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Geralt opened his eyes with a groan. The throbbing pain in his head grew stronger in response. Which wasn't surprising. After all, Geralt knew that his choices the night before would lead to a very unpleasant and painful awakening.
What was not expected, however, was that the first thing his eyes fell on was Jaskier. Who was definitely not supposed to be there. But nonetheless, there the bard was, on the other end of the room, looking back at Geralt with those large blue eyes of his.
"Fuck," Geralt muttered and wished that the bard were anywhere but here in this room with him. Geralt had thought his plan was solid. But the presence of Jaskier told him that he had gravely miscalculated.
3 Days earlier
They reached the small town of Lomrik late in the evening after marching at a brisk pace all day at the prospect of a bed to sleep in and something more to eat than yet another tasteless rabbit stew; if only they'd make it to the town before the gates closed at nightfall.
Geralt and Jaskier had spent the last few weeks travelling the general area, from town to town, village to village, but unfortunately everything had been peaceful and quiet. No monsters. No work for Geralt.
He had long since run out of money and if it hadn't been for Jaskier and his incessant playing in every tavern they had come across, they would have gone hungry a lot more times than they already had.
Jaskier had frequently reassured him that he was more than happy to pay for both their food and lodging whenever his earnings of the day allowed for it, and Geralt had accepted gratefully. But what had been supposed to be an exception had started to become more of a… general situation, and Geralt had started feeling rather guilty about it.
But once again, in the village they had left a couple of days ago the innkeeper had informed them that only a few hirikka had been spotted in the area, and while the village people had been scared at first, a few of the children had run into them when playing and befriended the creatures by throwing them scraps of food. The population's sentiment had shifted from fear to curiosity and then to endearment.
Geralt couldn't have helped seeing a certain parallel between their situation and the hirikka being thrown scraps of food when the innkeeper had offered them a spot in the stable for the night and some leftovers from the kitchen in return for Jaskier playing a little for the three or four locals that had gathered in the tavern.
And so, when they had settled for the night on the hay-covered floor in the empty stable box next to Roach's, Geralt had suggested their next destination to be Lomrik, even though he didn't particularly like the place and usually tried to avoid it. But he also knew that the town usually offered plenty of work for a witcher.
Lomrik was a fairly small town and superficially it really wasn't much different from the various places they had passed through the last couple of weeks. What was unique to Lomrik, however, was that it had been built on the remains of an ancient elven city. None of its former glory remained above ground, but below, a vast system of sewers, crypts and ruins dating back to the times before humans had first set foot on the continent stretched out underneath the town and the surrounding area for several miles.
It was a relatively common occurrence that some vile creatures found their way into this maze and reproduced until their numbers grew large enough to prove a threat to the town’s population. Thus, there was almost always good work for a witcher in Lomrik.
Geralt still tended to avoid the place, though, because he didn't like having to interact with the mayor, Hubert Tansiran.
Not that Geralt could give a particular reason, the man had always paid the agreed upon sum without a fuss, which wasn't an all that frequent occurrence in a witcher’s life. And yet, something about the man irked Geralt and he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.
Although, part of it certainly had to do with what happened the first time they'd done business. After Geralt had killed the drowners that had gathered in the sewers at the time and had returned to town hall, Tansiran had his secretary take the prepared purse of coin and count the money out in front of Geralt. The amount came three coppers short. Not a big issue and precisely the reason why it was customary to count out the coins again because slight miscountings happened easily.
However, the mayor had been furious and had slapped the secretary over her head so hard that the slender elven woman fell to the floor from the impact. Tansiran had muttered something under his breath about how he should never have employed a nonhuman, before he had added the missing coins to the pile and sent Geralt on his way.
Geralt had taken his payment and left without further comment, of course, it wasn't a witcher's place to interfere in such matters after all, but ever since he had made a point to avoid Lomrik as much as possible and had only returned there when lack of coin had demanded it, as it did now. On each of his visits, Geralt had felt more and more uneasy the more time he had spent in the mayor's presence, even though he had witnessed no further incidents of any kind that would have justified his alarm.
The state of Geralt's coin purse had allowed for no more excuses,though, and so Geralt and Jaskier had set out towards Lomrik, which fortunately had only been a few days of travelling away.
When they finally arrived, the sun was in the process of setting behind the horizon, casting long shadows everywhere. Geralt considered going straight to the mayor, taking care of whatever work was offered immediately and then leaving again first thing the next morning with a purse once more full of coins. But when he looked back to Jaskier to discuss those plans he saw the bard leaning against the frame of the wooden town gate and rubbing his foot through the leather of his boot with a pained expression on his face.
Jaskier's back slid across the wood he was leaning against and he only just managed to let go of his leg in time to catch himself from falling over. He regained his balance and then looked up, meeting Geralt's eyes.
Jaskier smiled at him. "Right then, witcher, lead the way! You're the expert after all, whereas I have to admit that I've never been to this lovely place before."
Geralt grunted in response and led the way to the inn instead. If there were monsters in the sewers they would still be there tomorrow and the mayor probably wouldn't be too thrilled to be dragged out of bed at this hour anyway. He made a mental note to instead visit him first thing in the morning.
They entered the humble Flat Flounder's Inn and Geralt pondered about whether the innkeeper would agree to let them stay the night even if they'd only be able to pay for the room by the next day.
The tavern room was mostly empty except for the occasional lone drunkard and a group of a dozen or so thug-looking men occupying a table in the furthest corner of the room. The group was drunkenly yelling all over one another and several empty tankards, quite more than there were men, had gathered all across the table. By the appearance of things, they were celebrating something.
One of them spotted Jaskier and his lute and shouted something through the room. It took three attempts and a lot of waving and gesturing before the meaning of his slurred words became clear, but apparently, he wanted Jaskier to perform for the group.
Geralt and Jaskier exchanged looks. Jaskier, like most people, surely had made the experience throughout his life that large gatherings of men in the group's current state of drunkenness weren't the safest to be around for fragile humans that didn't have Geralt's fighting skills. A vague aura of danger and impending violence could be felt throughout the entire room, like the sultry heaviness in the air just before a summer storm.
But Jaskier wasn't alone and if the thugs were to forget themselves and their manners, Geralt could always intercept.
Geralt gave Jaskier an encouraging shrug and sat down by a nearby table, watching the group intently.
The men didn't even notice him, they were too drunk and too busy cheering Jaskier on, who was walking over to them now, his lute in hand.
They continued cheering while Jaskier played and bellowed along with the lyrics so loudly that Jaskier's own voice was nearly drowned out and there wasn't really any point to him playing altogether. The men mostly entertained themselves, really.
Nonetheless, they pushed fairly large amounts of coin in Jaskier's direction.
Barely twenty minutes later the first guy's head dropped onto the table with a loud thud, followed by heavy snoring. The rest of the merry band bellowed even louder, poking fun at the sleeper. But then, over the course of the next 15 minutes or so, the men scuttled out of the inn in groups of three to four, holding and supporting one another and staggering heavily. Their exit, just like their celebrating before, caused a lot of noise, but when the last of them had left and the inn door had closed behind them, silence finally fell over the room.
Jaskier walked over to Geralt's table and dropped himself onto the opposite chair with a flushed face and his hands full of money. It was enough to pay for a room and a decent breakfast for both of them.
"Oh, I wish all my audiences were that easy!" Jaskier beamed. "I've barely even started and look how much money they gave me anyway!"
