before leaving for Cidaris.”
“Ahh…” Jaskier murmured thoughtfully. His eyes flicked to his splinted fingers. “I was following the same advice I had given to you.”
Geralt sadly watched Jaskier’s crippled fingers. He wanted nothing more than to comfort Jaskier and to make all his pain disappear. “What advice was that?” Geralt asked, trying to remember what Jaskier had said, trying to say something that a human would find comforting.
“The advice about working out what pleases me,” Jaskier said sleepily.
With his eyes, Geralt followed the path that Jaskier’s bound and splinted fingers took as they settled on his chest. He slipped his hand under Jaskier’s palm so he could support the damaged fingers.
“And did you work it out? Did you find what pleased you?”
Jaskier tensed. “As best I could. But given that I couldn’t have what truly would please me, I sought out the next best thing.”
So, perhaps what Yennefer had suggested was true. Geralt had no choice but to believe her now, despite his scepticism about Jaskier’s intentions. “And that’s why you sought Lord Mathen’s son?”
Jaskier tried to shrug, but the confines of the bedding and his injuries restricted his movement.
Geralt watched as Jaskier closed his eyes, giving up on communicating about the subject that begged to be discussed, choosing instead to embrace the sleep encouraged by Yennefer’s potion.
“Jaskier,” Geralt said, exasperated in a way that only Jaskier could incite in him.
The touch of Jaskier’s bandaged fingers in his palm made Geralt ache in sympathy with the bard. Geralt had few regrets in life as a witcher. But all the things he wished Jaskier and he had done together, but hadn’t, wore heavily on him now. If only they had more time. But now, it was too late.
“When you didn’t come after me, I made my way down the mountain alone,” Jaskier said.
His voice startled Geralt, who thought the potion had taken effect again, making Jaskier drift off to sleep. Instead, he listened as Jaskier shared his story.
“I went toward Temeria, thinking I could visit the coast without you. Thinking that you would remember that I had suggested it and you might follow me there,” Jaskier said shakily.
Geralt reached up to brush a stray lock of dark hair from Jaskier’s forehead.
“I did remember. I searched for you there. The barmaid I met,” Geralt said. “She told me you were… sad.”
Geralt felt Jaskier’s legs shift beneath the blankets. What he wouldn’t give to be curled up with Jaskier in the forest. Their fire warming them while they rested after a day of storytelling and travel. He had taken Jaskier for granted for so long and now it seemed like they could never get back to the way things were before he berated him on the mountain.
“When I got to Cidaris, my first thought was to find Valdo Marx,” Jaskier said, forcing a smile. “I could take out my frustrations on him and release some of my anger.”
“Hmm,” Geralt murmured. He knew Valdo Marx was a rival in Jaskier’s barding circle. He had long suspected that Valdo Marx was also Jaskier’s former lover. Something about the way Jaskier held him in contempt at every opportunity. Jaskier wasn’t one to forgive and forget, unless the matter concerned Geralt. It was not surprising that he sought him out for a chance to repair his damaged ego. He could battle Valdo Marx or he could woo him, either way would count as a victory for Jaskier. “And you didn’t find him?”
“I went to the tavern where he usually performs, but he wasn’t there,” Jaskier said. “The barkeep allowed me to play. Thankfully, I gave a better performance than I did in Temeria. It caught Ethain’s attention. I didn’t know he was the son of a lord at the time.”
Geralt catalogued what he knew of Ethain. Yennefer seemed to think that Ethain was a stand-in for Geralt in Jaskier’s quest for a bedmate to soothe his broken heart. From what Jaskier had divulged, it could be true, at least the part about Jaskier seeking a fuck to alleviate his sorrows.
But Jaskier deserved so much more than a roll in the hay with a handsome stranger. Geralt’s heart ached from the thought.
“Anyone would be lucky to have your affections,” Geralt said. He wanted to say that anyone, besides him would be worthy of the bard’s attention. But he failed. Instead, he gently stroked Jaskier’s injured fingers, the white fluff of the wool soft beneath his thumb. He hoped that the touch would convey the warmth he felt for Jaskier, even if he knew Jaskier’s affections would not be returned to him, a killer of monsters, a witcher.
Jaskier turned his head to look away.
“And he was the one who hurt you?” Geralt continued, fearful that he had gone a step too far in his assumptions. And there was the matter that he couldn’t bear the thought of someone who bore his likeness hurting Jaskier.
“Oh, no,” Jaskier exclaimed, tearing his hand out of Geralt’s grasp. “He wouldn’t. He didn’t. Everything was consensual with him.”
“Hmm,” Geralt murmured in judgement. He hated the thought of some random man bedding Jaskier nearly as much as he hated the thought of someone causing Jaskier harm. It was unsettling. His expression clearly showed that he wished Jaskier hadn’t fallen into the first bed he found after leaving the mountain. And Jaskier could read the disdain in Geralt’s grunt.
“I mean, what the fuck am I supposed to do Geralt?” Jaskier said, his voice quavering. “I’m a poet. I’m a lover… I’m a man. When you rebuffed me for the last time on the mountain, I thought you wanted nothing to do with me anymore. I needed to face the truth that you wanted me out of your life.”
Jaskier pushed an elbow against Geralt and got enough leverage to turn away from him.
“Fuck,” Geralt whispered into the mess of Jaskier’s hair. He wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s middle and held him, as if it could ever make up for what Jaskier suffered because of his words.
