Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He looks through the broken glass and feels his heart break as well.

Geralt is fine, apparently. Jaskier didn’t have to worry, as Geralt is more than fine, fucking the crazy witch. And well, Jaskier knows he’s not as alluring and seductive as her, he knows that he doesn’t have that air of animal magnetism, that aura of magic, but fuck.

He really thought they were heading towards something, him and Geralt.

How fucking naive to think that those long gazes and soft words were anything more than just a fluke, or maybe even his heart’s desperate cry for attention.

Jaskier swallows heavily and turns around, fingers curled into fists, eyes shut tight least he cries there and then. He can feel the elf hovering on the edge, he can feel Geralt and the witch together, the wild passion around them.

Fuck.

“I need to go,” he manages to say to the elf and almost runs towards Roach.

It takes him a few second to grab a new chemise, wipe the blood off and put on a new doublet, messy as it is. Jaskier cards though their belongings and grabs what’s his, slipping a dagger from Geralt’s stash and leaving the one the Witcher gave him a while back.

He won’t be needing a reminder of something so beautiful. A generic, plain one will do.

“Where are you going?” the elf asks and Jaskier shrugs.

“Away,” he says shortly, too heartbroken and jealous to bother with his usual speeches. “I can’t be here. Farewell.”

It’s all he says before starting to walk out of the town that almost saw him dead and the witch that took everything from him after saving his life. Fuck.

Jaskier walks the main road for a while, before turning towards the forest and letting the trees close behind his back. He needed some peace, away from the humans, away from Geralt, from the sight of him on top of the witch.

“Fuck,” Jaskier gasps though the tears, suddenly sliding down to his knees.

He doesn’t want to cry because of the Witcher but it hurts so bad, to almost have something and then see it torn away before Jaskier could even touch it. He bows his head, lets his wings out and cries, the moon shining over him. He loves the Witcher so much and to know that Geralt would just abandon whatever they had forming to sleep with some crazy witch that almost got him killed…

It’s not something that Jaskier can handle. He can handle the insults, being left behind, the lack of talking, everything, but to see Geralt change, to witness something blooming between them only to see it shatter… It’s too much. The whole thing is too much, this land is too much, Geralt is too much.

Maybe it’s time to abandon this little fool’s desire and go back to the real world. His world.

Jaskier takes a few deep breaths and looks up, straightening his shoulders. His wings spread behind him, feathers rustling and he stands up. The lute makes an empty sound as it hits the ground, his bedroll and a bag of clothes following until he’s standing with only a dagger and clothes.

He takes one good look around, enjoying the quiet moment in his heartbreak before his wings beat and he’s up in the air.

Normally, Jaskier would never risk himself like that, but he’s heartbroken and in pain, almost dazed with it. He doesn’t have the patience to find a way to cloak himself and only use the deepest clouds. Humans don’t look up either way.

His heart feels heavy as he leaves everything behind, the land changing to the salty ocean as he flies and flies, meeting the rising sun with a hard face. His wings ache but carry him well, strong and capable. He needs to go home.

He needs to forget the Witcher and everything they almost had.

When Jaskier lands on the familiar cliff, there’s a rustling sound and a figure dressed in black appears.

“The prodigal son returns,” she says, sharp and angry and Jaskier’s smile is full of teeth and danger.

“Certainly not for you,” he snaps back, wings folding behind him. “I have a business to attend.”

“What do you need?”

Jaskier scoffs. She always knew him best.

“To forget.”

She laughs a sad, bitter sound. Her eyes are shadowed and Jaskier straightens. 

“I have just the job for you.”

They fall off the edge together and Jaskier reveals in having a companion up there with him, the owl wings almost completely soundless next to him. They tear through the sky and he sees others wonder, eyes wide. Whispers follow them and Jaskier lets them wash over him, clouding whatever’s left of the human bard. He needs to be someone else now.

The fortress is as imposing and dark as always, and his bright clothes stand out, but Jaskier walks with his shoulders straight and chin high, eyes hard. There isn’t space for weakness here. 

“The commander himself,” Rigel snickers, appearing at his shoulder. They eye each other for a second before hugging.

Jaskier falls into it gladly, almost purring when familiar wing closer over his, offering comfort and understanding.

“Antares,” his friend whispers and Jaskier’s eyes snap open.

“It’s Jaskier now,” he says firmly, unwilling to forget the only name Geralt knew him as. The bard never shared his given name and the Witcher never asked, content to leave it in the past. It hurts to think about.