"Hmm," Geralt replied. They had caught a fortunate moment. Had they arrived at another time and at a slightly different level of drunkenness, the men could just as easily have decided to use Jaskier as a target for their fists rather than their coin. Besides, Jaskier loved to put on a good show. If all his audiences were satisfied that quickly, the bard would soon start complaining about it.
They intercepted the innkeeper who was throwing out the last few stragglers that were still entranced by the bottom of their jugs, rented a room with two beds and retired for the night. Jaskier sighed in relief as he sat down on his bed and took off his boots. The sound nearly bordered on a moan and a strange mixture of emotions washed through Geralt. Concern, guilt and compassion over the state of Jaskier’s feet, but also a very inconvenient wave of arousal from the images that sound created in his mind.
Not that Geralt couldn't have done anything about that latter part. Jaskier flirted with almost anyone who failed to flee fast enough and he had shown the same type of interest in Geralt as well when they had first started travelling together. Geralt had ignored his advances then, he had mostly been annoyed by the irritating bard that had suddenly been following him and Geralt had hoped that if he only ignored the man long enough, he'd be back to his beloved quiet and solitude in no time.
But the bard had remained and over time Jaskier had inevitably grown on him. Nowadays he found himself missing the bard's constant music and chatter when they parted ways again for a while.
His initial vexation towards Jaskier had, ever so slowly, turned into quite the opposite and by now Geralt found himself longing for his company. And for something more. Nonetheless Geralt continued ignoring Jaskier’s flirting.
Geralt and Jaskier were both people who found themselves in another person's bed on occasion, in Geralt's case in exchange for coin, while for the bard a few well-placed compliments were usually sufficient. But they both mostly preferred for their nightly encounters to not extend to breakfast and a closer acquaintance and instead tended to sneak away in the middle of the night. Jaskier, of course, wasn't always particularly successful at communicating this intention beforehand, which often enough got him or even both of them into quite a bit of trouble.
However, a one-night stand wasn't what Geralt wanted with Jaskier. With Jaskier he stupidly longed for more than that, so much more.
He had no idea what Jaskier's thoughts on that particular topic were, if the bard was interested in even just exploring the possibility of a… of something more developing between them, and Geralt wouldn't ask about it, because it didn't matter. Even if Jaskier would ever feel the same for Geralt, a something more required the possibility to grow old together. Or to not grow old together. But Geralt and Jaskier would do neither of those things in unison. Jaskier would eventually grow old and Geralt would not. Geralt would remain the same for another several centuries at least. Or he would get eaten by a monster. Either way he would never grow old and instead leave Jaskier and his humanity behind some day. So even if there really was the option of a something more happening between them, the inevitable end that it would come to would neither be fair nor good for either of them.
And so instead Geralt ignored the painful yearning in his chest and its evil, traitorous twin in his pants and climbed into his own bed on the opposite side of the room.
He spent the night, as so many before it, pondering how many decades he might have left with his beloved travel companion before he would inevitably walk the continent alone again.
Geralt awoke the next morning with not much rest but early enough to set to his plan of visiting the mayor first thing. Jaskier was still snoring in his own bed, hopelessly entangled in the sheets and blankets to the point that Geralt thought it would be easier to escape from a kikimora's grip than for Jaskier to free himself. Geralt couldn't help but grin stupidly at the sight. Luckily there was no one around to witness it and destroy his reputation as a stoic and emotionless warrior.
Geralt got dressed quietly and made his way to the town hall.
There he ran into the mayor's secretary who was just opening up the place. It was a different person this time, a human. Given that he carried the town hall keys but not the mayor's sash there was no doubt about his position, though.
The young man informed Geralt that the mayor would not start working for at least another hour or so and Geralt turned to the opulent house next to the town hall which was the traditional residence of the town's leader.
Unfortunately, unlike the secretary, the man that opened the door for him there was still the same as the last time he'd taken a contract in this town. Geralt had vaguely hoped that maybe there would be a different mayor now. It had been a while since his last visit after all.
Tansiran blinked a few times in surprise and to get the drowsiness out of his eyes. Then his face lit up and a wide smile formed on it.
"Geralt of Rivia! Your timing is impeccable. I have just the job for a witcher!"
The mayor opened the door and his arms wide in a welcoming gesture. Then he twisted the end of his moustache with one hand and motioned for Geralt to enter with the other.
"You are here for work, of course, are you not?" he asked, a little concerned. Geralt grunted in agreement and wondered briefly what kind of nasty beast he would be facing if it warranted that warm a welcome to a witcher from a mayor that didn't like nonhumans. At least he'd be able to ask for a good amount of coin as payment then.
The mayor led him to a comfortable kitchen and urged him to sit down by the dining table.
"Some pesky beasts have once again found their way into our sewer system. Unfortunately, I don't have any details I could give you, especially not where exactly in the sewers they made their nest. But how about this: You rid the sewers of anything moving in there, and when you're done, you name your price in accordance to what you found and how much of a fight they put up. We've done business before after all, and I've always found you name an acceptable amount for the work you do." Tansiran twisted the end of his moustache with his fingers and looked at Geralt determinedly, the look of a man who wasn't used to be refused.
Geralt asked a few questions first, but the mayor could neither tell him any details nor give him any clues as to what kind of creature they were dealing with, nor how many there were, only that it was quite a few. Geralt wondered briefly how these monsters had upset the town so much that Tansiran was that eager to hire him, if apparently no one had even managed to get a close look at them, but dismissed the thought again. It would probably just end up being a few drowners again.
He sighed and accepted the vague job offer. Any money was welcome right now, even if he'd end up trailing through the tunnels for hours, only to dispose of yet another pack of drowners. You’d think the city guard had learned to take care of that themselves at this point.
They shook on it and then Geralt excused himself to prepare for his task. He returned to the inn and first went to check on Roach.
He found both of his travel companions in the stables. Roach was fine as ever and Jaskier had evidently managed to free himself from his sheets, though his cheek still showed prominent lines from where some folds had imprinted themselves into his skin.
"There you are!" Jaskier shouted while rubbing his eyes. "When I found your bed empty this morning, I was worried you'd left without me in the dead of the night, so I went to check if Roach is still there."
Jaskier yawned and stretched. "Then again, who'd feed you if you set off on your own?" he smiled impishly.
"I've found a job," Geralt grumbled and went to feed Roach some oats. He ignored the jab at his recent streak of unemployment and instead wondered why Jaskier had worried that he had left. Lately it had mostly been Jaskier who made them split ways every once in a while, when he'd gotten invited to play at some party or dinner. Which occurred more and more lately, the bard was getting famous. Which was great, of course, Jaskier deserved all that admiration and more, but Geralt couldn't help but feel lonely and jealous each time.
"Also, I didn't leave in the dead of the night, I left in the morning. You simply overslept," he added.
"Oh, good, a job! Marvellous!" Jaskier clapped his hands together and suddenly looked a lot more awake. "I've been dying to get some new material! My fans are getting impatient! What are we hunting?"
" I ," Geralt emphasised, "don't know yet what I'm hunting. You'll be staying here and keeping an eye on Roach until I'm back. As long as I don't know what kind of creature is causing trouble, it's too dangerous to bring you along."
"Come oooon Geralt!" Jaskier pleaded. "I need this job just as much as you so I can write something new about your adventures! The people are desperate for new songs!"
"Jaskier," Geralt sighed and rolled his eyes.
"What?" Jaskier pouted.
"The monsters are in the sewers."
"Oh."
Jaskier pouted at his boots rather than at Geralt then.