He didn’t know what it felt like to be human, but he knew a lot about humans and what things would make them angry, what things would make them cry. He could smell the tears in Jaskier’s eyes before they fell.
“It was Lord Mathen’s men,” Jaskier muttered. “They caught Ethain and I together and they tore me away, beat me, abused me….”
The tears that welled in Jaskier’s eyes made Geralt feel a thousand times worse. He lay with Jaskier cradled in his arms. Feeling Jaskier’s shoulders shaking with sobs, Geralt did his best to comfort him. He let his fingers rove over Jaskier’s chest, soothing him with only the gentlest of touches.
Jaskier turned his head and blinked open his reddened eyes. He was trying for a smile but there was no need for him to work so hard. “I remembered that you had always come to the defence of dragons—and even elves, but you only had the harshest words for me,” Jaskier said. His voice was angry, his eyes full of tears, but his words meant neither anger nor sorrow.
“Jaskier,” Geralt said, quietly, remembering everything Yennefer had told him. He cradled Jaskier’s chin in one broad hand, careful of the bruises that bloomed on his cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”
Jaskier’s feet shifted beneath the blankets. His lips moved, his voice a whisper, “Could you just hold me, please?”
“Of course,” Geralt said. He knew that whether he deserved it or not, he had been forgiven.
~
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Geralt of Rivia | Geralt z Rivii/Jaskier |Dandelion
Rating: R
Words: 41,668
Warnings: Rape/non-con elements. Mind control. Implied/referenced mind control. Implied/referenced homophobia. Canon-typical violence.
A/N: For All the Things We Wished We’d Done was written for The Witcher Big Bang 2020. Please see Chapter 1 for additional notes.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!
“What the absolute fuck?”
Geralt was roused awake. He instinctively reached for his sword, but it lay with his armour in a heap, halfway across the room.
“Geralt?” Jaskier rasped, his voice ragged with disuse.
“Jaskier?” Geralt assured him. “I’m right here.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jaskier asked, waving his hands wildly, then shouting “Ow, ow!” when he realized the state of his fingers.
“Jaskier, you’re injured. You were beaten. It’s for the best that you don’t move around,” Geralt pleaded. And where the hell was Yennefer when he needed her? He held onto Jaskier’s arms to try to contain his agitation.
Jaskier raged on, “Where the fuck am I?”
“You’re here with me, in Novigrad,” Geralt said.
Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he gaped at Geralt. “Oh, no! Why are you here? The last I heard, your most earnest wish was to be as far away from me as possible. Well, wish granted. I’m getting the fuck out of here.”
“Jaskier, no!” Geralt demanded.
Jaskier grabbed at the covers and tried to get out of the bed. “Ow! Fuck! What the fucking hell?”
“Yennefer is going to help you. I found you. You were injured. I brought you to her.”
“You? You brought me to that- that- that- witch?” Jaskier shouted with fire in his eyes. “You know, I thought you might try to apologize, but bringing me to her? Well, well, well, that truly shows how much you care about me!”
“I do, Jaskier,” Geralt insisted. “I do care about you, you idiot.” He tried his best to shove Jaskier back under the covers without injuring him further, but it would have been easier to wrestle a kikimora. Finally, he resorted to the only tool he had. His eyes flared as he pinched his fingers together and cast the axii sign at Jaskier so he would relax.
A wisp of smoke emanated from Geralt’s hand. He hated to assert such control over the bard without his knowledge or permission, but it was the only thing he could do to keep him from behaving like a feral animal.
Jaskier’s eyes glazed over. He sunk down into the bedding and whimpered, “Geralt…”
“I’m here,” Geralt said. He straightened out Jaskier’s tunic, which had become dishevelled in the struggle. Bits of Jaskier’s chest hair peeked from the loose neckline. Geralt tugged the blankets up so they reached Jaskier’s chin.
“Where were you? Geralt?” Jaskier asked lazily.
Geralt rested his palm on Jaskier’s shoulder, trying to calm him.
“I dreamed you were with me… don’t leave me….”
“Hmm,” Geralt muttered. He had no idea what the bard was prattling on about. He must have remembered part of his rescue, or the ride on Roach. He’d have to ask him about it later.
Jaskier muttered a few more incoherent words before his head slumped to the side, buried in the lavish pillows of Yennefer’s bed. He slept once more.
It was then, that Geralt noticed Yennefer standing in the doorway.
“Fuck,” Geralt said.
Yennefer crossed her arms and leant against the door frame.
“Axii makes humans babble incoherently sometimes,” Geralt explained.
“For the moment, I’ll try to ignore the fact that you have again exerted control over another by using some form of magic. Aren’t you worried that the bard might be embarrassed by his babbling? That is, if he survives?” Yennefer asked.
“You’ve been known to use magic to get what you want. And you needn’t listen to him,” Geralt said, lowering his head to sidestep giving away his thoughts which contained so many questions for the bard. “Besides, he didn’t make much sense.”
Jaskier was never one to be easily embarrassed anyway, Geralt recalled. The time he told a nobleman that Jaskier had been kicked in the balls by an ox as a child was met with a smile, Jaskier catching on quickly enough to understand that Geralt was only seeking to help Jaskier avoid harm. Geralt longed for those days and their easy camaraderie.
“He made perfect sense,” Yennefer said.
The mage pushed herself upright off the door frame and entered the room. It was only then that Geralt realized that she carried a satchel of supplies with her.
She walked to Geralt and paused, raising her hand to play with his hair.
