#Jaskier's voice sounds like the sad call of a long dead lover calling for their love to come back

[frostedwitch]

When Jaskier is left alone to his own devices in Kaer Morhen he plays with the fantastic acoustics of the old keep. He wanders the cold empty corridors and rooms with high stone ceilings, singing and listening to his notes echoing back at him. On long sleepless nights he can be found alone in the great hall, his melodies surrounding him like a ethereal sirens song.

[babylooneytoonz]

The Vessel [ Pt. 10 ]

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem! Reader

Summary: You go back to Cintra, back in your kingdom and back amongst the people that love you, and your two companions go back with you.

Warnings: Idek?

A/N- Although I decided to have Ciri in my story, Ciri actually does not have any powers in this one, and the reader does. For some reason, Pavetta's bloodline could not have the elder blood in it.

[My Masterlist] [My Witcher Masterlist - Read the other parts here!]

Calanthe had a tight lipped smile etched to her face; this celebration was making her feel claustrophobic and the crackling cords of the lute gave her a headache. On one side sat her husband, the King of Cintra, Eist Tuirseach of Skellige and on her other side sat her granddaughter, the blonde haired blue eyed beauty, Cirilla.

"Spare me the festivities, I can't wait to retire and sleep off all night," she muttered under her breath, her fake smile still plastered on her face, as she acknowledged the lords that bowed their heads in her direction in greeting.

"Calanthe, love, it's her anniversary, you can atleast pretend to have a good time," Eist smiled, his fingers curling around the goblet in front of him as he lifted it and brought it up to his lips, taking a sip.

"Would someone even bother asking me if I like it?" Cirilla scowled, rolling her eyes. If there was one thing she couldn't do, was pretend, unlike her grandmother and her husband, who could give a 1000 watt smile on even the gravest of days.

Eist scoffed, but was met by a glare from his wife, as she turned towards Ciri with a stern look on her face, but not one with hatred, "Ciri, when will you learn?"

"Oh stop it grandmother, not again."

Calanthe let out a deep shaky breath pummeling from deep within her lungs as she sat back, trying to get more comfortable when she spotted one of her soldiers speaking to Mousesack by the gate. She squinted her eyes, bringing her index to her chin as she leaned forward, letting her chin be supported by it. Mousesack's expressions screamed at her that the discussion was not a common one; something was up.

Mousesack craned his neck to his side, discreetly and looked at her, her eyebrow instinctively shooting upwards in inquisitiveness and he blinked, slowly striding towards him until he was leaning next to her and whispering something into the Queen's ears; Eist and Ciri watching them with their eyebrows raised.

"We need to see Calanthe," Geralt said to one of the guards at the massive gates for the fifth time, and the guard asked him for the fifth time back what their purpose for visit was.

Geralt pursed his lips shut, and turned towards you. He looked at you in the eye, and you sighed. This wasn't working. There was no way on earth they were going to let you go in unless you told them what the truth was, but you couldn't risk it. What if they didn't believe you?

"Guards, back away. Let them in. The Queen wants to see the three of them." Mousesack's voice rang from behind them and they turned around immediately, moving out of the way until you came face to face with the a man with greying long hair, although way shorter than Geralt's. He had a pleasant, kind look to him but still, he had caution in his eyes.

"Follow me," He said, his voice not wavering a bit.

You turned towards Geralt who was stiff, and alert too, his eyes scanning the man in suspicion. When you didn't follow him, the man turned and his expressions softened, "I am Mousesack, Queen Calanthe's confidant. I mean you no harm."

"Geralt, I think we should?" You asked, and he blinked in approval, his lips clenched together.

The three of you entered the palace, slowly following the man in front of you. The hallways were elegant and beautifully lit, and a faint sound of a lute filled the hallway. You slowly turned towards Jaskier, and saw him in a daze just like you had expected him to be.

"Jaskier, I'm sorry about your lute," you sighed, and he looked away for a bit, in sadness, his hands held together in front of him.

"You know? Lovers may come and go, but she was forever loyal to me."

"I'm sure you'll find a new one," Geralt grumbled next to you and you gasped, elbowing him in his side.

"Geralt, can you please not?"

He grumbled something again, but you chose not to entertain the Witcher. Instead you linked your hand with Jaskier's, sliding it against his arm until you were holding it and walking, leaning against him.

"I don't think Yennefer will take my revenge on your lute."

Geralt snorted next to you, and Jaskier threw his arms in the air, dramatically and you giggled teasingly.

"I thought you were on my side, [Y/N]. But I see that your priorities have changed."

Jaskier wiggled his brows dramatically and flush crept on your cheeks, your insides flaring up once again. Your heart almost felt like it stopped, and you couldn't bring yourself to take a look at the brooding man walking next to you. Finally, you mustered enough courage to look at him, but when you did, you realized that he was actually grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"You too?" You growled at him and he stopped smiling.

"Jaskier isn't always wrong."

"Hey! I am NEVER wrong—"

"Geralt, I supported you. You're siding with him now?"

The three of you were talking at the exact same time and Mousesack abruptly stopped, turning towards you and all three of you stopped bickering, looking at him with embarassment on your faces.

"We all thought you were dead, Princess."

You looked at him in disbelief; he knew?

"My apologies, I didn't meant to startle you. I'm, uh, a druid. I know things, and I can feel powers. The minute you stepped into Cintra, I felt your presence," you blinked, "and Tissaia de Vries might have told me you would come?" He smiled at you.

"Does she know?" You asked, your voice coming out weaker— as though something was lodged to your throat.

He smiled, and nodded, "She does. She has been waiting to see you ever since the sorceress paid her a visit and told her you were alive."

As Mousesack stopped talking, you looked up to see that you were in a richly furnished chamber but it wasn't the chamber that surprised you, it was the woman that sat nervously by the edge of the king sized bed, her fingers nervously toying with each other. Another young girl stood in a corner, excitement glimmering in her eyes.

"Your Majesty, she is here," Mousesack announced.

Calanthe looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. She glanced at you from top to bottom as though she was trying to fit your memory into her mind. She blinked, ignoring how thick chunks of tears now flew from her eyes and she stood up, almost trembling like a leaf.

"Come here, sweet child?"