“Jaskier it is,” he agrees.

Carinae snickers and then they’re laughing and Jaskier feels something fall from his shoulders. He didn’t miss home, but he missed his friends, his family. The only family he knows.

“She’s waiting for you,” Rigel warns. “She’s…happy you’re back.”

The bard laughs and walks into the room anyway, immediately focusing on the back wings and tall woman. Her grey hair is loose around her face, beautiful as always and the dress seems to be made from shadows itself. Jaskier’s heart blooms.

The only mother Jaskier knew turns to face him and her eyes are filled with understanding. She knows that he wouldn’t return unless something happened.

“Did he die?” she asks gently, not moving closer. Her wings spread a bit, offering comfort and Jaskier falls into it eagerly, tears running down his face and soaking her black dress.

“No,” Jaskier whispers. “But I can’t be next to him knowing he will choose anyone over me.”

She just hums, comforting and soft and everything he needs right now.

Tomorrow, Jaskier will dress in black and blue, get his blades and be back in the sky, where he belongs.

Today, he sobs into his mother’s shoulder, grieving what would’ve been.

Chapter Text

It's just a second of thirst, of that strange, insane pull Geralt feels towards Yennefer. It's just a second of losing control and giving into the passion and then the clarity comes back and Geralt almost tears away from the bed. 

“Fuck.”

This is not good. This is really fucking bad, probably one of the worst fuck ups of Geralt's life. 

Jaskier. 

He needs Jaskier, he needs to find the bard and beg for forgiveness, promise that it won't happen again, beg for help with severing that stupid damned wish he made. He needs to pray to any god hs knows that Jaskier will forgive him. 

Geralt dresses quickly and spares a second to think about a shower, but then the urge to find Jaskier grows bigger. He knows that the bard will hate the smell of the witch on him, but that can be solved later. Yennefer doesn’t try to stop him and that just says a lot about what’s between them.

“Jaskier!” he calls, running out and looking around. 

There's nothing. 

“He left,” he hears the elf say, voice soft and kind. 

Geralt growls, panic settling in. “What the fuck do you mean?”

Chireadan just shrugs. “He saw you and Yennefer, went to your horse, took some things and left.”

“And you didn't stop him?!”

The elf shrugs again. “It's not my job.”

Fuck. 

Geralt runs towards Roach and his hands shake when he finds the dagger he gave Jaskier a few years back. All of Jaskier's things are gone, his lute, bedroll, clothes. All of it. 

Jaskier is gone. 

He stares at Roach in disbelief, anger and guilt mixing in his chest. All of this time working towards something, all of those smiles and sweet smell and gentle touches, all of it gone because of a damn wish. 

Because Geralt couldn't help but fuck the beautiful witch. 

“Fuck.”

Jaskier's smell is already fading from the road so Geralt jumps on Roach and urges her into a gallop. She also knows that he's missing, she saw him leave, and she's eager to get him back. They ride until the scent changes directions and Geralt leads her towards the forest. 

It took him less than 2 hours to reach this place but Jaskier probably walked for longer. Walked while Geralt slept in bed with someone else, throwing away everything they had between them. 

He walks into a clearing and then falls to his knees next to the lute. 

Jaskier left. 

His scent isn't going anywhere else so Geralt knows that Jaskier flew away. That means he could be anywhere by now, as flying is much faster than riding. Fuck. 

He looks down at his hands and carefully cradles the lute, cursing himself. A stupid fucking wish made that way because Geralt can't, for the life of him, form a proper sentence and a djin always tries to trick the master. Geralt wouldn't care that much but if it cost him Jaskier then he will find a boat and sail to that damned fae island to find his bard. 

Carefully, Geralt grabs Jaskier's things and brings them to Roach. She nips at his fingers pointedly and he grunts. 

“I know,” Geralt sighs, swinging back into the saddle. “We won't find him now but we can try to find someone who'll get rid of the bond.”

He can already feel a fake tether pulling him back towards where Yennefer is and he hates it. It's not true, not born of affection and years together but of magic and tainted desire. Geralt needs to find a way to break if and then pray to any gods he knows for Jaskier to return to him. 

It's hard, travelling without Jaskier again after he already found him again and then almost got him killed. Geralt grist his teeth and steers Roach towards the next village. He has things to do and people to find. 