As uncomfortable as the gesture made Geralt, he didn’t dare complain, lest Yennefer refuse to help Jaskier. She tauntingly curled a strand of his hair around her finger. She was as beautiful as ever, but Geralt feared that she might be twice as dangerous since their falling out. He was unprepared for what she said next.
“He’s in love with you.”
“Hmm?” Geralt asked before he had time to process her statement.
Yennefer ducked her head to hide a demure smile. “When I touched his forehead, he inadvertently gave me more information, besides his body temperature.”
“You read his mind?”
“I’m a mage. Sometimes these things can’t be helped.”
At first, Geralt was angry on Jaskier’s behalf. The violation of Jaskier’s thoughts, relinquished for the scrutiny of a virtual stranger, who might seek to do him harm, was dangerous. The anguish it caused reminded Geralt of the training he endured in Kaer Morhen when his will was often not his own. He let the anger pass as Yennefer strode to the other side of the bed.
She removed a vial of amber liquid from her satchel. Setting the vial on the pillow, she climbed onto the bed and knelt beside Jaskier.
Geralt disregarded Yennefer’s proclamation that Jaskier was in love with him. Although the notion was absurd, it made Geralt wonder what other information Yennefer had extracted from Jaskier. Maybe he could learn from it, but only if Yennefer would share what she had discovered.
Reaching forward with both hands, Yennefer cradled Jaskier’s head and turned it gently.
Geralt soothed Jaskier by stroking his forehead with his palm. He wished he had the powers of understanding over Jaskier that Yennefer had. He wanted to know why Jaskier dreamed about him. Maybe it involved Jaskier’s disappointment over Geralt’s harsh words, judging by how angry Jaskier was when he regained consciousness. More importantly, he needed to know if he had a chance to earn Jaskier’s friendship again. He wanted to know if Jaskier was in pain. Why these things concerned him, he hadn’t a clue. He was a witcher. He hadn’t a care for the trials and tribulations of mere men.
“What else did you learn from him?” Geralt asked. He fully considered the possibility that Yennefer wouldn’t tell him the truth.
“Many things,” Yennefer said, tipping Jaskier’s head back. She pulled the stopper from the vial and dripped the potion onto Jaskier’s mouth.
Geralt slid his thumb over Jaskier’s cracked lips, holding his mouth open to receive the treatment Yennefer had prepared for him. He only hoped that it wouldn’t kill him.
“You’ve never noticed?” Yennefer asked, replacing the stopper on the bottle.
“Hmmm?” Geralt grunted.
“The way he follows you around. The way his every song is about you.”
We were back to this again. “That’s coincidence,” Geralt said. “He’s simply a bard looking for tales to sing about. I can’t help it if he finds monster hunting so interesting.”
Geralt knew how most people reacted when confronted with a witcher. Witchers were hated and feared by people with more sense than Jaskier. But Yennefer’s suggestion that Jaskier loved him was ridiculous. She was still angry about the way he manipulated her into sharing his bed, and she obviously sought to use Jaskier’s deteriorated state to take some revenge.
“Well, it’s no coincidence that he got into this mess because he bedded Lord Mathen’s son,” Yennefer said. She reached into her satchel and removed a roll of unspun wool and a few pieces of thinly carved wood.
“Ethain,” Geralt recalled.
“What do you know of him?” Yennefer asked. She drew back Jaskier’s covers and freed his right hand.
Jaskier didn’t make a sound. His fingers had been cleaned, but the bones had not been set. They looked painfully crushed.
“Tall. Sturdily built. Long blond hair. Handy with a blade,” Geralt said.
Yennefer raised an eyebrow. “Jaskier pursued the son of Lord Mathen because he reminded him of you, Geralt.”
“I’m much older,” Geralt said, sceptically.
“That’s not the point,” Yennefer said. “Give me your hand.”
Geralt did as Yennefer asked, holding Jaskier’s damaged fingers so Yennefer could treat them.
She slid a piece of wood beneath the four fingers of Jaskier’s right hand and waved her own hand over them. Geralt felt the bones of Jaskier’s fingers magically slot into place where they could knit together to mend.
Jaskier’s face looked peaceful. It seemed he hadn’t felt anything since Geralt manipulated him with axii.
“Jaskier sought the love that was available to him because the lover he truly desired did not return his affections,” Yennefer continued as she wrapped the wool around Jaskier’s hand to hold his mending bones in place.
“You’re mistaken if you think this is about me. No human, especially not an educated man like Jaskier, would seek affection from a witcher,” Geralt said.
This simply wasn’t possible, although there seemed to be no other explanation. Geralt’s chest drew tight as if Jaskier’s invisible hands were squeezing his heart. The crack in his veneer had split open when he discovered Jaskier injured. And now the emotions it protected threatened to spill out.
“He’s a bard,” Yennefer said. “He thrives on evoking feelings with his words. He brings laughter to people with his songs. He sometimes brings the sadness to the surface and makes tears fall when his audience recognizes themselves in his songs. Perhaps he thinks of an unfeeling witcher as a challenge?”
“Hmm,” Geralt mused, dismissing the notion. And then, because he knew Yennefer would appreciate it if he tried to use his words more, he added, “Thank you for telling me what you found. You didn’t need to. I think you’ve grown wiser with each day that has passed since we met.”
Yennefer bit back a laugh. “A lifetime of suffering has its rewards, I suppose,” she said.