You didn't know what came over you. Maybe, it was the fact that you didn't ever experience the love of a mother. Or maybe, you were going to be a mother yourself, so you knew what a mother's role was. You ran towards her, and she almost choked on a smile as you ran into her arms, burying your face into her chest as her fingers began stroking your hair.

"I can't believe it's you, sweet child. I never thought..I'd get to hold you in my arms. Look at you. You're.. grown up," you pulled back, and her palm came to rest against your cheek, her thumb stroking it gently.

"What's your name? I never.. got to name you."

"It's [Y/N], mother."

Ciri awkwardly walked up to her grandmother's side, her fingers clenching the Queen's garment, her blue eyes looked at you.

You looked down at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Meet Ciri, [Y/N]. Your niece."

You sat back, trying to get more comfortable in the utterly soft chair on the Queen's table; your back hurt like a bitch.

Calanthe nodded at one of the lords who took her hand and plastered a kiss against her knuckles and she gave a fake smile before turning to you and muttered, "The child giving you trouble?" Her words ended with a glare towards the Witcher and you bit your lip.

"I'm fine, mother."

"I can't believe you brought that wretched bastard with you, [Y/N]. Men like those, treating our bodies like we are nothing but a fucking commodity."

She took a sip of ale, her eyes not leaving Geralt who stood in the farther end of the hall, drinking ale from a pitcher himself. Jaskier had taken the lute from the bard, borrowed it actually, and was now entertaining the guests.

"Mother, he isn't.. I mean.. I know this all doesn't paint the right picture, but Geralt has been kind to me."

"Kind? You would call a man who used your body just for the sake of having a child? And look where it got you—" She hissed.

"Mother—"

"Calanthe, my love," Eist intervened, and you swallowed the lump forming inside your throat, your eyes fixed on the Witcher.

"Fine but he needs to leave. Before I ask him to leave myself," Calanthe growled.

Your heart sank at this, and to make this worse, Geralt was right there in front of your eyes and your heart aches to go talk to him but you didn't want to anger your mother, especially when you had met her for the first time in your life.

You sat up in bed, drenched in your own sweat, your chest heaving up and down. You had seen the sorceress in your nightmare and she was smirking, holding your baby in her hands. What made it worse was the fact that Geralt was next to her, holding her by her waist, as he bent down to kiss the forehead of his child.

You swiped your palm over your face as reality sank back in and you realized that it was just a nightmare— you were in Cintra. You were safe.

You laid back down in bed, closing your eyes so you could fall back into a deep slumber yet again, only hoping that the sorceress wouldn't torture you in your dreams again.

For a few minutes, you kept tossing and turning in bed, your body churning in discomfort. You couldn't sleep.

You sat up once again, rubbing your belly, trying to comfort your unborn baby, until something struck your mind.

You decided to explore the palace, for this was your first time you had actually been to one, and ironically, this was your home. You slid into your robe, tying it securely around your blossoming waist as you stepped out of the chambers, holding just a candlestick to help you look around.

You wandered aimlessly through the palace confines for a few minutes, exploring.

It was only after fifteen minutes or so, you decided to check out the other tower. Only, you had no idea that the other tower was the guest tower where Geralt and Jaskier were staying the night.

Geralt frowned, squinting his eyes as he threw back his head, downing the contents of the pitcher in one go. He looked at Jaskier, who had a blonde woman curled against his lap, his fingers fondling her thigh. Shaking his head, the Witcher slammed the pitcher onto the table and pushed himself up.

He pushed his way through the overly drunk guests at the celebration, his only goal now to reach his own chambers for the night so he could get a peaceful sleep before the dawn came the next morning.

The hallways were quiet this side of the palace, and Geralt could practically hear the sound of his feet as he climbed the staircase towards his room.

Strangely, his eyes fell on you— you were sitting on the topmost staircase, staring at your hands, a look of exhaustion draped over your face.

"[Y/N].." Your name shot out of his lips like a prayer and he saw you look up, a look of relief reflecting in your eyes.

"Are you okay?"

The concern in his voice was like a sharp knife cutting through your heart, hurting just the right amount. You blinked, giving him the weakest of your smiles as you nodded and stood up. You were now on the top most step, and Geralt was on a step below you, so the man was just the same height as yours.

His eyes were golden, a fire lurking within his irises, his eyes although hollow and devoid of any emotion, for others, you could see a flicker in them, that made a warmth tingle inside of you somewhere.

"Couldn't sleep.. "

"Is it the baby?" He frowned, still looking at you, an inexplicable look on his face. It was only then that you felt something. When you lowered your eyes, you saw his palm pressed to your stomach.

It felt oddly intimate. It was just the two of you, in that hallway, and Geralt had his warm palm protectively draped over your belly— and as though the baby already knew who his father was, you felt a flip in your stomach.

"No, the baby is okay."

Relief filled him, and he gave you a flicker of a Ile before he placed his other hand on your arm and pushed you slightly towards the wall to step up the topmost stair, so he could tower over you.

"She haunts my dreams," you blurted out, although you didn't know why you said it and Geralt looked thoughtful for a bit.

"Mine too."

"In what way?"

Despite the crispness of the weather in Cintra, you could feel your blood running cold and your toes begin to tingle, not in a good way. You could feel the jealousy rise inside of you, and your nostrils flared.

"I see her as a monster."

"Not your lover?" You mumbled.

Geralt took a step closer, and you instinctively took a step backward, until your back was against the wall. The proximity between you two was almost that of a finger length, but you didn't mind.

He shook his head as he took a deep breath.

He smelled of ale and the forest— of nature.

"You're safe now. And so is our baby."

"Until when?"

It was all rainbows and sunshine, until thick black clouds fled up the sky, hiding the sun and it was all dark.

"I—" Geralt began speaking, but almost immediately, he fell quiet, and you blinked, waiting for him to speak but no words came out of his throat.

"What?" You asked.

"Do you regret this?"

The question pulled you off guard as you were least expecting it. Your eyes went from widened to confused, as you tilted you head slightly and placed your palm against your side, parallel to the wall and using it to support yourself.

Did you regret it?

"Which one? Having you use my body to find yourself a motive in life?" You asked, bitterly.

"Meeting me I mean."

"We didn't exactly meet in the best circumstances, Geralt," you chuckled nervously, bringing your palm to your front, your fingers hooking to his locket, as your fingers began toying with it, your eyes fixed on his, "the thing I remember, you fucked me on the Great Mount."