The next few weeks are spent looking for a powerful mage that could rid him of the bond and missing Jaskier. Roach isn’t enough anymore, not when he knows what’s it like to have a human-shaped companion that talks to him and sings to him and gives him the brightest smiles Geralt has ever seen.

“Think he will come back, Roach?” Geralt asks one evening, staring into the fire.

Usually, Jaskier is just next to him, leaning against Geralt’s shoulder and either playing the lute or making a flower crown for Roach. Sometimes, when Geralt is lucky, his wings are out, brushing against him.

Sometimes, Jaskier talks about his home, about his family and his past. Sometimes, they compare scars and stories.

Now, there’s none of that. Geralt is alone, with just his horse and Jaskier’s lute as companions, the silence almost overwhelmingly loud. Still, he keeps looking. Keeps taking contract after contract and trying not to miss Jaskier when there’s no warm bath waiting for him after a gruelling fight.

When he’s in a mood and the monster was particularly difficult to kill, Geralt will pause and look around, almost letting himself imagine Jaskier there, grinning at him with violence in his bright blue eyes and wings spread threateningly. Sometimes, he lets himself remember how it is to fight with the fae by his side, how it is to see Jaskier truly work when he’s angry.

Sometimes, Geralt dreams.

Through it all, he keeps cursing himself and the djin in equal measures. Even Yennefer, though she doesn’t really deserve it.

The tug to see her is still there, but Geralt always goes in another direction or leaves before they can talk. He doesn’t want to risk getting lost in the artificial desire burning between them, not when the memory of Jaskier is still so fresh and painful.

Not when Geralt knows why Jaskier left and just what he lost.

“I know who may be able to break it,” Yen says when they meet again, managing to do so before Geralt can escape.

The Witcher turns to her and frowns. There aren’t many ways to break what a djin did.

“I felt the connection weaken a few weeks ago,” she continues calmly. “Something or someone made it easier to break it, and I want to do it. You’re not the worst man I’ve ever met, Geralt, but I will belong to no man.”

Geralt nods. He also doesn’t want to belong to her, not like that. Besides, his heart already belongs to someone else and he doesn’t want to give his body away like that.

“Lead the way,” he says simply.

There’s still the mystery of what or who weakened the link, but Geralt has a suspicion. Jaskier isn’t stupid for all the idiocy in him, and Geralt knows that there must be mages or at least some magic users who may be able to weaken or even destroy the bond. He won’t put it past his bard to do something like this.

It also fills him with hope, as maybe Jaskier will actually return to him. If he knows that it was fake, that it wasn’t really Geralt’s desire that led to what happened in that damned house, maybe he will come back and let the Witcher explain.

All Geralt has now is hope.

The person who may be able to help them turns out to be Tissaia, a powerful and cold sorceress that helps them only because Yennefer is the one who asks.

“Someone powerful meddled with what’s between you,” she says wit curiosity in her voice, eyes glowing. “Magic like I’ve never seen before. If they were closer, they’d be able to destroy the fake bond completely.”

Geralt swallows and nods. “Can you finish it?”

“Of course,” Tissaia says with a smirk and then something in Geralt breaks.

He and Yennefer gasp and the witch slides to her knees and then that tether is gone and Geralt can breathe easier. Thinking back, he can’t recall what was so intense to push him into Yennefer’s bed. Whatever it was is gone, the overwhelming affection for Jaskier blazing in its place.

Geralt’s breathing catches and he fights to stay upright. The guilt and misery hit him tenfold now with the djin’s creation gone, and he almost wants to cry.

“Everything okay?” Yen asks from next to him and Geralt looks at her with wide eyes.

“Jaskier,” he rasps, heart hurting.

The woman frowns, unsure what he’s talking about. “That annoying bard? What about him?”

Geralt shakes his head and leaves without saying anything to Tissaia. He can’t be here, not with everything so fresh again. It’s like what happened in that forest all those months ago, finding Jaskier’s things with the bard missing. It’s like that but stronger and Geralt leans against Roach and closes his eyes, trying to breathe through overwhelming emotions.

“Geralt,” Yennefer says softly from behind him. “Just because the bond is gone doesn’t mean I suddenly don’t care about you.”

The Witcher nods and forces himself to face her. There’s no desire in his gut now when he looks at Yen. She’s beautiful but her purple eyes don’t hold a candle to the blue ones that haunt Geralt’s dreams.