"Fine!" he sighed dramatically after a few moments of pondering and threw his hands in the air. "But you have to tell me everything afterwards. Describe every tiny detail. Well, maybe not the smell…"
Geralt turned back to Roach and brushed her mane with his fingers in an effort to hide his lovestruck smile. "Promise," he mumbled into Roach's side.
When Geralt had his face under control again, he made his way back up to their room, Jaskier tailing behind him. Geralt sat down cross-legged on the floor next to his bed and pulled his bags out from under it. He considered if he should bring his silver sword along to the job but quickly decided against it. The one information the mayor had been able to give him was that there would be several specimen of the same monster down there. The kind of powerful creatures that required use of his silver sword rarely appeared in larger groups. Luckily.
"Ugh, who are we kidding?", came Jaskier’s voice from behind him. "When you tell me what happened it'll only be went down, killed it, came back up ." The last couple of words Jaskier had growled in a deeper voice, trying to imitate Geralt.
Geralt looked over his shoulder. Jaskier was artistically draped over his bed, one arm theatrically pressed against his forehead.
"This will be the end of my career and then you'll be the one who has to pay for my food, lest I miserably starve in the streets!"
Geralt turned back to his bags and smirked, ignoring the feeling in his lower belly at the sight of the little bit of Jaskier’s chest that was revealed by his stretched out pose pulling his neckline wider. "Such is life," Geralt remarked dryly and placed the silver sword back under the bed.
A pillow hit Geralt in the back of his head. He stopped fidgeting with his bags and tensed up his shoulders, trying to make his back look as intimidating as possible.
Jaskier babbled on, unimpressed: "You'll be going on an adventure and I'll be scooped up in here all day, bored out of my mind."
Geralt turned back around. Jaskier was now sitting by the edge of his bed cross-legged. His ridiculously blue eyes were full of innocence and mischief at the same time.
Geralt dragged his eyes away before he could be accused of staring and replied: "No one says you gotta stay in here all day. Go out and explore the town while I'm away."
He picked up the pillow behind him and lightly tossed it back. Jaskier caught it, wrapped his arms around it and pouted.
Geralt dragged his gaze away from Jaskier’s lovely lips and continued: "Or has your career already suffered so much that you've lost all your creativity and can't think of any way to entertain yourself for a few hours?"
Geralt turned his attention back to his belongings and to the bag with his various potions.
"If all else fails, the brothel is just down the street. You should still have some coin left from what you made last night, no?"
A suggestion Geralt didn't really want to make, but it was the most likely scenario of how Jaskier would pass the time anyway.
He distracted himself from his jealousy by considering which potions he would drink before going into the sewers and also braced himself for the next witty remark or pillow being thrown at him.
"Hm, yeah, maybe. We'll see…" Jaskier mumbled instead.
Geralt rolled his eyes, his back still towards Jaskier. How on earth had the bard already managed to spend the last of his money again? Had he even done anything other than sleeping between now and when he had earned the coins?
Geralt picked out the potion that even further heightened his senses and allowed him to see in the dark. He'd certainly need that one in the sewers. He would soon have to tend to some alchemy again to replenish his general supply of potions but he always made sure to keep several doses of that particular potion around. Few monsters had candles in their lairs, after all.
“Be careful down there, yeah?”, came Jaskier’s voice from behind him again, strangely somber this time.
“What, do I hear right?” Geralt teased, “Are you suddenly concerned about my wellbeing? What kind of story does that make if the great hero doesn’t suffer a little bit along the way?” Geralt turned back around to look at Jaskier.
Jaskier’s serious face turned back into a sheepish grin at Geralt’s words. “Purely professional interest, I assure you,” he beamed. “What use is it if I stay up here only to have to go down into the sewers later anyway and drag your corpse and my lovely boots through the muck?”
Geralt turned back and picked out the potion that would make his skin slightly sturdier and would protect him a little better from injuries.
“Hmm," he replied to Jaskier and decided that those two potions would suffice. They were a decent combination to prepare for the unknown and any of the other potions would really only help if he knew in advance what he’d be up against. Besides, any more of the poisonous liquids in his system would only slow him down. Even with his relative immunity to the magical side effects of his potions due to his witcher mutations, there was still a limit to how much a single body could take. Geralt got up and turned to the door. Jaskier was once again draped artistically over his bed. Geralt nearly stumbled into the little table in the middle of the room.
Jaskier didn't notice, his eyes were unfocused as if he was lost in thought and when Geralt walked past him he blinked a few times before looking up at Geralt.
“Have fun!” Jaskier smiled.
“Hmm,” Geralt replied once more and shortly placed his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder on his way out of the room.
Geralt let himself down into the sewers by the same entrance he had used last time, a sewer grate in the middle of the market square. He grabbed the metal ring mounted to the heavy stone cover, pulled it open, and jumped down into the darkness.
The grate cover fell back in place behind him, leaving only a small island of dim light from the drain holes in the stone and then darkness beyond that. Geralt drank both the potions he had picked out. The darkness retreated from his dilating eyes and he could make out the tunnel in front of him, though everything was colorless now and dipped in grey.
He picked a direction at random and started wandering through the maze of tunnels, making sure to memorize the path he was taking so he wouldn't get lost. His light footsteps barely made any sound in the small puddles of water that covered every piece of treadable stone floor. Next to the small path, a river of rancid smelling muck sluggishly flowed along, hurting Geralt’s now very sensitive nose. He focused on breathing through his mouth.
He had walked through the silence for hours and started worrying that the effect of his potions would wear off soon and leave him in darkness, when after the next corner he could finally make out something different than the never ending dark, empty tunnels. Up ahead, he saw light flickering. Curious. This didn’t belong here in the sewers, but he also had never heard of a monster that preferred to build its nest by firelight. Geralt crept closer.
Before him, the small stone path on the edge of the water widened into an alcove in the middle of which burned a small campfire, surrounded by a dozen or so haggard elves, dwarfs and gnomes.
A kid spotted him and started screaming. He couldn’t blame them. He must’ve looked truly frightening with his pale skin, black eyes and black veins across his face from the potion, the huge sword ready in his hands and with how he, to them, had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. The kid probably thought the shadows cast by the fire had turned into a solid creature before them.
At the scream, all heads turned in his direction and panic broke out as people tried to scramble to their feet and flee from him.
Geralt slowly and demonstratively placed his sword on the ground and raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.
“I mean you no harm,” he ensured.
The shuffling and panicking stopped abruptly and two dozen or so frightful eyes stared at him.
Finally, a dwarven woman stepped forward and replied to him. “Why did you seek us out then, witcher?” she asked.
“I didn’t," Geralt answered, his hands still held up. “I came down here to kill the monsters that are troubling the town. I didn’t expect to meet anyone else here.”
The woman let out a short, dry and humourless laugh. “There are no monsters in the sewers currently. If Tansiran sent you down here to kill monsters, he was referring to us.”
Geralt raised his eyebrows questioningly. The woman took that as enough incentive to wave him over to the campfire to tell him her group's story. “Leave the sword over there though.” Geralt slowly picked up his blade from the puddle it had landed in and leaned it against the wall, before following the woman to the campfire. She introduced herself as Wanda Olenska and also introduced the others, but Geralt forgot most of the names again immediately.
Wanda told him how Tansiran and several of the more important humans in town had always hated the nonhuman part of the population. Geralt grunted in agreement. He had witnessed Tansiran's unprovoked anger at one of them after all. He recognised the mayor’s former secretary amongst the small crowd and shot her a sympathetic look, before remembering that the effect would probably be lost to the nightmare the potions had made of his face.