Geralt grunted under his breath, but he still leaned closer, letting his face dip, ever so slightly so that his lips were inclined to yours, aching to be pressed to them. He parted his lips, letting his tongue swipe over his bottom lip, as your fingers began trailing upwards, his locket now forgotten.

Geralt closed his eyes, the instant he felt your fingers run against his chest up to his neck, as you suddenly grabbed a fistful of his collar and pulled him closer, your noses now touching, and your chests heaving out of control.

"Tell me, Witcher, do Witchers dream?" You suddenly asked, your hand flying up to your head as you absentmindedly tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.

Geralt's lips twitched, and his eyebrows creased slightly, as though he was thinking hard. Finally, his face moved slightly, just a light bob, signalling a nod.

"What do you dream of? What did you dream of most recently?"

He blinked, tilting his head, "I saw you. You were in the woods."

You were captivated by him; frozen on spot, and he didn't even touch you, or hold you. It was like there was an imaginary force binding him to you, drawing the two of you together.

"There was a woman long time back, I met her in Blaviken."

You bit your lip hard, a taste of metal flooding your tastebuds. Why was this making you jealous?

"I think I should go." You stepped away abruptly, and immediately took a step around, your hand flying to your heart, as you began fisting your fabric into a ball, your cheeks still heated up. Your steps were fast, and you didn't stop until you were at the end of the hallway when Geralt's voice rang out behind you, and you paused, just for a second but didn't turn around, only to let his words sink in. "Her name was Renfri. And she said something to me— The girl in the woods will be with you always. She is your destiny."

You gasped at the realization, his words slowly sinking into you, settling into everywhere in your body— your mind, your senses, your heart. You didn't look back, and instead you began running, towards the confines of your chambers, for you knew if you didn't, you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from falling into his arms.

The Vessel Taglist:

@kawennote09 @viking-raider @raspberrydreamclouds @pterodactylterrace @singeramg @historianwithaheart @miss-emilia-cavill @ayamenimthiriel @crazynocturnalkiki @xxxkatxo @coffeebreathy @fanaticnae @kmuir1 @little-jana @pineapplemama @auds24 @sassy-pelican @bitchynicole @cavillsim @ragamuffin285 @hista-girl @oliviali0930 @introvertedmouse @madbaddic7ed @libbymouse @nerra75 @maxineswritingcenter @superawesomegeek @waifu4lifeu @funalpaca @petitefirecracker10 @marantha @vikingsbifrost @babypink224221 @jessyballet @strrynigxts @rn7rocks @theroyalbrownbarbie @amirra88

[crowleyellestair]

Silence For Happiness - Geralt

AN/// Sorry for the wait, work and life has been eating away at me. This week should be a large fic dump though, so expect content!!! Thank you for that fact, as I wasn’t aware. This actually make my heart flutter reading that, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart : ) I hope you like it. I tried to make it more playful at the end

For the wonderful @theichabbieclub​

Making baby sounds as an adult woman was weird. It had to be believable, to an extent, and she had to make it seem like it was coming from the bundle in her arms. Truthfully, there was a child size log with a bomb resting in her elbow, swaddled like a child, though their target wouldn’t know the difference. Y/n’s eyes darted from tree to tree while trying to look inconspicuous, shushing the log while bouncing it somewhat. She could hear the snapping of twigs and rustling bushes, though her head stayed forward. There would be no back up until the thing was in the open, though she had yet to receive the signal that Jaskier and Geralt had made it. Y/n scolded herself, reminding herself that she was a warrior, and she traveled with the White Wolf. She could handle anything by herself, and since there was no real child to take care of, she would be fine. There was a plop behind her, alerting her to the thing stalking close. It was go time.

Y/n lit a match against her leather belt, lighting the fuse. Keeping the bundle wrapped, she quickly kneeled, placing it on the ground. She swiftly started to walk away, only looking back one the thing stopped walking after a few paces, its claws picking up the blanket. Y/n sprinted a few more steps away as the bomb went off, flinging her cape up to shield herself from any stray silver shrapnel. The twisted entity in front of her shrieked, from both pain and the realization that the child was fake. When there was no witcher jumping into the small valley, she knew she was on her own. Y/n quickly charged the beast, silver saber drawn. The creature’s long nails swung, but wasn’t fast enough for Y/n to miss a parry. The warrior was reduced to only defensive measures as the beast was relentless. Soon enough, when Y/n had landed enough blows, the creature made a death throw, going all in. It charged the warrior, grabbing her by the vest, talon like hands digging into her shoulders. Her back hit a tree, and the creature pulled back, bringing her along. Again and again the beast slammed the woman into the tree, starts filling her vision, air fleeing from her body. With every strike against the bough, she could feel her spin rattle, and pain shoot through her ribs. After a handful of strikes, she finally noticed the large piece of shrapnel sticking from the deformed woman’s collar bone, and her hand shot out to push it in. The creature dropped her, and she rolled to her sword, swinging at the thing’s legs. She swiftly cut her down, taking of the thing’s head once and for all. Cuts throughout her vest and shoulders were the only visible injuries, though the internal damage was immense.

Jaskier burst through the bushes, lute raised, but his crazed eyes found her sitting, trying to catch her breath next to the headless creature. He dropped it, Geralt bursting through the bushes next, holding a similar swaddle. Her rows raised, trying to take her mind off the pain, silently questioning the bundle in her lover’s arms and the brown, red spread over her best friend’s figure.

“Animals. Dead animals everywhere. I took this part of the contract thinking I’d come out clean for once-.” Geralt’s scoff cut him off, though his tone was soft, and she recognized it as the tone he uses with her wrapped in one another’s arms.

“You didn’t have a choice.” Jaskier swaggered over to the beast’s body, poking it with his foot before holding out a hand to her. She declined, but motioned to the water skin on his hip, trying to take the attention off of how quickly she denied his help. If she was going to get up, it would be on her own time. She could barley breath as ribs were definitely broken, but she would take inventory in a moment. Though, all thoughts of that ended once the bard’s thumb jabbed backwards in the air towards the slowly moving Geralt.