Geralt’s eyes went to Jaskier as he lay motionless on the bed. Yennefer had saved Jaskier once before. Maybe what she told him about Jaskier was once true before Geralt fucked it all up with his careless words. It certainly wasn’t true now. Jaskier was furious with him.
Yennefer rose and went to Geralt’s side. “You need to move, so I can tend to the fingers on his other hand,” she said.
Geralt got to his feet and switched places with Yennefer. He knew Jaskier’s fingers needed special care if he was ever to play his lute again. He helped as Yennefer used the same magical techniques on Jaskier’s left hand that she had used on the right.
Even with Yennefer’s magic, it would take a long time for Jaskier’s fingers to heal.
As the tiny bones slid into their proper alignment, Geralt hated to imagine Jaskier’s terror when someone intentionally broke each of his fingers. He pressed a palm to his chest, trying to quell the ache that arose when he considered Jaskier’s pain.
Yennefer carefully wrapped Jaskier’s hand as she finished.
“He’s going to sleep for a long time,” Yennefer said. “And you could use a bath.”
Geralt groaned. Not this again.
~
Geralt sank down into the heated water. His muscles ached from days of riding and, for this reason alone, he welcomed Yennefer’s invitation to bathe. Her lavish manor house featured a marble-tiled bathing room where he was provided with a large tub, clad in copper.
Yennefer dismissed her staff of young scantily-clad men after they filled the tub with buckets of water that the carried on their able shoulders. She showed no sign of leaving Geralt on his own. Fortunately, this time, she remained outside of the tub. But the experience was anything but a private one. She lurked in the dark corners of the room as if she waited to spring on Geralt like a monster.
“The next days will be critical for Jaskier,” Yennefer said, lighting another candle with a magical flash of her eyes.
“Hmm,” Geralt acknowledged.
“A fever may flare up. The wounds on his back were many.”
Geralt filled his hands with water and splashed it over his face. “The potion—”
“It should help, but it will be up to Jaskier to fight off the worst of any infection.”
Geralt nodded. He inspected the stab wound he earned in the skirmish with Jaskier’s captors. The once bloody gash was now covered with fresh skin. The bath helped Geralt relax and Yennefer’s willingness to treat Jaskier helped to put his mind at ease.
Geralt reclined back and let the water soak his hair. For the first time all day, he believed that Jaskier would be strong enough to survive the beating and whatever physical consequences it brought. He simply had to be. The bard had been such an integral part of his own journey. It was difficult to imagine a life without him, despite the harsh words Geralt had for him on the mountain.
“I want to thank you again,” Geralt said, making an effort to rub fragrant soap through his long white hair. “For what you’ve done for him. It’s more than I have any right to ask for.”
“You can ask for whatever you’d like,” Yennefer said. “Nothing ever came from not asking for what we want.”
Geralt knew an uncomfortable conversation was coming. Yennefer never did anything that wasn’t in her best interests. She expected something important in return for her help with Jaskier. He submerged his head and rinsed the soap from his hair.
Yennefer pulled a chair up to the tub and sat at the edge. She dipped her fingers into the scented water and flicked a splash of droplets at Geralt.
“I was thinking of what reward would please me most,” Yennefer began, leaning forward to touch his arm.
Geralt stifled a groan. This was going to be more painful than he imagined. He could not predict what Yennefer wanted from him, but the way she ran her finger over the ragged scar on his left shoulder made him guess that she wanted to bed him again.
He wouldn’t object. Yennefer was beautiful. After all, he had the same desires as most men. The mutations from his witcher training hadn’t damaged his libido as they had his fertility. But this new knowledge about Jaskier being in love with him put a wrinkle in his desires.
“Since I learned about your child of surprise, I’ve been intrigued,” Yennefer said.
Geralt set his jaw. He should have seen this coming.
“Surely you have wondered about her.”
“Or him,” Geralt said. Whenever he imagined the child, he thought of it as a boy. He supposed it seemed only fitting that Yennefer thought of the child as a female.
“It’s a girl, Geralt,” Yennefer said. “It doesn’t take a team of researchers from Oxenfurt to uncover that the child is Queen Calanthe’s granddaughter, the Princess Cirilla. Have you had your head buried in the sand for all these… what, how old would she be now?”
“I hadn’t given it much thought,” Geralt said. “Nine or ten, perhaps.”
“Wouldn’t you like to meet her? Wouldn’t you like to get to know her?”
Geralt didn’t need to think for more than a second. What was he supposed to do with a child? He couldn’t exactly take her on the Path with him. “It would be wrong for me to interfere. She has been cared for her whole life by the only family she has ever known,” he said. “I wouldn’t take her away from them.”
“You wouldn’t be taking her from her family permanently,” Yennefer said. “But what if she were to pay you a visit?”
It was unlikely that the child’s parents would allow a visit, barring some Continent-wide catastrophe. And Geralt had no intention of disrupting a child’s life by becoming involved after all this time.
“Her parents wouldn’t approve,” he said grimly, as if his disposition would dissuade Yennefer from her motives.
“Her parents are dead, Geralt.”
Geralt turned his head so quickly that water splashed over the edge of the tub.
“Her parents were lost at sea, but she’s been raised by her grandmother,” Yennefer said.
“Apparently I haven’t kept up with the gossip of the Cintran court,” Geralt said.
“You could spend time together,” Yennefer continued. “You can’t say you’re not curious about her. I would be happy to host a meeting here. You’ve got to admit, my accommodations are lovely. What little princess wouldn’t want to spend time here?”