Wanda told him how things had gotten worse and worse for nonhumans over the last couple of months. First, Tansiran had implemented a law that forced nonhumans to give up their homes throughout the town and only allowed them to live and work in a specific district.
More and more similar, but increasingly restrictive laws had been issued. Unprovoked assaults from the guards had grown more and more frequent as well. Most nonhumans had left the city then, but a few remained.
Finally, two weeks ago, Tansiran had sent his guards to kill all of the remaining nonhumans. Only a few had managed to escape into the sewers, where they’ve been hiding ever since.
Every couple of days a group of guards was sent down to look for them, but the little group had always managed to notice them in time by their torches and the clanking sounds of their armor echoing through the long, dark tunnels, and had managed to avoid the raiding parties.
Until yesterday, when they had coincidentally found the sewer exit leading into the town’s storehouse. They had thought it a great fortune first and had sent one of their group up to steal some food, as what little they had thought to take with them on their escape had run out. However, the lad had been caught by one of the guards who had coincidentally walked into the storehouse at the same time to fetch some more beer for the tavern. The guard hadn't hesitated to attack and had killed the scout immediately, then had jumped down into the sewers and managed to kill three more people before the rest of them could get away and hide in the labyrinth again.
Geralt felt fury rise up inside of him. Tansiran hadn’t sent him into the sewers to kill monsters. He had sent him to kill these people. Maybe he’d hoped Geralt would mistake them for drowners in the dark. Or he had thought Geralt wouldn’t care who or what he killed as long as the payment was right. The little kid started screaming again and the mother did her best to calm them down. Geralt realised that he had bared his teeth in his anger and forced his face to relax.
“So witcher,” Wanda finished her story. “What will you do now? Will you follow Tansiran's orders and kill us?” The kid sobbed quietly against their mother’s shoulder.
“No,” Geralt growled. “Quite the opposite. I’ve been in these tunnels before, hunting actual monsters. I’ve come across an exit once that lies a few miles outside the city. I’ll lead you there and you can escape this shithole of a town.” A dozen or so hopeful faces looked at him.
The group gathered their few belongings, Geralt collected his sword, and they were off.
Geralt found the way to the right tunnel easily enough and led the terrified group on. Halfway on their way the first potion ran out, but it was no matter because the people following him were using makeshift torches to light the way and with the potion no longer working the light didn’t hurt his eyes anymore. The other potion was more potent and would still last a few more hours.
When they finally climbed to the surface after about an hour of quiet marching, it was evening and the sun cast long shadows over the grass. Still, the group looked at the sun as if they had expected never to see it again. And they probably had indeed feared that.
“If you head in that direction for a few miles, you’ll reach the next town over,” Geralt explained.
“You could come with us,” Wanda offered, unsurprisingly. Even if they had escaped Tansiran’s madness, it wasn’t like nonhumans were particularly welcome anywhere on the continent these days. It wouldn’t be easy for the little group, fleeing from their home with barely more than the clothes on their back.
Still, he couldn’t come with them. He was a witcher, his place was the Path. Getting attached to people never led to anything good for his kind.
“I can’t,” he replied, trying to come up with a good excuse. “I, uh...still have my things at the inn in Lomrik. Can’t have that fall into the wrong hands…”
Well, that was pathetic. But judging by Wanda’s unsurprised expression, she understood.
“Will you be alright, though?” He asked, ignoring the voice of Vesemir in his head cursing him for having gotten attached.
“I have distant family over in the next town. We’ll be alright,” Wanda ensured him with a heavy sigh. She knew as well as him that it wouldn’t be easy for them.
“Thanks to you, we’ve got a good chance at getting back on our feet. Is there anything we can do to repay you?” she offered.
“Take care of the little one,” Geralt replied, nodding at the child that no longer seemed to be terrified of him. “And give me one of those torches, I’ll need it to find my way now, the potion that grants me night vision has run out.”
Geralt stayed to watch the group disappear beyond the next hill before he made his way back into the sewers and towards the city. He got back a little faster because he didn’t need to keep the pace of a group of scared and starving people, but by the time he climbed back out in the market square it was slowly getting dark outside. Geralt hadn’t decided yet what to do about the mayor, even though he had pondered over it the entire time walking back and so he turned in the direction of the inn instead.
He didn’t get far down the street until he was intercepted by the mayor and a dozen or so armed city guards that suddenly appeared around several corners. Geralt's senses were dulled somewhat as an aftereffect of being overly sensitive from the potion for so long and so he hadn't noticed the group lurking in the shadows, waiting for him.
Geralt recognized not only the mayor, but the guards as well. They were the same group Jaskier had played for the night before. So, what they had been celebrating was the death of four nonhumans at the hands of one of them. Geralt growled.
"Well, witcher, did you kill the monsters in the sewers?” the mayor asked.
"I've found nothing dangerous down there. Your guards were waiting here above ground after all." Geralt drew his sword.
"Well, we can’t have that, can we?” the mayor huffed. “I offered you good coin to kill the beasts in the sewers and you willingly accepted the job, and yet here you are, with no blood on your sword. At least tell me where you found those little rats so my men can take care of them, or I’ll have to throw you into the dungeon for fraud!”
"The nonhumans in the sewers are gone. I showed them to one of the exits outside the city. They won't trouble you again."
"Bullshit!" Tansiran spat on the floor. "They're rats, I tell you! And rats need to be exterminated to the last one, or they'll reproduce and come back to pester you again!" Madness was glittering in the mayor's eyes. "Tell me witcher! Which direction did you send them to? Tell me now and my men can still catch up on horseback!"
He motioned to the men standing in a half circle around him and they drew their swords as well. Geralt carefully considered his options.
He was heavily outnumbered, but he still might be able to take the guards on by himself. However, the fight would alert the townspeople and draw them out of their houses. Some people might very well get caught up in the fight or even join it on their own accord. Fighting back would very likely result in a blood bath and even if Geralt made it out of that alive, it would mean having to flee the city in the middle of the night, being branded as a criminal and a slaughterer yet again, possibly even a bounty on his head, which would make it a lot harder to find work.
On the other hand, if he let the mayor drag him into the dungeon, they’d beat him for a while trying to get him to give up the group’s location, but eventually they’d have to let him go again. The mayor couldn't get rid of him unnoticed since people had already witnessed Geralt being in town. They wouldn’t dare kill or seriously hurt him when word would spread about it. After all, the chances of some actual beasts making their nest in the sewers weren't slim and in that case one wouldn’t want the entire witcher’s guild angry at one’s town.
Geralt figured with the second potion still lasting a few hours, he’d be able to take whatever they would do to him and threw down his sword with a curse. Immediately the guards were upon him, kicking and punching the shit out of him. He curled together into a ball on the floor, trying to protect his head and vital organs. Still, a heavy, armoured boot found its way to Geralt’s head and things turned black around him.
When Geralt woke up, his left temple was pulsating painfully where the boot had hit him and he could feel several bruises forming all over his body. He could sense someone else in the room with him and so he tried gathering as much information as possible with his eyes closed so that it wouldn't be noticed that he was awake.
Geralt could tell he was standing upright, slouched against a stone wall in his back and held upright by chains around his wrists, which appeared to be mounted to the wall beside him. He assessed the damage to his body. The bruises would be ugly, but nothing too bad, and his headache was painful, but nothing indicated a concussion or any other form of worrisome damage.