Still, he finds that he still cares about her. Platonically, no desire or love whatsoever, but he wants her happy and content and healthy. She may even be one of his friends.

Yennefer smiles at him, gentler now that the cage holding her is gone.

“What was that about the bard?” she asks curiously, eyes glinting.

“He’s gone,” Geralt says almost involuntarily.

She laughs and shakes her head. “Yes, bards tend to disappear for a while, hmm? I’m sure he’ll stumble back into your life in need of saving.”

Geralt thinks about Jaskier standing over him in front of a werewolf, a sword in his hand, He thinks about soft hands soothing the aches and pains in his back. He thinks of a wickedly curved dagger sticking out of a downer that was about to attack him from behind.

He thinks of the sweetness of Jaskier’s smile and the danger of his eyes and doesn’t say anything because that Jaskier, lethal and wild, is just Geralt’s. He doesn’t say anything and they part not long after.

Turns out that he didn’t need to say anything because not a month later they’re facing down a mad sorcerer and his mutated, giant pet. They’re exhausted and Geralt doesn’t want to believe that they will die here, but the fight is hard and they’re loosing.

The sorcerer is busy with Yennefer and it’s the only reason why doesn’t notice a black blade coming from behind until it’s sticking out of his chest, dripping with his blood.

Geralt looks over and Jaskier is there, eyes completely blue and shining, fangs bared and wings spread wide. His chest goes tight and then his bard is next to him, and they’re dancing around the monster in the mud until it’s down and Geralt can see Jaskier smile again.

“Hey Geralt,” Jaskier says softly, wings dropping a bit. “It’s been too long.”

Geralt stares at him for a second and then pulls him into a hug, mud and blades and all. He feels like he can breathe for the first time in months.

Chapter Text

Dressing in black and blue feels both familiar and strange. Jaskier looks into the mirror and tries to smile, instantly noticing his sharp fangs. He feels more like Antares than Jaskier and he doesn’t like it. Jaskier knows how to laugh, how to make others laugh, how to fall in love with life, while Antares knows how to fight.

The goal here is to merge those two together. Jaskier is too old to be under the illusion that he can be happy and sane while fighting one side of himself. That’s not how it works and he was never good at denying himself anything.

“An-Jaskier!” he hears Rigel call and smiles. His brother may be an idiot but he’s respectful when he sees that something is important to Jaskier.

“On my way!” he calls back, grabbing his blades and knives. Their weight is familiar and calming, different than the silver sword he sometimes used to steal from Geralt. More grounding. “I have to look my best, Rigel, you know that.”

The other Fae snorts and knocks his wing against Jaskier’s, a familiar gesture. They fall into step easily, Carinae following closely. Walking those dark corridors together feels like a throwback into his past and Jaskier isn’t sure he likes it. Being Jaskier the bard gave him the freedom that’s only matched by flying, and he doesn’t want to be caged anymore. Not even my his most beloved mother.

“She wants to see you,” Mother says primly, staring out of the window, her back to them. “And she asks for your help acquiring some ingredients. You were missing for some time, Jaskier, and this will be a good way to get you used to our ways again.”

They all nod and leave, and then it’s a sprint to their favourite balcony that overlooks a huge cliff. His siblings egg each other and Jaskier shoves Rigel from the edge with a laugh, following closely.

Jaskier’s wings open with a louder snap than Rigel’s, but he’s more agile, more prone to sharp turns and ridiculous dances. He races his sister and laughs, falling and rising over the clouds as they fly over their land. The magic is saturated in the very earth of this island, the firestone shining from where it’s lodged between other stones. This is where Jaskier grew up and he still loves this place.

“Did you miss it?” Rigel asks from his right.

“Yes,” Jaskier breathes without hesitation. “There’s nothing quite like flying over the Enchanted Forest and the Valley of Death. Remember how we used to race each other here and in an impressive, if stupid, movement you almost broke your left wing?”

Rigel laughs freely, a truly beautiful sound. “Yeah and then you dove to catch me and we both ended up in the lake over there,” he snickers. “Took us almost a whole day to get back to the castle all sopping wet.”

“Idiots,” their sister snaps fondly, her black and white wings almost glittering in the sunlight. Jaskier chuckles and flies closer to ger, brushing their feathers together. He truly did miss this.