“Her grandmother would never allow it.”
“You could be persuasive. You have the Law of Surprise on your side.”
“Fuck.”
Geralt could see where Yennefer was headed. If she couldn’t have a child of her own, she was determined to forge a relationship with his child of surprise. He sunk down deeper into the bath water and let the heat soothe his aching back. He could have predicted that Yennefer would ask this of him. She had chided him for neglecting his child of surprise when they had their argument on the mountain. It was the worst kind of irony—that Geralt had a child who he hadn’t attempted to meet or to learn anything about, when Yennefer craved a child of her own.
Would he even recognize the child if he saw her? It was by chance that he claimed the Law of Surprise that put the child in his care, that night long ago when he served as Jaskier’s unwilling bodyguard. Aside from that repayment for saving Duny’s life, he had no connection to his and Pavetta’s offspring, not biological, or by being a presence in her life. In fact, Yennefer had just as much connection to the child as Geralt did.
“After what I’ve done for your bard,” Yennefer said. “You promised me whatever I desired. You know I desire a child more than anything. My request shouldn’t come as a shock to you.”
“Hmm,” Geralt murmured. It truly didn’t.
Yennefer leant over and folded her arms on the rim of the tub.
“When I was a child, I was unloved and uncared for. All I ever wanted was to be important to someone—you know that, Geralt. You’ve denied me this once already when you manipulated me with your wish for the djinn. I won’t let that fakery happen again,” Yennefer said, pillowing her cheek on her folded arms. “Is it so wrong of me to want to show a child the love I never had? If I can’t have a child from the flesh of my own body, at least grant me some satisfaction by letting me spend time with your daughter. All I’m asking for is to meet the girl, your child by law. I promise you no harm will come to her. Surely you can give me this.”
Geralt held his breath and sunk beneath the surface of the water. Yennefer had a point. He had promised her whatever she asked. Was Jaskier’s health worth the price of allowing Yennefer to meet the girl?
Geralt let the water fill his ears. The heat coaxed the knots out of his muscles. The soothing motion of the water washed over his skin like the touch of a lover. Maybe someday, Geralt would know what it was to feel love. Real love… not the kind that you got by spending coin at the brothel and not the kind that you got by wishing it from a djinn. To know the kind of love that transcends all boundaries of order and courtly decorum, the kind of love that deep down he knew Yennefer would have for a child of her own. He remembered what Yennefer told him after she read Jaskier’s thoughts. Geralt needed to know more. He would regret it until his last hunt if he didn’t try to find out if what Yennefer said about Jaskier being in love with him was true. An introduction between Yennefer and the child he never met…
Yes, the decision was not too difficult. Jaskier, and the promise he may hold for Geralt, was worth this request, and more.
Geralt grasped the edge of the tub and surged upwards, heaving in a breath of air.
“Yes, I’ll find her and bring her to meet you,” Geralt said through the rivulets of water that ran from his hair and into his eyes.
Yennefer looked surprised. Her mouth opened with a gasp before she got control over her reaction and broke into a smile.
“But I want to make sure Jaskier recovers first,” Geralt said.
“That is acceptable,” Yennefer said, her violet eyes alight with happiness. “I will do everything I can. We’ll watch him closely in the days ahead.”
“Hmm,” Geralt grunted. He hoped he wouldn’t regret this.
Yennefer reached for a towel that had been stacked on a shelf beside the tub. She spread her arms and the towel wide before tossing it over Geralt’s head.
“Thank you so much, Geralt,” Yennefer said. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
Relieved that his decision had been made, Geralt towelled off his hair.
“I’d like to check on Jaskier when I’m finished here,” Geralt said. “I don’t think I should leave him alone.”
“The potion will help him sleep deeply,” Yennefer said. “But I can understand why you want to go back to check on your bard.”
“Hmm,” Geralt acknowledged.
Yennefer rose to leave. “Now that you’re scrubbed clean, I’ll take your clothing to be washed. I’ll send in one of my servants with something fresh for you to wear… something that will complement your best features. You wouldn’t want to disappoint Jaskier by looking like a sad silk trader when he awakens.”
“I have much to discuss with him when he wakes,” Geralt said. His attire was the least of his concerns.
~
Geralt opened the door slowly when he went to check on Jaskier. He was grateful that the handmaidens Yennefer had assigned to care for the bard seemed intent to leave the two of them alone. He paused and waited while they exited the room. Despite Yennefer’s assurances that the potion she administered would make Jaskier sleep like a babe, Geralt slipped into the room quietly so he wouldn’t disturb him. He tiptoed across the marble floor, across the handwoven rug, to Jaskier’s bedside.
The trickle of water as it peacefully ran over the smooth rocks of the interior waterfall was the only sound.
Thankfully, Jaskier remained asleep. The prolonged rest could only help him heal.
If Geralt didn’t know better, because of his heightened senses, he may have thought Jaskier was dead. He watched Jaskier’s chest rise and fall only fractionally. The soft blankets undulated like gentle waves on a calm lake.