The left side of his face felt odd though. Blood had run over it and dried and formed a thick crust, he realized.
Geralt opened his eyes with a groan. The throbbing pain in his head grew stronger in response. Which wasn't surprising. After all, Geralt knew that his choices the night before would lead to a very unpleasant and painful awakening.
What was not expected, however, was that the first thing his eyes fell on was Jaskier. Who was definitely not supposed to be there. But nonetheless, there the bard was, on the other end of the room, looking back at Geralt with those large blue eyes of his.
"Fuck," Geralt muttered and wished that the bard were anywhere but here in this room with him. Geralt had thought his plan was solid. But the presence of Jaskier told him that he had gravely miscalculated.
Jaskier was equally chained to the wall on the opposite side of the little cell they found themselves in. A dark circle started forming under his right eye. They had hurt his bard. Geralt struggled against his chains, but to no avail.
Jaskier opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by the sound of a key being turned in the dungeon door, followed by the mayor entering the cell, a complacent smile on his face. Jaskier flinched. Geralt growled.
“Ah, I see you’re finally awake. Very good. Now, I hope you have considered my offer. Tell me where I’ll find the rats and you’re both free to go.”
Jaskier looked at Geralt, who had confusion and fear written into his eyes, making them go even wider.
“Let the bard go, he’s got nothing to do with this," Geralt snarled.
“Ah, but Sir witcher, I’m afraid you’ll find the bard has indeed a lot to do with this," Tansiran mused. "You see, by yourself I could spend hours having my guards beat you senseless again and again, but we both know you still wouldn’t tell me what I want to know. The bard on the other hand... " Tansiran's tongue shot out between his lips and licked them hungrily. The crazed glint from earlier was in his eyes again. "Well let’s just say I’m curious to see just how attached you are to your little pet.”
Tansiran took a few more steps into the cell and dropped something on the floor between them, which he had held behind his back until then. It was his own bag, Geralt realised with confusion.
“For that purpose, dear gentlemen, I have contrived a little game for us to play. You see, legend has it that the witchers’ magic potions are poison to any ordinary human. Why don’t we put that to the test, shall we? How many potions do you think the bard can take before he dies? Well, let’s find out!”
Jaskier looked up from the bag in the middle of the room to Geralt’s face, his eyes going wide with fear, mirroring the panic that had set in Geralt's chest.
Geralt struggled against his restraints once more. “Let the bard go, I’ll tell you what you want to know!” he shouted.
Tansiran ignored him and bent down over the bag, randomly picking one of the vials from inside it. He went over to Jaskier, who tried to move away and backed into the stone wall behind him.
"Don't! I said I'll tell you what you want! Don't you hear me?" Geralt screamed, knowing full well that even a single witcher potion could be deadly to humans. But Tansiran didn't seem to know those odds. Or maybe he didn't care.
He grabbed Jaskier’s nose with one hand, using it as a lever to jerk his head backwards violently, exposing the bard's throat. Jaskier gasped and loudly sucked air in through his mouth.
"You've made your point, now stop this, please," Geralt pleaded.
Tansiran ignored him and plopped the cork out of the vial with the thumb of his other hand. He forcefully pushed the neck of the bottle between Jaskier’s teeth and emptied its content into his mouth.
"FUCK!" Geralt pushed against his chains with all his strength, but even with his enhanced muscles he couldn't break through iron. He could only watch helplessly as Tansiran cast the now empty bottle aside and clutched his hand over Jaskier's mouth, now holding both his nose and mouth closed.
Jaskier struggled against Tansiran's grip with muffled grunts until his face took on a vaguely blue tint. Eventually, he had no other choice. His adam's apple struggled to move up and down on Jaskier's overstretched throat as he swallowed the potion down. Tansiran let go immediately and Jaskier pulled in some deep, ragged breaths.
Satisfied, the mayor took a step back and studied the bard curiously.
Jaskier looked up and met Geralt's eyes, the same blank panic in his face that Geralt could feel twisting in his guts.
“Geralt…?” Jaskier asked weakly, his voice trembling.
The effects of the potion set in quickly. Geralt watched in horror as Jaskier's skin, already pale from fear, turned white like chalk. His pupils dilated until there was no more of the bright blue visible in them and then even further, until all of the white in his eyes had vanished as well. Geralt stared into two pools of pure darkness that drowned out the fear which had been written in those eyes moments ago, leaving only an endless void.
Dark veins started to appear around Jaskier's eyes, first only one or two small streaks against his snow-white skin, but then more and more of the black lines spread out across Jaskier's entire face.
One vein snaked itself around Jaskier's nose and immediately a thin stream of bright red blood started dripping out of both nostrils.
Another vein creeped into the corner of Jaskier's mouth and his lips slowly turned black as well, like those of a corpse. Jaskier coughed once, twice, and then spit a clump of blood on the floor. His eyes were still fixated on Geralt like a drowning man clinging on to a piece of driftwood.
"Geralt what's happening to me?" Jaskier whispered, his voice and shoulders trembling. "Where did the colours go? I can't see colours anymore!"
Geralt flinched at those words, which hit him like a punch to his guts. His brain was in panic mode. He didn't even register that what the bard described was the intended effect of the potion, since grey was the only colour visible in darkness.
Geralt cursed. “You bastard, I’ll kill you!” he screamed. But there was nothing he could do, the chains he struggled against once more still held tight.
The darkness pulsating under Jaskier's skin still spread further, down his neck and over his chest, where it vanished underneath his shirt.
“Oh, how dramatic!" snarked the mayor in response to Geralt's threat. "Calm down you brute! He’s not dead yet. But we can change that of course. Where are the elves hiding?" Geralt barely even registered that Tansiran had spoken, he pushed it to the back of his mind. The only thing Geralt could focus on was the sight of Jaskier, white skin entangled in tendrils of black, lips like he was already dead and those wide obsidian eyes still staring up at him. But then Tansiran stepped forward to Geralt’s bag again and fished for another potion, thus blocking Geralt’s view of Jaskier and snapping him out of his trance.
Jaskier, out of view, made a strange gurgling sound, as if he was breathing in but couldn't fight any of the air into his lungs.
Geralt's heart raced almost as fast as a human's would.
"Jaskier! Hang in there, it'll all be fine!" he cried out. No answer came from behind Tansiran's back, only a wheezing sound, just like when the djinn had attacked Jaskier all those months ago. The memory of that horrid sound still plagued Geralt's dreams sometimes.
Geralt closed his eyes but couldn't stop the tears streaming out of them. Why had he been so stupid? How could he have put Jaskier in danger like that? And now Jaskier would die and there was nothing Geralt could do. He'd never felt so helpless. Geralt leaned his head against the wall and waited for the inevitable. For that horrid moment when the pained breathing would eventually stop.
And then Jaskier’s wheezing breaths did stop and Geralt's eyes shot open once more. Tansiran was still rummaging through his bag and blocking the view of Jaskier’s face. Geralt's chest pulled tightly together until he thought his heart would burst.
The mayor straightened his back then and triumphantly held up another vial. "Aha! Finally, one with a different colour. I wonder what this one does?"
What does it matter? Geralt thought. Jaskier was already dead.
Geralt let his body go limp. The shackles around his wrists cut into his flesh and his shoulders strained painfully, but Geralt barely registered it. He was tired. So tired of this world that only ever took and took and took, chiselling away at everything that meant something to him until there was nothing left. The colour drained away once more, even though there was none of the potion in his system now. The edges of his vision started blurring.