When they arrive at the home of Nemueh, the forest is dark and still around them, the nearby waterfall dropping the temperature. Jaskier pulls out his sword and they approach carefully. Nemueh may have wanted to talk to them, but she’s snappy and easily changes her mind. Jaskier has scars from the times when she decided they’re not really welcome at her home.

“You’re here,” says a familiar voice and they relax but none of them puts their blade down. They’re too well trained for that. “Come in, come in.”

She’s sitting in her favourite spot on the balcony overlooking the waterfall, her iridescent feathers absolutely magical surrounded by water droplets. Jaskier nods at her.

“Well, here we are!” he says, spreading his arms wide with a smile. “What did you want, oh great witch of the old?”

Carinae nudges him in the side but Nemueh smirks and looks at Rigel. “I need a black firestone, from the cave nearby. About the size of a small pumpkin. Be careful not to get killed, my dears.”

Jaskier’s siblings leave without a word, already knowing what’s expected of them. Jaskier sits down in front of her, spreading his wings a bit, and stares.

“You asked for lil’ old me specifically?” he asks lightly, deciding to just go for it. “Why, I’m honoured, truly, a special occasion to be called by the great Nemu-”

“It’s not real,” she interrupts before Jaskier can truly get in the character. 

He tilts his head in confusion. “What’s not real? This? I beg to differ, it seems like the only thing that’s truly real in my adventurous world.”

She shakes her head, eyes narrowed. Jaskier wisely shuts up. “Many things are real, Antares. Your love for the White Wolf, his love for you, your friendship and your skill with a lute. What is not real, is the bond between the Witcher and the witch.”

Jaskier frowns, trying to make sense of what she’s saying. His heart jumps at the mention of Geralt’s love for him but that’s not the most important things right now. He can squeal about it later when he’s alone in his room and has a pillow over his face.

“How can you know that?” he asks instead of doing something embarrassing like crying or squealing.

Nemueh snorts, waving a hand in the air. Her magic conjures an image of the djin bottle and then the major’s house.

“Your Witcher made a poorly-worded wish and bonded the witch to him. It’s not real. It’s the djin’s magic that tugs them together and none of what happened was because either of them truly wanted it.”

Jaskier feels his breathing almost stop. His wings drop and his hands start to shake. If this is truly the case, if Geralt really didn’t want the witch… Maybe what was between them was real and will stay that way. He swallows with difficulties and nods.

“Can you break the bond?”

The witch looks at him in silence for a second. “No,” she replies. “But I can weaken it so that someone else will be able to break it.”

“Can you do it?” he asks eagerly, almost jumping in place.

Nemueh looks at him with her unsettling green eyes. “Not for free.”

He snorts. “Obviously, nothing is for free.” He spent enough time as a human to know that and Fae rarely deal with favours either. “Name your price.”

He’s pretty sure there’s almost nothing he wouldn’t do to make sure Geralt is free of whatever magic clouding his judgement.

“There’s a feral Amphiptere in the Holy Mountains. I need the heart and the brain,” she says calmly, though there’s a wicked glint in her eyes. It was common knowledge that Jaskier never liked dealing with monsters, but joke’s on her. He spent 10 years with Geralt helping the Witcher on hunts. He’s almost an expert.

Well, not really, but they didn’t need to know that.

“Deal,” he agreed quickly and they shook hands. Magic took hold and they were both bound to keep their word. “I need to prepare but give me 2 weeks.”

One week to prepare and one to hunt it. Amphipteres were though ones and notoriously difficult to find, but not that different in habits from a wyvern. And well, Jaskier has some experience there, so he thinks his chances are pretty high.

He exits without another word and hums to himself while waiting for his siblings. They return dirty and messy but relatively injury-free.

“What did she want from you?” Rigel asks on their way back home.

“She told me a secret,” Jaskier says with a smirk. “An important one. And gave me a contract because of course she did.”

“Contract?”

He snorts. “Sorry, mission. A force of habit.”

His sister looks at him softly and squeezes his shoulder when they land. “Tell us about him?” she asks quietly, unusually soft.

Jaskier smiles and nods, heart softening as well. He won’t be returning to Geralt soon, there are still things to do here, but he can share. He can tell them the story of his love.

That night they sit on the roof with bitter wine and sweet bread, and Jaskier spins a tale of monsters and lonely men and adventure and humans. His siblings listen and let him cry a bit, and Mother comes in the middle, settling next to him, shielding Jaskier with her wing. He leans into her and loses himself in the memory of Geralt’s eyes.