“We found the kid alive and well. A happy ending for all. Do you think we will be named the kid’s Godly parents?”  Y/n’s eyes never left the witcher, her heart speeding up once more, and drowning out Jaskier’s voice. Wide amber eyes were entranced, staring in wonderment down to the bundle in his arms. His entire upper body was stiff, and he was walking as he would when sneaking up to a monster with heightened hearing. A small hand poked out, trying to grab at the lose white hair that swung invitingly over the child’s face. His brows furrowed upwards, looking almost frightened at the outstretched hand. The pain she felt ebbed away at the sight, nothing existing except the love of her life holding the child.

Much ran through her mind in that moment, many things consisting of the future she wished to spend with the witcher. She knew a kid wasn’t in the cards, but somehow, she would try to convince him to collect his child surprise. There didn’t need to be a cottage, stable job, thriving garden or lazy Saturdays to make Y/n happy. She simply needed Geralt in her future to make her future complete, and his happiness was hers. The glow of reigned excitement was familiar to her, often seeing it in her witcher’s eyes when he looked upon her in public. Y/n tried to be as much as she could for the man, though she was aware she couldn’t be or bring everything. But she would try her damndest.

She was taken out of the frequently repeated vows to bring the witcher light and contentment by the brunette plopping down next to her, and bumping his shoulder into hers. Pain flooded the forefront of her mind, and a gasp came tumbling from her lips. Worry painted Jaskier, and Geralt made for her, but stopped when he heard the child in his arms gurgle. Worried eyes flew over her form, and she steeled her looks to present a smile.

“Claws in the shoulder ‘s all.” He gave an unconvinced nod, but looked back down at the child. She slowly got to her feet, giving the same smile to the bard and began down the path where they had decided to leave Roach. Jaskier continued to hover, making the baby giggle, and Geralt was truly perplexed. Y/n wasn’t going to do anything to ruin the time the witcher had with the small child in his arms, so continued to keep her mouth shut about her ribs and back. Once the trio had gotten to the mare, Geralt had a bashful smile gracing his features. Y/n couldn’t help but truly smile in return, until it turned sour at the witcher’s offer.

“Get on Roach.” Usually Geralt would offer her the horse when she was far worse for wear than he, though she didn’t think it was the best idea. Offering it to Jaskier instead would seem to suspicious, let alone the fact that she had never declined the offer before. The only smooth way to keep her off of the horse would be to ask to carry the baby, though she would never do that when he looked so enchanted. Giving a curt nod, she pulled herself onto the mare, her forehead resting on her neck for a moment to regain her strength. Roach gave a worried snort in response to her tense rider, but luckily, neither of the boys noticed. The trio had made their way back into town, Jaskier singing of the spooky lair filled with animal corpses, Y/n keeping in sobs with every step Roach took, and Geralt wishing every happiness to the babe in his arms.

Hearing the bard’s voice, the mother they had met earlier flew out of the house, almost tripping over herself to get to them. She almost bulldozed the White Wolf, her arms wrapping around the baby. Geralt had a hint of sadness in his eyes, though a ghost of a smile was present seeing the baby smile, grabbing onto his mother’s thumb and shoving it into his mouth. The husband rushed out due to hearing his wife cry. A smile broke across his face as he jogged to them, tears streaking his own face. Mariene, the wife, smiled. Her hand reached up to the witcher, cupping his pale cheek. Y/n smile once more, Jaskier playing triumphant background music as the rest of the village left their tasks to surround them. The woman slowly slid down the horse, watching from beside the bard and mare how praise finally rained onto the wolf. Her hand went to hold her ribs, pushing.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Mariene cried. The thanks fell from her lips like a prayer, the witcher shocked. He shook his head and pointed to Y/n, Mariene pointing praise to the warrior as well. The husband, Bernerd, shook Geralt’s hand as Mariene hugged the lights out of Y/n, quite literally. She tried to say something, but the stars flooded her vision. Luckily, Mariene moved to Jaskier, but the bard’s worried gaze flew to Geralt as he called to him. The witcher quickly caught the fainting woman, all joy taken by fear. He was quick to her side, his amber eyes pleading with the bard silently to keep the village attention. They didn’t need a scene, the town loosing too many people to the creature already. He swooped Y/n into a bridal hold, but she started to moan in pain by the hold on her ribs and spine. She tried to arch away, but she couldn’t breath either, not being able to walk.

The woman continued to blink in and out of consciousness, the witcher’s worried voice keeping her earthed. His own pained expression silenced her, her lips sealing so all noises were casted into pained grunts.

“Stay with me, Y/n. Only a few more steps.” Despite her trying to do many things, among them apologizing for ruining his rare moment of joy, she couldn’t stay awake.

//

Jaskier’s voice flew throughout the inn, the melody he sung slipping through the floorboards into their room. Practically the entire village was there, despite everything. The couple had paid in full for the return of their child, the Alderman paying for the trophy of the creature, the innkeeper clearing their tab and the village’s heart once they heard of the whole tale. Y/n had been out cold for a day, and the town wished on every star for her health after finding that she was the one who fought the thing. The couple had brought the child around earlier in the morning for Geralt to see, wanting to see if Y/n had awoken yet. The witcher sat beside her since the healer left, never moving from his chair. His pale hands gently rubbed ointment into Y/n’s stomach as she awoke that night.

Seeing her eyes open to meet his made his mind finally relax. The entire day was spent scolding himself for not seeing the signs. He knew everything about Y/n, trying his hardest to make her happy in anyway he could. The White Wolf never really took to conversations, so he expressed himself by listening, observing and doing. He trusted Y/n to take care of herself, but that didn’t mean that slip ups never happened. Maybe if he noticed sooner. If he had stuck to their routine, checking over her like every other contract, he could have noticed, and they wouldn’t be in this situation. Jaskier had pulled up a chair, sitting and watching next to him the night prior. The bard had also refused to leave or sleep, only getting a wink of rest when he passed out from exhaustion. That too Geralt burdened. The bard took to mending Y/n’s main vest, the claws had punctured holes into it. He had also found water and a sponge for Geralt to wash her shoulders. Jaskier also tried to convince Geralt that it wasn’t just his fault, the bard not noticing or asking either, but the witcher refused.