A small, soft voice came from behind the mayor. “S-Stop,” it said carefully, as if its owner was uncertain if their vocal cords would obey them.
It sounded like Jaskier’s voice, albeit a few notes higher with fear. And also, at the same time, it wasn't Jaskier's voice at all. Something dark and alien was faintly swinging along in it, as if each word were accompanied by storm waves crashing against cliffs in the distance.
A flash of Chaos hit Geralt and knocked the air out of his lungs. He flinched and fell out of his stupor. The world turned sharp and full of colour again. Which was ironic, because Geralt still struggled to get air back into his lungs after that blow. His ears were ringing.
The mayor, who had held the vial up into the light and turned it back and forth in his hand to examine it, stopped moving dead in his tracks, as if he had suddenly turned into a marble statue.
Jaskier gasped behind the mayor's back.
Geralt managed to take a deep, shaky breath, finally.
The voice spoke again and a new wave of Chaos washed over Geralt, and like a flash of lightning it made all his muscles tense painfully and then go limb once more. Geralt fell heavily into his chains. He tried to make out the source of the pulsating magic. The room was spinning in front of his eyes. There was no one else in the room, where was this magic coming from?
Tansiran dropped the vial in his hands, which fell to the floor and scattered. Then he slowly turned around and Geralt caught a glimpse of his face as he did. His eyes were dull and glassy in a familiar way. Geralt knew that expression from when he used the Axii sign on someone.
Only then did Geralt register what the Jaskier-not-Jaskier voice had said this time.
"R-release us?" it had more asked than commanded. And yet, the magic in this voice was so strong that despite Geralt's high resistance to such magic, the sheer power of the Chaos being released rendered him helpless. What… what the hell was going on here?
Tansiran, as ordered, pulled a key from his pocket and went to unlock the chains around Jaskier’s wrists. In doing so, he finally gave free Geralt's line of sight on Jaskier. His skin was still pale and lined with black, his lips still death-like and his eyes were still a pitch-black void. A thin trail of blood was now flowing steadily out of Jaskier's nose and the corners of his mouth, his chin was smeared with red.
When the chains around his wrists opened, the bard immediately dropped to the floor like a sack of flour, he only barely managed to stretch his arms out to keep his face from colliding with the ground.
The mayor turned around once more, stepped over the trembling mass of Jaskier to his feet and ever so slowly walked over to Geralt. He opened the chains around Geralt’s wrists as well and as soon as he did, Geralt placed one hand on the mayor’s chin and the other on the back of his head and with a loud “crack” sound snapped the man’s neck. He dropped the lifeless body carelessly to the floor and ran over to Jaskier.
Or he would have, but he only managed a step or two before Jaskier looked up and said “Geralt, I…,” and the strange power in the bard’s words washed over Geralt again and made him feel like he'd run head first into a brick wall. Geralt's knees gave in and he dropped to the floor just as gracefully as Jaskier before. Echoes of Chaos washed through the room, pulled on Geralt's hair and made the remaining vials in his bag clink together melodically.
“Oh, shit, sorry, I…,” Jaskier continued, and Geralt screamed as another wave of magic washed over him.
Jaskier gasped and clasped both his hands over his death-like lips, his black eyes widening in shock.
Then Jaskier lowered his hands again and looked at them completely flabbergasted, as they came back red with blood.
Whatever the fuck was happening to Jaskier, the sight of his own blood seemed to be the final straw. The tiniest hint of white appeared in his eyes, as his impossibly wide pupils rolled back in his head and his body dropped to the ground, unconscious.
The remnant magic in the room immediately subsided and it went eerily quiet. Geralt scrambled to his feet. Whatever was going on here, the most important thing right now was Jaskier. Oh please, don't let him be dead, Geralt prayed, though he didn't know to whom.
He closed the last few steps between himself and the motionless body of the bard on the floor and dropped on his knees again next to him. He pushed one arm under Jaskier’s neck, lifting his head a little and placed his other hand on Jaskier’s chest.
Jaskier still looked as black and death-like as before; the potion was still in effect. The dark bruise under his eye, where Tansiran or one of his men had punched Jaskier, was barely visible between all the black lines on his face.
But the bard’s heart was beating and his breath was going steady. He was still alive. For now. Geralt sobbed in relief.
A million questions spun around in Geralt’s head. He pushed them aside. Time to focus on what’s essential. He looked around and got up again.
Geralt retrieved the key to the cell from the dead mayor’s body, opened the door and looked outside. His movements were reserved and precise. All that mattered now was to get Jaskier out of here.
The guardroom outside the door was empty. It seemed the mayor had sent away his men to not have any witnesses to his cruel deeds. Good.
He picked up his swords that were spread out on the table outside and then his bag from the cell floor. Then he reached one arm under Jaskier’s neck again and the other under his knees and lifted the lifeless body from the ground.
If Geralt remembered correctly, and according to the partial map he had created in his mind of the sewer system, there should be an entryway to the tunnel system close by. He gently placed Jaskier on the table and frantically moved his hands over the walls and floor.
Moments before he would have started hacking at the walls with his sword out of panic,
he found the hidden entrance in the corner of the room. A portion of the wall shifted after he pulled on a specific sconce near it and revealed the darkness of the tunnel system behind it.
Geralt grabbed a lantern that was standing in another corner of the room and then carefully picked up the lifele-… unconscious Jaskier again. He carried the bard through the sewers, not knowing where he was going or what he would do once he arrived.
There was only the short piece of floor in front of him, torn from the darkness by his lantern, which was swinging around wildly in his hands. There was only one step after the other and the feeling of Jaskier’s cold skin against his arms. There was only forward, only away from there.
Time morphed into a long, narrow tunnel, similar to the one he was walking through. He kept going and going. And still, he could feel Jaskier’s heartbeat, could see his chest rising and sinking slowly, could feel Jaskier’s breath on his face.
If only he kept walking like this, he could keep Jaskier alive, forever, with him in the small island of light in the eternal darkness. But as soon as he would reach his destination, wherever that might be, Geralt was convinced that the thread on which Jaskier’s life was hanging would snap. As long as Geralt just kept walking through the darkness, time wouldn't flow on and without it, Jaskier wouldn't be able to slip away from him.
After an eternity, or maybe only after a few minutes, who knew, Geralt found himself at a dead end. He stopped walking and the endless time-tunnel around him shattered.
Geralt looked up. Above him was a sewer exit.
He climbed up the ladder, cradling Jaskier against his chest with one arm and pulling himself upwards with the other. A heartbeat against his chest, breath on his face, Jaskier was still alive.
He pushed with his back against the trapdoor, which opened easily.
Somewhere deep in the back of his mind he registered that he emerged once again where he had sent off the group of nonhumans earlier today. An equally faint echo of thought told him that it was getting dark once again. But it didn't really matter. Geralt focused. Heartbeat. Breath. Still there. Jaskier was still with him. That's all that counted.
He gently lowered Jaskier into the soft grass and sat back on his heels.
Jaskier looked so peaceful, despite his still blackened features. Like a corpse placed on a bed of flowers at a funeral. Geralt's hands frantically shot forward. Heartbeat. Breath. Still there. He sobbed and tears streamed over his face. He felt so alone and helpless. Geralt wished Jaskier were here, really here and awake and would calm him with his stupid voice and his stupid songs and his stupid bickering.
Another thought pushed against the back of his mind. This one he waved closer. It seemed important somehow.