Next week he sets off to the Holy Mountains alone, armed with his blades, some food and a few potions if things go wrong. Jaskier doesn’t hate being alone for all he loves people, and hunting alone has its charms. He lets himself get lost in the song of the mountains and the thrill of stalking a monster.

When the confrontation finally happens, he doesn’t ket himself miss Geralt next to him. This is his and his alone and he earns a few deep cuts, loses a fair bit of feathers but finally plunges one blade through the Amphiptere’s heart, panting.

“That was something,” he says to the silent forest around him, plopping on the ground next to a carcass.

Carving the heart is just disgusting, he hates it and then wishes that Geralt was here because his Witcher never minded some gunk on his hands. Jaskier, spitefully, just takes the whole head and gleefully drops it in front of Nemueh, dripping blood. He really gets why Geralt enjoys doing it so much.

“There you go!” he says brightly, still dripping blood. “That was very fun, though I wouldn’t recommend doing it alone, the fucker is very long and twisty, let me tell you, he almost got me with that tail, I barely escaped with my life and-”

“I get the picture,” she snaps, clearly unhappy but willing to honour their promise.

Jaskier smiles, bright and a bit spiteful. “Now for the payment.”

“Take a bath first,” Nemueh insist. “I will not have you dirty my home like that. There’s a stream nearby.”

He almost whines but goes, just washing off the worst from his armour. His wings are a mess and his hair is even worse but he’s eager to get the damned bond broken or weakened or whatever it is she wants to do.

All in all, the whole process is rather anticlimactic. Nemueh closes her eyes, Jaskier feels the magic in the air, something snaps and then it’s over. He doesn’t feel any different but it’s not about him. It’s about Geralt and, gods damn it, Yennefer who deserves more than to be chained to a man she barely knows. Or chained to anyone really.

Jaskier thanks the witch and leaves without any word, a rarity for him. He learned a long time ago that Nemueh was not one to sass or test in those regards.

On the journey back to Darkstone, Jaskier lets himself enjoy the air. He loved being on the Continent, he really did, but nothing comes close to soaring above the Isle, clouded in magic and saturated with freedom. It’s an illusion, he’s well aware, but there’s no deception in the wind under his wings and the views passing by.

He laughs and loops in the air, closing his eyes briefly. It feels weird, to be back here when he knows he’ll be leaving. Not now, Jaskier wants to enjoy himself for a while longer, but soon. He belongs somewhere else entirely.

And so Jaskier flies, letting minutes pass, playing with some birds at some point, brushing his fingers against their delicate feathers. The air smells like salt from the ocean and the forests are lush underneath him, swishing with the wind as he flies. Once or twice a Royal Griffin joins him and Jaskier flies by its side, enjoying by its side when it doesn’t want to kill him.

Rigel and Carinae are waiting for him on the balcony and then he’s tugged into training where Mother thoughtfully kicks his ass until he improves.

Jaskier goes to sleep bruised but happy, staring at the painted ceiling of his childhood room. There’s a lot of blood soaked into the floor, his own blood, but there are good memories still. Jaskier has never been the one to focus on the negatives.

Sometimes when he can’t sleep, he thinks about what would’ve happened if he didn't realize that it was all a djin’s doing. Well, not him but Nemueh. What would’ve followed, with Geralt so enchanted? He doesn’t sleep at all those nights.

“I need to go,” Jaskier announces at breakfast one day, making everyone pause. 

Mother gives him a sad smile and Rigel squeezes his shoulder. “Well, we had you for some months,” he chuckles. “But visit more often, maybe? Maybe with your Witcher?”

Jaskier laughs, imagining Geralt in the land of magic. He would fit right in. “Maybe,” he shrugs. “I’ll return.”

“You’ll keep returning, my dear,” Mother says calmly. “You’re not the one to return anywhere, Jaskier. You’ll keep returning and going away and you’ll be free doing that. And we’ll be here. As will your Witcher.”

He can feel tears in his eyes and just nods, choked up. Packing takes only a second and then Jaskier is standing on a familiar cliff where Carinae found him all those months ago. His siblings hug him tightly, their wings following and Jaskier takes strength from his sister, takes comfort in Rigel’s soft feathers.

Then, he gives him a cheeky smile and throws himself off the cliff, laughing when salty air hits him square in the face.

Tracking Geralt is surprisingly easy by air and with some magical help and then Jaskier sighs when he gets closer to his Witcher’s location only to hear a loud roar. Of course. A fucking monster.