Geralt would do anything for Y/n, and he put things like checkups in order to keep her healthy. He couldn’t give her things most people want, and nowhere close to what she deserved. But he tried, and this didn’t help show it. He felt as though he failed her, and failed himself. Y/n was his world, and he couldn’t take care of it. If he couldn’t take care of it, he certainly didn’t deserve it.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” He watched as she slowly blinked, taking in her surroundings. Her eyes flew down to her chest, finding her abdomen and shoulders dusted with ink black, blues and yellows with bruises. She sighed, barely trying to sit up before pain shot through her spine and she settled back down.

“I could have said something.”

“I should have noticed.” She sighed again, her hand landing and stilling one of his that continued its butterfly touches as it rubs in the ointment.

“I would have remained silent again.” His face steeled, leaning in closer as his brows furrowed.

“Why? You were harmed, and I could have helped.” She smiled, eyes closing.

“You looked so happy with that baby. I… I know we can’t have a lot, but you deserve the world. A little joy with the expense of some bruising is worth it.” His hand flipped, snatching hers within his, squeezing.

“You are my world. I should be giving you that joy.” She grunted in annoyance, though her eyes were bright as she opened them again.

“You being happy makes me happy.” He grumbled, clearly defused, but something still bugged him as he went back to rubbing.

“Still, I’m sorry for not asking earlier-.”

“Geralt.”

[daisyannewinchester]

The End of All Things

Another picture prompt from this post. This is a sad!fic Geraskefer style. Be warned. It made me cry even just to write it. TW for blood and death.

The fic is under the cut! Enjoy!! 

It’s a bright sunny day as Yennefer strolls down the moss and algae covered path. She sighs and lets the humid air leave her lungs, hiking the skirt of her dress up to stay out of the moss. As she strolls, soulful singing reaches her ears. She follows the sound around the bend of moss covered trees and stops at the edge of a bridge. Violet eyes peer over the edge and down into the dark waters below. The building towers above her, moss covered and weathered. The singing seems to weave in and out of the windows, carrying into the daylight on humid air. Cliffs climb even further than the tower, allowing little light and loads of shadows to be cast over the scene. It is sinister and eerie, but she doesn’t deter, stepping out on the bridge without fear. It is the only bridge that allows access to the building, the rest surrounded by what she guesses is a hundred-foot drop. It creaks under her but holds without fail all the way across.

She steps into the cool air of the building and the crooning grows in volume. The words are mournful, and the lilt is familiar, she cocks her head as she follows it.

“Jaskier?” She calls. “Is that you?”

The singing stops for a moment, echoing of the empty stone walls. The rooms are barren, letting in a little musty light through the arched windows. Her skirt stirs up dust as she walks. She peers into room after room, trying to find the voice. The voice doesn’t respond but she doesn’t need him to, she knows it’s Jaskier. What’s confusing is why he’s here, in an abandoned building, supposedly alone, singing.

“Bard, this place is disgusting. What in Melitele’s hell are you doing here?” She stares around the empty cobwebbed rooms, lip curled in distaste.

“Waiting” is the resonating one-word response she receives. Yennefer still cannot pinpoint where he is. She extends her hand and places it on the dusty wall, willing the walls to speak to her. They tell her no one is here. Yennefer is more confused than ever.

She climbs up the stairs, talking to Jaskier all the while. “What are you waiting for? You alright?”

“I’m alright, Yennefer.” His voice is serene, carrying none of the snark he usually has.

“Where is Geralt then?” She peeks into rooms as she talks. As she goes down the hall a stench fills her nose. She cringes. It smells like dead animal.

“Gone.” Simple. Strange. Yennefer is sufficiently worried.

“What do you-,” her words get stuck in her throat as she enters one of the rooms, violet eyes widening as they settle on the figure in the windowsill. It’s certainly Jaskier.

The bard stands at the window, staring out of it with his back to the witch. He’s wearing a light green doublet left open to reveal a white chemise tucked into green high waisted trousers with dark green detailing around the hem and the poufs of his shoulders. From behind she can see a pool of red staining the seat of his trousers and down the inside of his legs. He turns to her and smiles, grim and forlorn. Her eyes widen as she looks up his body from his feet to his face. He’s covered in blood, it oozes from every hole in his body, dried in his ears, under his nose, out the corners of his mouth. He’s cried blood, tear tracks pronounced on his cheeks. There’s droplets of blood dotting his forehead where sweat would usually gather. His skin is pale and gaunt, round cheeks hollowed out. Horror shivers through her and she starts toward the bard.

“Jaskier! What happened?!”

She reaches for him but when she goes to grab his shoulder, her hand passes straight through his form. He shimmers. If she concentrates hard enough, she can faintly see the window ledge and the cliff face beyond through his translucent body. She reels back and stares at him, ice cold terror a foreign presence in her body.

“Jaskier,” she whispers like the slightest breath will blow him away. “What…” She trails off, unsure where to even begin.

He smiles at her fondly, seemingly unperturbed by all the blood. “I’m glad you’re here Yenn. Geralt already left a few… well. I can’t remember if its been weeks or months. I’m ready to follow him but I just can’t seem to leave.” He laughs to himself, shaking his head and turning back to the window.

“What… what happened, Jaskier?”

“We were on a hunt. A banshee. Geralt took the brunt of it. He’s in the other room.” The bard waves his hand in the direction of the room he is talking about. A few steps and Yennefer can see through the doorway. All she sees is red. She whips around, turning her back to what she now knows is the source of the smell. Her heart is heavy with dread, it races quicker than ever. It weighs her to the floor, and she melts to the ground. Jaskier sits crisscross next to her, seeming eerily unfazed.

“He was protecting me, told me to stay away. I told him it wouldn’t be a big deal if I came along, it was just a banshee. But this one… this one was different. She was so loud. So awful. It was so painful. I’ve never felt anything like it. It was like I was melting from the inside. And Geralt… he just… she screamed and he,” He made a hand gesture of something exploding, “everything. Everywhere. There was nothing left for me to hold. No pendant or sword or any bit of skin or hair.”

Hot tears run down her face, her whole frame shivers as she cries.

“And now he’s waiting for me and I couldn’t go to him.”

Yennefer looks up at his thought blurry violet eyes, “Why not?”

Jaskier gestures to the corner of the room. She looks over to see his lute, broken and streaked with blood, the two pieces only connected by the strings. Jaskier’s empty corpse lies collapsed next to it. His hands are stretched out as if reaching for the lute with his last efforts, blank eyes staring lifelessly ahead.