He gasped and frantically rifled through his bag. Then he picked out the little, intricately decorated mirror that Yennefer had given him the last time they had met.
“Only for emergencies,” she had said. Well, this was certainly the gravest of emergencies Geralt could imagine. His bard was dying.
He checked Jaskier’s heartbeat one more time. Still there. And then he opened the mirror and looked inside.
His reflection stared back from the surface made of silver. Geralt looked utterly terrible. Half his face was still covered in dried up blood. The crust started at his left temple and ended on his chin; several strands of his hair were dried into the mess.
Just when he thought nothing would happen, the mirror turned black.
A few moments later an image of Yennefer appeared. She was wearing a white nightdress that revealed more than it hid and her open hair freely cascaded down her neck. She held a thick leather book in her hand, her thumb stuck between the pages, marking the spot she had gotten interrupted at.
“This better be important, I was just about to go to bed,” Yennefer snapped at him.
“Jaskier is...I think he’s dying, Yen!” Geralt called out. His voice was trembling and so high, it didn't sound like his own. He quickly looked away from the little mirror in his hand.
Yennefer breathed in sharply and dropped the book on the ground. “Where are you now exactly?”
Geralt described their position as best as he could. The mirror turned into an ordinary mirror again, leaving Geralt alone with his butchered reflection. He dropped it into the grass carelessly and reached out his hands to check again. Heartbeat. Breath. Still alive.
A few moments later a portal appeared a few feet in front of him and Yennefer stepped out. Their eyes met, Jaskier lay motionless between them.
Yennefer broke their eye contact and kneeled down beside Jaskier and started examining him. “What happened?” she asked, while lifting one of Jaskier’s eyelids and looking into the black void that was now his eye.
“That bastard fed him one of my potions," Geralt managed to press out between trembling lips.
“Ah,” Yennefer remarked and let go of the eyelid, which snapped closed again.
She unbuttoned Jaskier’s shirt and traced the black lines with her fingers. They reached until halfway down his chest.
Yennefer looked up. "Well, I wouldn’t worry. He’s probably gonna be fine. Just needs a little rest,” she said, matter-of-factly. Then she got up, turned around and prepared to conjure another portal out of thin air.
The clearing started spinning in front of Geralt's eyes as he tried to make any kind of sense of Yennefer's words.
“But…"
The portal appeared in front of Yennefer.
"But witcher potions kill ordinary humans, Yen!” Geralt blurted out. He hated how lost and broken his voice sounded. How very unbecoming of a witcher. Another unhelpful thought at the back of his mind, and so he pushed it away.
Yennefer's shoulders tensed. She turned around and looked at him with a strange expression that Geralt couldn’t quite make sense of. The portal disappeared.
Yennefer sighed deeply and carelessly stepped over the body between them. Then she stood on Geralt's side, who was still kneeling in the grass, and pushed the blood covered side of his face against her waist.
“Oh Geralt!” she sighed with a tone unusually soft for the sorceress, while brushing the clean part of his hair with her fingers and patting his head. Some individual hairs caught in the blood crust pulled free.
“Geralt, you sweet idiot," Yennefer purred. "How many times do you lie awake at night, pondering how your little bard will grey and wrinkle and grow old beside you, leaving you behind eventually?”
Geralt tensed up in Yennefer’s grip. The answer was "far too many times" but what did that have to do with anything? Was Yennefer trying to comfort him by telling him that he wouldn't have to watch Jaskier grow old now?
Yennefer continued stroking his hair and sighed again. “How long have you known the little bastard now? A decade? Two maybe?"
Two and a half, Geralt thought, but didn't answer.
"Look at him," Yennefer continued. "Has his appearance ever changed even in the slightest? Can you see even the tiniest wrinkle around his eyes, the slightest hint of a grey hair on his head? He hasn’t aged a day since you met him."
Geralt felt like another wave of the strange magic from earlier hit him. Yennefer was right, he realised. The bard hadn't aged at all since they first met. His head was spinning.
"Your potions are deadly to ordinary humans, but Jaskier is no such thing,” Yennefer finished.
Geralt tried to process this information. “Wh-what,” was all he managed to reply. Yennefer was still pressing his head against her body and continued gently stroking Geralt's hair.
“Well, I asked him about it the last time we all met. Asked him if there were any other magical surprises to be expected from him, aside from the not-aging," Yennefer explained in a conversational tone.
"He mentioned that old fable of the mermaid that falls in love with a human and trades her voice to be with him, if you recall the story? He said there’s always some core of truth to such legends after all.”
“I...N-no such thing ever happened," Geralt blurted out.
"No, not exactly like that. Apparently, she was a siren, not a mermaid. And apparently the story wasn't all that tragic after all.
Anyway, Jaskier said the couple from the story are some distant ancestors of his. He ensured me though that he simply inherited a passion for bathing and music, but no magic in his voice. That is of course, unless you give him a witcher potion that was created to enhance innate magical abilities within someone, like your heightened senses. Look how the potion's effect centered around his lips and throat, when for you it centers on your eyes."
Geralt's mouth dropped open and he stared at Jaskier in disbelief.
"I’m sorry Geralt, I really thought you knew. I thought you had noticed as well that the boy doesn’t age," Yennefer chuckled and continued to stroke his hair. Geralt just sat there in the grass, dumbfounded, his head pressed against Yennefer, and said nothing.
After a while Yennefer stepped back. “Well, it’s been fun, but I really should get going again. See you around, Geralt." She stepped over Jaskier’s body again and once more started conjuring a portal in the same spot that she had arrived in as well.
“And he’s really gonna be totally fine?” Geralt croaked, his voice even more raspy than usual from all the crying and shouting that had occurred throughout the day.
“Well, not totally ," Yennefer replied, one leg already in the portal. “Using so much magic when you’ve never practiced it before in your life does take quite a toll. That’s why he’s out cold now. But he should wake up in a while. And I’m guessing he’ll have a sore throat or so for a couple of days. That should be in your favour though, no? You can feed him spoonfuls of honey and nurse him back to health and all that."
She turned back around towards the portal.
"Just don’t give him the stuff too often. There’s no research into long-term-effects of witcher potions on other magical creatures.”
Another woosh and Geralt was alone again with the unconscious Jaskier.
The bard’s lips showed the slightest hint of pink. The effects of the potion slowly started to wear off.
Geralt sighed in relief. He felt light-headed, like a huge weight had pressed him down and now had been removed.
A million questions were still swarming in his head, but once again he pushed them aside and tried to focus on practicality instead. What to do now?
Jaskier started shifting and seemed to be shivering. He mouthed some unintelligible words in his sleep and reached out a hand towards Geralt. He took it into both of his hands and squeezed. Jaskier shivered again.
Right, he should make camp. A fire would probably be good. They could sleep in the clearing and return for Roach the next morning. If anyone dared to stand in his way again, this time he would cut them down without hesitation.
He couldn't believe he was thinking about a "tomorrow" again. It had seemed so unimaginable just a little while ago.
Geralt got up and stumbled into the forest. His hands were trembling and he bumped his shoulder into a tree, having miscalculated the distance. What the hell was wrong with him?
He gathered firewood. It took him about three times as long as usual because he had to consciously focus on every single step, every single grip of his hands. As soon as he let his concentration waver even a little bit he started tumbling over his feet or grabbing a piece of wood with too much force and painfully brushing his knuckles against the rough bark. He felt as clumsy as he always teasingly accused Jaskier of being. It was bloody annoying. He made a mental note not to tease Jaskier on that topic anymore.