He lands soundlessly near the battle and ignores Yennefer, instead of focusing on the unhinged man swinging spells around like an idiot.

In the end, it’s stupidly easy to sneak behind him and run the man through with his blade. The corpse isn’t even down when Jaskier jumps to Geralt’s side like he was born to be there, eyes shining completely blue, wings spread.

The monster has too many fucking heads but there’s two of them and they always fought well together.

“Duck,” he calls happily, cutting through yet another head. When Geralt pulls him close to avoid a tail Jaskier hums, pleased, and throws his magic at it, pinning it to the ground.

It feels like a dance, like coming home and training with the best partner in the world, one who knows all of your moves. It’s breathlessly perfect and then it’s over and he’s in Geralt’s arms. Jaskier melts into them, closing the Witcher in his wings, heart thrumming happily.

“Jaskier,” Geralt murmurs in that deep, soothing way of his. It’s as if nothing changed and Jaskier relaxes into it. 

“That’s heartwarming,” comes a sharp, amused voice and the Fae pulls away with a frown, baring his fangs at the sorceress.

Yennefer is looking at him with that damned curiosity in her eyes and Jaskier just knows how much he wants his feathers, his power. He grips his swords tighter and meets her gaze with his own, the blue to Geralt’s black.

“Glad to know we can count on you to help,” he snarks back, leaning against Geralt.

“You had it under control, Fae,” she damn near purrs, eyes alight with power. “Not something you see every day, I must admit, a Witcher and a Fae fighting side by side.”

“Yen,” Geralt interrupts before she can say anything more. “That’s enough.”

She huffs but surprisingly stops, eyeing them critically. “There are hot springs nearby and not a village in sight.”

Jaskier looks down and winces when he sees all the mood and grime on his armour and wings. That’s going to be a bitch to clean.

“Thank you very much,” he says with false cheer. “Come along, Geralt, you don’t look so good.”

No more is said as they walk into the small cave where they both can hear the water. It’s warmer there, humid and a bit tight, but the water seems clear and has steam rising from it. Jaskier shudders happily at the sight of it but carefully doesn’t look at Geralt. It all still feels too fragile.

They don’t look at each other as they undress, wet, mud-coated clothes falling to the ground and Jaskier feels like his heart is about to jump from his chest. He can hear even Geralt’s heartbeat pick up as much as it can, and he bets they both reek of nerves and tension.

Finally, they step into the water and he can’t help but moan at the perfect heat of it. Geralt makes a small, choked sound next to him and Jaskier’s eyes snap open. They gazes meet and for a second, everything is tense and weird as their eye-colour returns to normal.

Then, Jaskier allows himself a smile and lays a hand on Geralt’s chest. The Witcher covers it with his own and they stand there for a second, uncharacteristically silent.

“I missed you,” Jaskier admits softly, heart racing. It starts beating even faster when he sees the gentle and soft smile on Geralt’s face, his gold eyes shining.

“Missed you too,” his Witcher replies, words stilted but honest.

Jaskier smiles and grabs Geralt’s hand, leading him deeper into the water. His Witcher grabs some oils and salts and together they submerge in warm water, easing off the pains of aches from the fight.

It’s like any bath they shared before and yet so much more. The air is still tense but now it’s not the bad kind of tension. It’s the anticipation of what’s to come, like the air before a storm, that makes Jaskier’s feathers stand out. Even now his wings twitch and Geralt takes notice.

The Witcher stares at him in silence, and Jaskier knows him well enough to tell that he’s gathering the courage to ask something. The bard doesn’t interrupt. They aren’t in a hurry and sometimes, Geralt needs to vocalize some things himself.

“May I wash your wings?”

Jaskier gasps and his wings twitch again, heartbeat picking up. He knows Geralt is aware of the magnitude of what he just asked. He told his Witcher of that custom a long time ago and he knows what this moment is - it’s Geralt asking if Jaskier still trusts him. A stupid question really, as the bard never stopped.

“I’d be delighted to let you,” he answers truthfully and turns around, fearlessly showing his back to the Witcher.

Whatever happens next, whatever they say to each other, Jaskier knows that they’ll be okay. They will recover from what happened and even if all that’s left is friendship, Jaskier will be content. There’s no one in the world he trusts more than Geralt.