Yennefer deserved a wealth of gratitude for the help she was giving Jaskier at Geralt’s request. Her handmaidens had provided Geralt with comfortable clothing, in lieu of his travel-worn leather armour that he wore when he arrived through the portal with Yennefer. Trousers of the softest calfskin hugged his thighs. A black tunic fit loosely around his shoulders before narrowing to tuck into his wide waistband. His witcher medallion dangled safely from his neck and peeked out from the tunic’s slashed neckline. He had tied his hair back using a strip of leather. He knew Jaskier favoured it that way because the bard had finger-combed the tangles out of Geralt’s hair and styled it that way after more than one bath that they shared together in their years of travel. A lightweight cloak, umber and embossed in a rich brocade, was draped over Geralt’s shoulders, but it was much too warm in Jaskier’s room to wear it. He hung it neatly over the back of the plush chair that flanked Jaskier’s bedside.
Geralt had no intention of sitting in the chair. Instead, he tugged off his new boots, also provided by Yennefer. The payment he promised her should have weighed heavily on him, but it seemed unimportant when measured against Jaskier’s potential transition from his beaten and abused state to his healthy self again.
Geralt knelt on the bed, careful to make only a minimum of disruption to the blankets and furs so he wouldn’t wake Jaskier. He tucked a pillow under his shoulder and propped his head on his hand to get a better look at the bard.
Some colour had returned to Jaskier’s cheeks, although he needed a shave. A small quirk of a smile tugged at Geralt’s lips. Jaskier had always been meticulously groomed, even when they were travelling in the most wretched wild lands or spending a night in a dilapidated inn with no amenities. Jaskier always managed to look handsome. It was no wonder that he was so popular with the ladies… and the gentlemen of the Continent, as well.
Jaskier let out a little huff while he slept. It was almost as if he sensed Geralt was thinking about him with admiration.
Geralt reached out and stroked Jaskier’s cheek gently with his knuckles. He hoped that Yennefer’s magic could save him again, as it had done once before. Then, maybe he could find out more about why she believed Jaskier was in love with him. No one could love a witcher, least of all a handsome bard who could have his choice of lovers from any of the beautiful countesses or lords of the land.
Jaskier…. Yennefer… Geralt deserved the friendship of neither of them.
A log crackled in the fireplace.
Geralt looked up, but Jaskier didn’t move. Geralt slowly settled back into the warm comfort of the blankets beside Jaskier.
Geralt let his eyes rove over Jaskier’s skin. The bruises on Jaskier’s throat seemed lighter than they were before Geralt bathed. Perhaps the handmaidens used some magical technique to alleviate Jaskier’s suffering. Geralt ran a finger down Jaskier’s pale neck. He stopped when he felt Jaskier’s pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips. He wasn’t sure whether it was his imagination that it seemed stronger, making him believe that Yennefer’s healing potion was working. He wished Jaskier had the ability to heal like a witcher did. He’d be right in no time at all.
Geralt rested his palm on Jaskier’s chest and sent soft waves of healing energy to the bard. For as cruelly as Geralt had treated him, he never wished for Jaskier to be hurt so badly.
“Jaskier, I don’t know if you can hear me. Yennefer is trying to make you well again. We both are,” he assured the sleeping Jaskier.
A candle flickered with the transference of energy, but Jaskier remained silent, his chest warm beneath Geralt’s palm.
Geralt closed his eyes in meditation, searching for the right words to say before speaking again. He whispered words that were heartfelt, if not rehearsed in Geralt’s mind from the moment he hoisted the bard onto Roach’s back.
“I’m sorry for the things I said to you when we were on the mountain,” he said, his palm feeling for the soft thump of Jaskier’s heartbeat beneath his tunic. “I’m sorry I didn’t travel quickly enough to find you and prevent you from being hurt. I’m sorry for so many things.”
Geralt wished that Jaskier could hear him. He had utterly disappointed himself a few times in his life, from his failure to convince Renfri to leave Blaviken, to how he manipulated Yennefer with his wish to the djinn. He did not want Jaskier’s name to be added to the short list of people who he loved but could not save from themselves.
Love… the word summoned by his own mind shook Geralt. It wasn’t supposed to feel this way. It wasn’t supposed to be felt by a witcher at all. But the hollow void of it with its ragged edges burned him at his core.
“You’ve always been so generous to me. You’ve been such a… friend. And, graceless beast that I am, I said some cruel things to you,” Geralt said tenderly. “If anything, I’ve learned the value of your companionship in the weeks since we were last together. I miss you. I know I hurt you deeply, and for that, I’m sorry.”
He stretched upward and pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead, cool from the potion that Yennefer had given him to stave off his fever. Settling back atop the coverings, Geralt would stay here with Jaskier until he awoke, and then he’d repeat his apology again, and as often as necessary.
~
With his cheek resting on Jaskier’s shoulder, Geralt woke from a restful sleep some hours later. He stretched his legs and enjoyed the warmth of the room and the warmth of Jaskier asleep in his arms. He was making a habit of falling asleep when he intended to watch over Jaskier for his well-being. It was a habit he intended to continue. He ran through his apology again in his mind and felt better, having said what he needed before he fell asleep, even if Jaskier didn’t quite hear him. His apology helped make the burdensome weight of guilt start to rise from Geralt’s chest. He felt lighter, more satisfied with his agreement about bringing his child of surprise to visit Yennefer.
Yennefer’s assertion about Jaskier loving him, no matter how improbable it seemed, needled at his thoughts. It couldn’t be true. Witchers served a purpose in this life. They weren’t meant to be loved. They were a functional piece of machinery that helped the Continent run without too many lives lost. They functioned, but that was all. As pleasing as it would be to muse upon, Jaskier could never love him as Yennefer had said.
Besides, Geralt wasn’t blind to all human traits. He would have noticed Jaskier’s desire. They had travelled together, off and on, for years. Surely he would have realized that the bard wanted him in the way of a lover.