“I’m tied to it. Some form of elven magic, I’m guessing. I tried to destroy it as I was dying but I perished before I could finish. But you’re here now. You can send me on. Please Yennefer. I can feel him waiting for me.” Jaskier rises to his knees, pleading.

Yennefer bows her head. Her hair falls in a curtain around her face, allowing her the private reprieve to wipe the tears from her face and gather herself together. She sniffs and stands up crossing to the lute. She gathers the shards in her hands and, with one final smile to Jaskier, whispers her curse.

  Nothing happens.

 She frowns, staring down at the instrument in surprise. Focusing her powers, she studies the wood, finding strong magic surrounding the elven wood. Realization dawns with cold dread. She turns to Jaskier.

“This is elder magic, Jaskier. Your lute is protected by very old magic. It cannot be destroyed with common sorcery or by setting it on fire.”

His face falls but he nods grimly.

“It’s alright Yenn. Thank you for trying.”

“There,” she takes a deep breath, “There is something. I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t have the proper conduits and it’s supposed to be performed by a group of elders.”

Jaskier gets up and stands in front of her, grasping her shoulders. She startles. It’s like cold air gripping her skin and she shivers involuntarily.

“Please Yennefer. Please try.” His voice is raw with emotion, a lover’s misery.

She nods, “Of course.” She never wants to deny the bard anything.

Jaskier presses cold faint lips to her cheek and steps back.

She lets he breath slowly slip from her lungs, trying to loosen the muscles in her body. She holds the lute out in front of her and begins her chant. Nothing happens at first and she slows down, about to stop.

Don’t stop.” Jaskier breathes.

She looks up at him and he’s smiling. Color is returning to his face.

She refocuses and channels more power into her words. The wood warms in her hands, burning fiery hot. It sears her palms, but she grits her teeth to the pain and continues. She starts to tremble. The air around her electrifies, the hairs on her arms stand on end and every nerve sings. A glance in Jaskier’s direction shows him healthier, blood drawing back into his skin, face not as gaunt, soft round cheeks making their return with rosy vigor. Instead of looking elated he looks terrified, eyes fixated on the cracks in the concrete under her feet. He looks up to meet her eyes and she smiles at him reassuringly.

Blood drips from her nose. She is sweaty with exertion. It is no longer she that is trembling but the very building around them, stone rains down from the ceiling. The strings burn and melt, dripping to the floor. Yennefer is exhausted. She sways on her feet, eyes blinking long and slow.

Cool, calloused fingertips grip her cheeks and lips press to hers. She kisses Jaskier and pushes out one final surge of power with a scream to the heavens. Stone slabs crack under her. She stumbles but strong muscular arms loop around her waist, pulling her free of the falling floor. She watches her body fall with the crumbling building, twisting and cracking off slabs as it falls. Great plumes of dust rise up to greet them.

She tears her eyes away when Jaskier crows in delight, reaching over her shoulder to pull Geralt down into a kiss. Geralt kisses him like a starved man and pulls away, smiling down at them both. He is scar free and youthful; any signs of aging and stress gone. His eyes are blue with flecks of brown, shining with happiness. His hair is tied back in his signature style, dark brown strands brushing his shoulders. Yennefer’s hands reach up to feel her face and the hump of her shoulder. She is a mix of emotions: regret, shame, fear, dread. Before she can, two sets of hands, one thin and gentle, the other firm and strong, guide hers away. Kind blue eyes peer into scared violet ones.

Jaskier smiles sweetly, nothing but love and adoration in his gaze, “Beautiful, my darling.”

“Stunning,” Geralt rumbles in her ear, still hugging her from behind. He kisses her jawline. She smiles and her worries diminish. For the first time in her life, she finds that that is something that she could believe eventually. With time. She is beautiful.

Geralt offers her his arm and she links them together, reaching out for Jaskier’s hand. Lute calloused fingers link with hers. In between them, she is invincible, prepared to conquer whatever trial the afterlife may throw at them.

[crowleyellestair]

Hello! Can you please write a fic with Jaskier x fem!healer!reader, where after Jaskier left Geralt’s side, he tries to run away from a group of men during war, when he got injured and was left to die. But someone finds him and he wakes up in a house. The woman helped him and healed him. The woman’s daughter {the reader} who is sweet and kind, also helped him to heal and during his stay, they fell in love with each other, and they get married and have children who Jaskier adores to bits!

AN// Wooooow, this was way longer than I had planned. I loved this prompt, and I will totally expand and write a second part of the wedding or like PT if you want (just hmu)

Masterlist

Somewhat slow burn

Warnings: Bloodshed, some what graphic (but not really) descriptions of violence, death

He didn’t know how he ended up here. Well, he knew how he ended up on the battlefield, but he couldn’t place what brought him to the ground. How he got pinned under fallen soldiers and left there was the only question he could ask himself. Other than when the ringing in his ears would fade, that is. It was a blur even still, hours after the fighting had ended.

Jaskier wasn’t a soldier, but he was entertaining a captain of Cidaris as his wife’s birthday had come to pass. She had loved the bard and requested his presence. It’s been years since he had openly travelled with the Witcher. He left Geralt in the Dragon Mountains and lived in Redania, building a large following for himself. He missed seeing the world, but Novigrad had people crawling over themselves to see him. It was also safe as he knew Geralt never visited the site with Novigrad always being flooded by Temerian soldiers, really putting his old friend off.

It had been quite a night at the camp. Smiles shone brighter than the lanterns that burned in the Commander’s tent. People danced with themselves and the local Redanian women who came to see what the fuss was all about.

The first down was the lieutenant. He was silently sitting by the captain when an arrow lodged itself into his right shoulder. The arrow seemed to be for the captain’s wife, who was speaking with the shot man, her body dangerously close to his. Her scream had pierced through the night, and Jaskier thought that’s what was continuously ringing in him. He dispelled that thought after thinking back and remembering explosions and yelling closer to him.