The first touch is hesitant, like Geralt doesn’t want to hurt him but Jaskier lets out a little happy sigh and the Witcher grows bolder. His touches are slow and careful but through, carding through feathers, getting out all the mud and dirt from between them. It feels heavenly and is a response to all the times Jaskier washed Geralt’s hair, the bard knows that. It’s a return of trust, a show of intimacy. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, they both relax into it. Jaskier’s wings start moving with Geralt’s toucher and his Witcher moves them around as well until they’re both smiling. It’s still silent, still strange because Jaskier doesn’t know what to say and this doesn’t feel like a moment for stupid blabber, but there’s something more now too.

When Geralt pushes at his shoulders to dip in the water, Jaskier goes easily and then shakes off his wings, making the Witcher snort. For a second, everything is silent and then Geralt surprised him by wrapping a hesitant arm around his waist and pressing his chest against Jaskier’s wings.

The Fae stills, eyes wide, but doesn’t tense. This is a lot like what they had before Yennefer entered the picture and he’s scared, oh so scared, that everything will go to shit this time as well. Geralt, feeling the sudden stillness, wraps his other arm around Jaskier’s waist and kisses his shoulder. Jaskier sighs and leans back a bit, squishing his wings a bit.

“It was the djin,” Geralt says into his ear. “None of it was real. It never would’ve happened without that fake bond.”

Jaskier nods, eyes closed. “I know, Geralt,” he assures. “I know you.”

“Whatever I felt for her, whatever the djin made me feel… It was nothing, compared to what I feel for you,” Geralt mutters, voice quieter now.

“Geralt-”

“Don't,” the other man says before Jaskier can continue. “Let me, before I- Let me.”

So Jaskier nods and feels Geralt rest his forehead against his shoulder, his wet wings pressed between their bodies. Even though they aren't looking at each other, it feels intimate. They're alone in the warm water, closed in their own little bubble and Jaskier's heart feels like it's about to jump out of his chest. It feels huge. 

“I know there was something between us before-before the djin,” Geralt continues. Jaskier knows just how much it costs him and it only makes it mean more. “It never stopped, for me. I'm… I love you, Jaskier. Even with the bond, everything, I still- It never went away. Not for me.”

Jaskier stares at the wall, his eyes welling up with tears as a sob escapes his lips. Slowly, he turns around in Geralt’s arms and cups his face, hands shaking. They stare at each other, gold on blue and Jaskier never felt more alive.

“I’m sorry I hurt you like that, I never wanted to-”

And he just can’t listen to that, not when he knows what happened, how much it hurt Geralt as well, so Jaskier surges up and kisses his Witcher, soft and passionate. Geralt makes a startled sound but quickly melts into the kiss, rough hands settling on Jaskier’s waist, pulling their bodies even closer.

It’s wet, almost too wet and too warm but Jaskier lets his wings close around them anyway until they’re pressed as close together as possible and somehow, their bodies just fit together like they were made to be like that. Jaskier moans at the thought, pressing even closer, licking into Geralt’s mouth.

The Witcher returns the favour, carefully pressing his tongue to Jaskier’s fangs, so the Fae nips at it playfully. It makes Geralt chuckle and that, in turn, makes Jaskier laughs and then they try to press closer and Geralt slips.

They go down with two surprised shouts and then emerge spluttering but laughing. Jaskier looks at his grinning Witcher and his heart blooms, his magic with it.

The cave lights up blue and gold, subtle and twinkling in the crystals and yet Geralt is the most beautiful sight there. Jaskier’s laughter dies down and he can’t help but kiss the other man again, softer this time, more loving.

“I love you, Geralt,” he whispers against Geralt’s lips, like sharing a secret. “I will always love you, no matter what happens.”

“Even if-” Geralt starts to say but he kisses the Witcher before he can go any further.

“You can doubt that the sun will rise in the morning, Witcher, but never doubt my love for you. No matter what or when or why.”

Big golden eyes stare at him in surprise and then Geralt’s face melts into softness and adoration, pupils wide and round. Jaskier chuckles, pressing a kiss to Geralt’s cheekbone, his thumb rubbing over the edge of his jaw. Careful and soft, just exploring.

“Do you want to travel with me again?” Geralt asks in trepidation as if Jaskier wouldn’t follow him to the edge of the world and over it.

The bard smiles softly. “Always,” he promises. It’s a promise he intends to keep, even centuries from now. Because well, he intends to find out what happens when a Witcher retires.