Geralt inhaled sharply when he remembered the casual winks Jaskier threw his way, the nights huddled together beneath the furs, the baths where more skin than necessary was bared and touched with longing fingers.
“Hmm,” Geralt hummed quizzically.
Why hadn’t Jaskier said something? He was forthcoming about every other stray thought that crossed his mind.
“Fucking humans,” Geralt whispered to himself.
Jaskier’s eyes opened.
Geralt had no way of knowing how much time had passed while they slept. The fireplace kept the room warm with a seemingly unlimited supply of fuel. The waterfall trickled its peaceful melody as if it were part of one of the many forested campsites that he and Jaskier had shared over the years. Yennefer was nowhere in sight.
Jaskier blinked, but he did not raise his head. His clean hair had dried into unruly waves that spread out on the soft pillow. His eyes scanned Geralt’s face.
Geralt couldn’t help but smile in wonder when he saw the sparkling blue peering back at him from Jaskier’s eyes. He hadn’t ever noticed how pretty they were before, but at this close range, they warmed him from the inside. Something unknown stirred inside him. It felt like some kind of magic decreed by a Law of Surprise or some other once-in-a-lifetime event. His heart had inadvertently taken possession of some wonderful unknown thing, as proclaimed by Yennefer’s discovery, and he was happier for it.
“You’re awake,” Geralt whispered, unwilling to let Jaskier fly into a tirade as he had done previously upon awakening.
Jaskier swallowed with difficulty and licked his ragged lips. “Your powers of observation, witcher, are second to none,” he replied.
Geralt waited, but he did not release his hold on Jaskier, his limbs warm beneath the covers.
Jaskier closed his eyes, then opened them, looking questioningly at Geralt.
When Geralt realized Jaskier was not going to rail at him as he had previously done upon awakening, he said, “I’m waiting for you to shout at me again. You can, if you want to.”
Jaskier looked at him for a moment and Geralt hoped he was forgiven.
“Don’t assume you’ve been granted reprieve. Oh no-no-no, you deserve to be shouted at,” Jaskier said, his voice rough.
“Hmm,” Geralt agreed, acknowledging Jaskier’s truth.
Jaskier didn’t shout. Instead, he scanned the room with curiosity. “Melitele preserve me, I can’t believe you brought me here, of all places,” he said with a roll of his eyes.
“It was the only way to save you, to keep you alive,” Geralt said. He held Jaskier and enjoyed the feel of him beneath the blankets. His rib cage expanded and collapsed with the breath of life as he lay in Geralt’s arms and Geralt knew that he had done the right thing by bringing him to Yennefer.
“Still alive,” Jaskier said, taking a moment to free a hand and wave his fingers in the space between Geralt and himself. “A bit worse for wear, however.”
Geralt closed his eyes. He was reminded that Jaskier might never play the lute again, and that was what spurred him to repeat his apology—this time with a conscious Jaskier.
“Before you say another word, I want to tell you that I’m sorry,” Geralt said. “I’m sorry for what happened on the mountain… Borch… Yennefer… all of it. I took my anger out on you. You didn’t deserve it. I was wrong.”
Jaskier’s splinted fingers touched Geralt’s lips. “You don’t need to—”
“I do need to,” Geralt said, gently taking Jaskier’s hand away and returning it to his chest. “This never would have happened to you if I hadn’t blamed you for my misfortunes… if I had been quicker when I realized how wrong I was… if I had gone after you sooner….”
“Well, that’s true,” Jaskier said, with a small amount of the usual mischief in his eyes.
“I’m trying to apologize here.”
“You’re doing a good job, surprisingly,” Jaskier said with a wave of his hand. “Keep going.”
Geralt sighed, glad that Jaskier was returning to his normal self.
“I searched for you as soon as I realized my mistake. What were you thinking?” Geralt asked, his voice low. He wanted to hear the whole of what had happened to Jaskier. Remembering the scent of mud, blood, and semen, he steeled himself and prepared to listen to whatever Jaskier would share with him.
Jaskier said nothing.
Geralt prompted him. “I spoke to a barmaid in Temeria, who told me that you performed at the tavern there before leaving for Cidaris.”
“Ahh…” Jaskier murmured thoughtfully. His eyes flicked to his splinted fingers. “I was following the same advice I had given to you.”
Geralt sadly watched Jaskier’s crippled fingers. He wanted nothing more than to comfort Jaskier and to make all his pain disappear. “What advice was that?” Geralt asked, trying to remember what Jaskier had said, trying to say something that a human would find comforting.
“The advice about working out what pleases me,” Jaskier said sleepily.
With his eyes, Geralt followed the path that Jaskier’s bound and splinted fingers took as they settled on his chest. He slipped his hand under Jaskier’s palm so he could support the damaged fingers.
“And did you work it out? Did you find what pleased you?”
Jaskier tensed. “As best I could. But given that I couldn’t have what truly would please me, I sought out the next best thing.”
So, perhaps what Yennefer had suggested was true. Geralt had no choice but to believe her now, despite his scepticism about Jaskier’s intentions. “And that’s why you sought Lord Mathen’s son?”
Jaskier tried to shrug, but the confines of the bedding and his injuries restricted his movement.
Geralt watched as Jaskier closed his eyes, giving up on communicating about the subject that begged to be discussed, choosing instead to embrace the sleep encouraged by Yennefer’s potion.