But eventually he managed and returned to the clearing with an arm full of firewood.
Jaskier’s lips were almost their usual colour again, save for the spots of dried blood.
The black veins were fading, too, and were now far less dark and prominent. Instead, Jaskier’s black eye became more noticeable again.
Geralt got a fire started (which also took several attempts, because his hands were still trembling and refused to work properly with both the flint stone and the Igni sign).
Then he pulled his bedroll from his bag and spread it out close to the fire. He gently picked up Jaskier and placed him on the makeshift bed. Instinctively he checked again. Heartbeat. Jaskier’s breath on his face. Everything was fine. Everything would continue to be fine.
Jaskier’s features continued slowly turning into his own again, the black fading more and more until it was gone entirely. Still, in the end it took a few more hours before he woke up again. Geralt tried to use the time to meditate, but he couldn't help but turn to look at Jaskier every couple of minutes and check his heart beat again. At least the break allowed Geralt to pull himself together a little.
When Jaskier opened his eyes, Geralt was by his side immediately and squeezed the bard’s hand reassuringly. Jaskier looked up at him with those damn large blue eyes, pools to drown in as well, but this time full of light and life again. And confusion.
"How are you feeling? Can you sit up?" Geralt asked. Jaskier tried to sit up and Geralt put his arm around Jaskier’s shoulders to help him.
Jaskier opened his mouth to say something. His lips moved, but no words, not even the slightest sound could be heard. Jaskier gasped and pulled his hand free from Geralt, who had still been holding it. He clasped both hands around his throat and looked up at Geralt pleadingly, his eyes once more full of panic.
Oh , Geralt thought. A sore throat or so , Yennefer had said.
Geralt's arm was still supporting Jaskier’s back and so he squeezed Jaskier’s shoulder reassuringly.
"Don’t worry, Yennefer said there’d be some aftereffects at first. Your voice will be back in a couple of days!"
Jaskier’s hands were still fearfully clasped around his throat, but at Geralt's words he let them drop into his lap and took some deep breaths. Then he clasped one hand in front of his chest instead and, looking out into the distance, he mouthed "Days?"
There was still no sound coming from Jaskier’s lips, but still Geralt could almost hear the dramatic and exasperated tone that would certainly have been in Jaskier’s voice had he been able to speak the word out loud. Geralt felt the corners of his mouth twitch.
Then Jaskier furrowed his brows and looked back at Geralt. "Yennefer?" he mouthed.
"Yes, Yennefer,” Geralt replied. “She was here, I called her. I didn’t really know what to do with-" a clump formed in Geralt's throat. He gulped. "With you in that state. I was worried you might… Well anyway, Yennefer said you’ll be just fine in a couple of days!”
Jaskier tilted his head to the side and considered what Geralt said. Geralt brushed his thumb over Jaskier’s shoulder where he was still holding the bard. Jaskier let out a deep breath, which would have been a sigh under normal circumstances and leaned his head against Geralt's shoulder.
They sat like that in silence for a bit.
Then Geralt realized that he was waiting for the bard to break the silence, as he usually did, and that he wouldn't be able to do so this time.
So Geralt cleared his throat and said conversationally: "So uhm, siren blood, huh?”
Jaskier flinched and pulled free from Geralt's arm. He turned until he sat opposite Geralt and could look him directly in the face.
Geralt cursed silently. That clearly hadn’t been the way to bring it up.
Jaskier stared at him. His mouth was slightly open and his eyes grew wider.
There had to be some sort of limit to how wide those damn eyes could get, Geralt thought. Jaskier’s cheeks turned bright pink and he looked down, breaking their eye contact. Then Jaskier looked to the side and wrapped his arms around himself. He looked so scared and embarrassed.
Geralt carefully reached out his arm, placed his hand on Jaskier’s chin and turned the bard's head until he was looking him in the eyes again.
“Shh, it’s ok," he cooed. "I mean, I wish you had told me earlier but I understand it’s not exactly something that just comes up casually."
An unpleasant realization shot through Geralt's head. He let go of Jaskier’s hand and looked down himself, watching his hands that now rested on his thighs.
"I hope I didn't make you feel like you… had to hide this from me. Like you'd need to be afraid of me."
He heard Jaskier shuffling closer. He reached out his hand toward Geralt and slowly and oh so carefully placed his palm against the left side of his face.
Geralt looked up. Jaskier was biting his lower lip and looked at Geralt with a worried and questioning expression. Geralt pressed his face against Jaskier’s hand.
"What is it, little songbird? Are you worried about me?"
Jaskier looked at him with large eyes and nodded, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Geralt smiled reassuringly. "It’s just a little scratch, I can take much more than that. It only bled so much because it’s a head wound; they tend to do that.”
Jaskier considered his words and then nodded again after a few moments.
But nonetheless Jaskier didn’t remove his hand from Geralt's face.
And for some reason, all of a sudden, the tension and fear and worry of the past couple of hours left Geralt’s body at once. He placed his own hand over Jaskier’s against his face.
And something else vanished out of Geralt along with the tension. He noticed it just a little too late to stop himself. For some reason, all of his self-restraint suddenly poofed into thin air.
Before Geralt knew what he was doing, he had cupped his other hand around Jaskier’s face and pulled him closer. And then he pressed his lips tightly against the bard’s.
When Geralt became aware of what he was doing, he tensed up and gasped. He quickly let go of Jaskier and leaned back, away from the bard.
“I, uhm…,” he stuttered and then cleared his throat to try again. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, I, uh…,” he blabbered and attempted to get to his feet. Jaskier was staring at him with his mouth open and with those damn eyes so incredibly large again.
Jaskier flinched, and before Geralt could get anywhere near standing, Jaskier leaped forward and tackled him. That was the last reaction Geralt had expected from the bard and so he was taken by surprise. He fell backwards and they both tumbled to the ground, Jaskier lying on top of him.
Jaskier grabbed Geralt's face and in turn pressed his lips against Geralt's, passionately, desperately.
Geralt tried to understand what was happening, but thinking clearly was rather hard at the moment.
Fuck it , he thought.
Geralt stopped trying to understand what was happening and instead wrapped his arms around Jaskier, pulling him even closer.
He returned the kiss, passionately, desperately.
After what seemed like an eternity, they pulled away from each other, both panting for air, Geralt loudly and Jaskier still eerily quiet.
Jaskier was sitting on Geralt's stomach now and looked down at him with a beaming smile, his eyes full of relief and happiness. Geralt propped one arm under his own head and smiled back up at Jaskier. He was certain his face was just as dumbfoundedly happy.
A familiar glint of mischief appeared in Jaskier’s eyes. He reached out his hand towards Geralt's face and pushed his finger against the tip of Geralt's nose.
Geralt wrinkled his nose and snarled.
Jaskier’s shoulders started shaking and he threw his head back. He was laughing, still soundless, but so heavily that he fell backwards and rolled off of Geralt.
"You live a dangerous life, bard," Geralt growled and crawled over to Jaskier who was lying in the grass, holding his belly.
He lay down on his back beside Jaskier, who was still slightly trembling from laughter, and laid his head on Jaskier’s chest. Jaskier started brushing Geralt's hair with his fingers. Geralt closed his eyes. He felt Jaskier’s heartbeat against the back of his head and Jaskier’s breath on his face. They would have a lot to talk about once Jaskier’s voice started working again but for now, everything was perfect.