Traveling with a Witcher made him prepare for many things, and he learned to always have an escape route. He had been ready to run, but noticed a child huddling under a table as he tried to flee. Of course, Jaskier wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing he could have helped a defenseless child, and the with the knowledge of the Nilfgaardians never leaving the innocent alive. He remembers helping the boy, seeing the child breach the tree line, but feeling a pull that planted him in the camp. Jaskier remembers the captain trying to help him against soldiers, but as his blurry vision casts itself down and out of his memory, he notices the captain’s body is the one laying on him.

The night is dark and cold, his breath being seen long after being expelled from his body. There was enough pain that flooded him that he couldn’t tell what was really going on. The only way he could tell his eyes were open, were the stars that meshed, creating streaks of light, but not enough to illuminate his surroundings. Though, he didn’t know if he actually wanted to see what was around him. His fear of the unknown hadn’t scared him in years, travelling with Geralt did that to a man, but this was different. This brought back memories of having to watch a monster terrorize his friend from a distance. But he isn’t worried about a monster. No, he’s worried for something worse. Humans were things that even Jaskier feared, and he was one of them. He wished for only enough light that he could see what was just around him. He didn’t know if he had the energy to, but if he knew something was there, he could grab the knife that protruded from the captain’s back, and save himself.

And he almost did just that when a figure entered the edge of his vision. He tried to crawl backwards out from under the body as fast as he could, the knife finding purchase in his hand. His hand shook with such force while being pointed towards the figure that he worried he’d hear a laugh. That whatever soldier that was there to kill him would cackle at his fear before taking his life. His gaze was still blurry enough that he couldn’t make out specific features and his head pounded. The ringing becoming painfully loud as he still scooted back. Though, he stopped when the figure shot two, unarmed hands out towards him, like one would do while calming a cornered animal. He could hear the persons high pitched voice call something to someone he knew wasn’t himself and that made him crawl back again. He didn’t know what would be worse- dying there on the battlefield, or being tortured and questioned as he is known for rubbing elbows with the Northern Kingdoms’ elite. The figure came closer, and his heart pounded. He felt woozy, eyes blinking rapidly, trying to clear the blur and stay open. Though, Jaskier found that it was quite difficult to keep them open. Maybe he could take a small nap and the figure would leave him alone, thinking he was dead? Worth a shot.

With his mind made up, he let his eyes close, and fell back to the ground.

While he dreamed, the thought of the sea. Saltwater spraying against him, and Jaskier chuckling as he moved back from the shore to keep his lute from being wet. The rock he had perched on was perfectly flat and sat a ways above the waterline, so he decided to go back and sit. He had forgone his doublet and settled for a jerkin, letting the warm weather flow through him. It wasn’t as lavish as most of his attire was, but the simplicity sat nicely with him. Looking at the sun, he realized it was his only friend in that moment. It was the only other thing there that shared this beautiful ocean scene with him. He tried to look around for a familiar face when he realized the beach disappeared, and he sat alone on the rock. The sun started to beat down on him, making him remove the thin vest. He asked the sun why- what could he do to make the beatdown easier, but the sun turned a gold amber and sadness flooded through him. It reminded him of someone who once said he’d travel to the coast with him, but just like his old friend, the sun started to be engulfed by the sky. It was an odd purple, and he felt the water starting to rise. He stood, trying to save his lute, but the rock started to tremble. He felt his whole body shift, and he fell into the deep.

The moment of impact in his dream with the water sent him flying up into a sitting position in reality. His eyes were frantically looking and taking in his surroundings, flinching when he took in the two hands holding him. Jaskier’s eyes snapped to the face of a younger woman, who was the owner of the hands that gently pressed into him. Worry was shown in her pulled brow, but a gentle soft smile and accompanying gaze put him at ease. She gently shushed him, pushing his shoulders back to the bed. He assessed himself, looking down and finding green patches and bandages covering his body. He was left in his smallclothes, but a blanket rested over his bottom half, and he almost wanted to throw it off by how hot he was getting. The woman brought a cloth to his forehead, and gently dabbing its cool, wet surface to him.

“W-well-.” Jaskier cleared his throat, gunk and dryness not helping him express his concerns. “Hello…Lady. Might I ask where I am and how I got here? And who…” He couldn’t bring himself to ask. He silently prayed she wasn’t Nilfgaardian, but if she was, he knew that showing his fear could turn fatal for him. The sultry tone that flew from her had him relaxing under the sound, his blue eyes looking at its source.

“I am Y/n of Dorian, though I doubt you’ve heard of me. You might have heard of my mother, though. We came to the campsite when we saw the smoke. Some of Brokilon forest divided us from you, so it took a while to get there. My mother only noticed you were alive when she saw your breath. She brought you here, to our home, to help you out.” Her dabbing continued through her explanation, the cloth helping cool him down. He nodded, knowing Dorian was in Tamarian borders. His eyes fell shut again, letting out a long breath he was holding. Knowing he was safe for the moment put him at slight ease. His eyes popped open again when a thought crossed his mind. He looked back at the woman, hoping she would give him an answer.

“Was I the only one?” The look of understanding fell upon her, as if she had experienced the same thought process before.

“That we know of. We don’t know who joined the soldiers for the party, and not many people seemed to be from neighboring towns when we took inventory. There may have been people who got away, but they must have fled quickly and before the burst bombs shot off.” She fell silent as the cloth made its way to his collar bones, wiping off grime there. Her gaze found his again after it left to recount what she saw. Her face morphed into a hopeful one, that was so powerful that it was felt deep in the bard’s chest. “Though, I know some did. Deep down, I like to think that at least one made it out. The soldiers of the Black Army lost almost double that night, so even if there weren’t, they lost just as much. They felt just as much pain as they inflicted.”

It had been quite the breeze of fresh air to hear what the girl said. He was a lover that tried to never side with violence, but he was still cynical- he still felt pessimism. But this person before him tried to see the brighter side of the situation. It didn’t convince him of the brighter side, knowing that he’ll see those events behind his eye lids for years to come, but it did… something. He couldn’t place it, but the hope stirred him.

Jaskier wanted to ask more questions, but what he presumed was the woman’s mother passed through the door. Handing the woman- Y/n, if he remembered correctly, a list of sorts, and asked for a hurried gathering of the contents. Y/n agreed, exchanging the parchment with the cloth, but before she left, she placed her hand back on his shoulder. Her gaze was gentle, yet somehow forceful, ironically. It seemed as though she was trying to push onto him the sense of relaxation and safety.