“Jaskier,” Geralt said, exasperated in a way that only Jaskier could incite in him.
The touch of Jaskier’s bandaged fingers in his palm made Geralt ache in sympathy with the bard. Geralt had few regrets in life as a witcher. But all the things he wished Jaskier and he had done together, but hadn’t, wore heavily on him now. If only they had more time. But now, it was too late.
“When you didn’t come after me, I made my way down the mountain alone,” Jaskier said.
His voice startled Geralt, who thought the potion had taken effect again, making Jaskier drift off to sleep. Instead, he listened as Jaskier shared his story.
“I went toward Temeria, thinking I could visit the coast without you. Thinking that you would remember that I had suggested it and you might follow me there,” Jaskier said shakily.
Geralt reached up to brush a stray lock of dark hair from Jaskier’s forehead.
“I did remember. I searched for you there. The barmaid I met,” Geralt said. “She told me you were… sad.”
Geralt felt Jaskier’s legs shift beneath the blankets. What he wouldn’t give to be curled up with Jaskier in the forest. Their fire warming them while they rested after a day of storytelling and travel. He had taken Jaskier for granted for so long and now it seemed like they could never get back to the way things were before he berated him on the mountain.
“When I got to Cidaris, my first thought was to find Valdo Marx,” Jaskier said, forcing a smile. “I could take out my frustrations on him and release some of my anger.”
“Hmm,” Geralt murmured. He knew Valdo Marx was a rival in Jaskier’s barding circle. He had long suspected that Valdo Marx was also Jaskier’s former lover. Something about the way Jaskier held him in contempt at every opportunity. Jaskier wasn’t one to forgive and forget, unless the matter concerned Geralt. It was not surprising that he sought him out for a chance to repair his damaged ego. He could battle Valdo Marx or he could woo him, either way would count as a victory for Jaskier. “And you didn’t find him?”
“I went to the tavern where he usually performs, but he wasn’t there,” Jaskier said. “The barkeep allowed me to play. Thankfully, I gave a better performance than I did in Temeria. It caught Ethain’s attention. I didn’t know he was the son of a lord at the time.”
Geralt catalogued what he knew of Ethain. Yennefer seemed to think that Ethain was a stand-in for Geralt in Jaskier’s quest for a bedmate to soothe his broken heart. From what Jaskier had divulged, it could be true, at least the part about Jaskier seeking a fuck to alleviate his sorrows.
But Jaskier deserved so much more than a roll in the hay with a handsome stranger. Geralt’s heart ached from the thought.
“Anyone would be lucky to have your affections,” Geralt said. He wanted to say that anyone, besides him would be worthy of the bard’s attention. But he failed. Instead, he gently stroked Jaskier’s injured fingers, the white fluff of the wool soft beneath his thumb. He hoped that the touch would convey the warmth he felt for Jaskier, even if he knew Jaskier’s affections would not be returned to him, a killer of monsters, a witcher.
Jaskier turned his head to look away.
“And he was the one who hurt you?” Geralt continued, fearful that he had gone a step too far in his assumptions. And there was the matter that he couldn’t bear the thought of someone who bore his likeness hurting Jaskier.
“Oh, no,” Jaskier exclaimed, tearing his hand out of Geralt’s grasp. “He wouldn’t. He didn’t. Everything was consensual with him.”
“Hmm,” Geralt murmured in judgement. He hated the thought of some random man bedding Jaskier nearly as much as he hated the thought of someone causing Jaskier harm. It was unsettling. His expression clearly showed that he wished Jaskier hadn’t fallen into the first bed he found after leaving the mountain. And Jaskier could read the disdain in Geralt’s grunt.
“I mean, what the fuck am I supposed to do Geralt?” Jaskier said, his voice quavering. “I’m a poet. I’m a lover… I’m a man. When you rebuffed me for the last time on the mountain, I thought you wanted nothing to do with me anymore. I needed to face the truth that you wanted me out of your life.”
Jaskier pushed an elbow against Geralt and got enough leverage to turn away from him.
“Fuck,” Geralt whispered into the mess of Jaskier’s hair. He wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s middle and held him, as if it could ever make up for what Jaskier suffered because of his words.
He didn’t know what it felt like to be human, but he knew a lot about humans and what things would make them angry, what things would make them cry. He could smell the tears in Jaskier’s eyes before they fell.
“It was Lord Mathen’s men,” Jaskier muttered. “They caught Ethain and I together and they tore me away, beat me, abused me….”
The tears that welled in Jaskier’s eyes made Geralt feel a thousand times worse. He lay with Jaskier cradled in his arms. Feeling Jaskier’s shoulders shaking with sobs, Geralt did his best to comfort him. He let his fingers rove over Jaskier’s chest, soothing him with only the gentlest of touches.
Jaskier turned his head and blinked open his reddened eyes. He was trying for a smile but there was no need for him to work so hard. “I remembered that you had always come to the defence of dragons—and even elves, but you only had the harshest words for me,” Jaskier said. His voice was angry, his eyes full of tears, but his words meant neither anger nor sorrow.
“Jaskier,” Geralt said, quietly, remembering everything Yennefer had told him. He cradled Jaskier’s chin in one broad hand, careful of the bruises that bloomed on his cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”
Jaskier’s feet shifted beneath the blankets. His lips moved, his voice a whisper, “Could you just hold me, please?”
“Of course,” Geralt said. He knew that whether he deserved it or not, he had been forgiven.
~