“I never caught your name.” Jaskier was fond of her soft hands upon his shoulder. Knowing that he was alive with other living beings gave him a sense of peace.

“Jaskier.” She gave a large grin and a curt nod before leaving the room.

The bard had wanted a way to keep his mind active and off the subject of the week’s earlier events. He became stir crazy, trying to think of anything but. It seemed difficult, especially since he was bed ridden. He hadn’t seen much of Y/n since the first night, but he still found comfort in her mother. Strict and pushy, but enjoyable company none the less. He had a sprained wrist, two long but shallow cuts over his chest and a large wound to his thigh. The wrist was from trying to catch himself as the captain’s body fell on him. The thigh was due to the weapon still left the captain’s hand lodging itself between the captain and his leg. The cuts he remembers are from the edge of a Nilfgaardian’s sword. What a mess, he thought. He didn’t think it lessened his value in any way, but it really kept him from proceeding back to Novigrad- to his home. He didn’t want to be rude to his saviors, but this army was a problem he needed to help fix. Jaskier had contacts, and he was sure he was going to use them to see if there was anything he could do in aiding the survival of innocence in the war. He had spent his time coming up with all outcomes through all of his contacts, and it was only mid-day.

Luckily, Y/n had walked through the door. He hadn’t seen her chipper face in two days, and he was worried he had seen the last of her. She was attractive, there was no doubt about it, but for once, Jaskier was yearning to interact with her on a deep level. Deeper than he would with anyone other than arguably Geralt, though, he didn’t get too far there.

“How is the famous bard doing this fine day?” His heart jumped at the title, and he subconsciously straightened his posture. He smiled at her, the first in a while, and shifted in the bed. He left room on the cot for her to sit, but she was still only half through the door. His brow raised, but didn’t question it out right. Honestly hoping she wasn’t just popping in, he says,

“Lady Y/n how blessed I am to see you. I was laying here hoping someone could save me from my own thoughts. Not that your mother doesn’t do that just fine, I guess, I just haven’t seen anyone really all day.” He lightly scolded himself for rambling. He thought he did fine on the startup, but the end was laughable in his eyes. Though, the thought melted as he heard her laugh pour through the room, engulfing it in warmth. Her giggle weaved itself through her reply and he hoped that he could hear it again.

“Well, that’s great since I’ve come to do just that. My mother had reported that your wrist was doing better. I had to stop by the camp…” She trailed off at the end as if she was deciding what to disclose to him. She softly shook her head, her eyes piercing his before continuing. “I was curious about you- for medicinal purposes, as I wanted to see if anyone could take care of you. You know, family and such, and I found that you were the Jaskier. So, as I said, I was at the camp, and I found this,” she said with a grin that could outshine the sun. She moved fully into the room, showing him that she had found his belongings. But above that, his lute was held carefully in her hands. Any other man would blush in embarrassment at the excited gasp that left him if it were them, but he didn’t care. It only egged her on to bringing it to him. She jokingly bestowed it to him as if it were a knight giving his king a sword. He took it with thanks pouring from him.

“I mean, how did you even find it- or my other bags for that matter. Should I be worried by your research skills? They’re a little too good-.” Another laugh escaped her, and she sat down beside him.

“No, you left your lute case by your bags and you have your name in them.” Jaskier did blush at that, remembering that he did, in fact, have his name embroidered on the inside of his packs. “Your lute was laying safely under a table.” He remembers placing it there when he grabbed the boy that was there.

Jaskier stares at the instrument in his hands, his thumb rubbing one of the strings absent mindedly. There was a calm silence for a long moment before he looked up to her. He caught the blush that lightly dusted her cheeks as his blue eyes were filled with the same hope that hers was earlier in the week.

“I don’t know how I can repay such kindness you and your mother have shown.” Y/n broke the gaze, not being able to handle it, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She breathlessly chuckled before looking up again.

“Such a way with words, bard. How about you pay me in tales? Maybe letting me hear the famed voice?” He flushed somewhat too before vigorously nodding, and lifting his lute.

 “And then I sung to her. Throughout the night, your mother sat there, practically fawning over me-.” He was cut of by a laugh and a loud,

“Excuse me, Julian. I did not fawn. If anything, you had those bright blue doe eyes, begging me to ask for another tale.” He rolled his eyes at her before looking back down at his audience. Two children sat in front of him, one boy, one girl- twins, believe it or not. They shared his longer limbs and blue eyes, but every other feature resembled their mother. The kids were five, but they both looked to be wise and excited by the world. This was the third time in their lives that they had asked how the they had met, and every time Jaskier was happy to recount. Each time however, he embellished a little, adding details of his wife being overly shy and blushing. He would always leave out the details of the night at the camp, never recounting it to anyone other than his wife. Geralt had heard bits and pieces after the friends had made up, but that was a struggle in it of itself, that he didn’t want to pain himself any further.

And the Witcher would stop by to visit, bringing Ciri along to hang with the children, but after the wedding, sights of Geralt had become scarce again. Even when he did reminisce on those times, he decided that we wouldn’t change a thing about his life now.

The family lived just outside of Oxenfurt, Jaskier giving frequent lectures on music and poetry, while still having travelling bard duties. Y/n was a well-known healer in the university town, and their home was just above their little shop. The kids would attend school, but they helped out, patients enjoying the cheerful kid’s company. Jaskier was still stir crazy- nothing would change that, but he would find himself sitting at home, enjoying the domestic life. He would prepare herbs and elixirs while Y/n was busy and he wasn’t, hoping it would brighten her day with the little surprise of help.

And his children. Jaskier was the kind of dad that cared deeply about their success, but he would admit to pulling them from school for a weekend to bring them on surprise trips to theater or concerts around the town. He wasn’t sure if either of them wanted to sing or heal, but it didn’t matter to him. If they were happy, he was happy. He was willing to do anything for the little home he supplied himself. He had even bigger plans for the future, having drown up schematics for a Cabaret for when the kids moved out. He could have Y/n rest and retire, and he would find the perfect manager.

What the bard went through was something that he never forgot. Often, even years after the kid’s did leave the nest, he still woke up in sweats from the flashbacks. But Y/n was always there to calm him. Without those events, he wouldn’t have met the love of his life, and for that he was grateful.