28 May 2020
It’s during an upbeat evening on his second night with a rowdy crowd that the unexpected happens. The door to the tavern bangs open, hitting the wall with a crack, and in staggers a sopping wet figure with two sword hilts poking over his shoulder and the head of a royal wyvern clutched in his fist.
“Killed your dragon,” the figure rasps, and if his silhouette in the doorway wasn’t enough to give him away, Jaskier would recognize that rough voice anywhere.
Five times Jaskier observed a certain Witcher's senses in action, and one time his own were indulged.
- Part 1 of wildflowers
Bookmarked by syianna
27 Sep 2020
Maybe the worst part, Jaskier muses as he stares into his tankard, is that it’s all so horribly... cliché.
The inconsequential companion – tossed aside the moment that the truly intended, cosmically wedded couple finally meet. Because what chance does he stand – what role could he ever play – that would permit Destiny to place him on the same stage – let alone in the same scene – as witchers and sorceresses?
Geralt had known from the moment Jaskier introduced himself that the bard wasn't human, but he had seemed harmless enough and Geralt wasn't one to chase something that wasn't hurting anyone. It was easier not to mention it.
Jaskier had always had a set of lungs to rival the North wind. By the time he was old enough to put words to his wailing, his poor mother’s head was grey and her heart torn by the babe who had never once stopped crying. There wasn’t a healer or witch she took him to who didn’t say the same thing: there was nothing to fix. They could treat a bruise, bandage the reflections of another’s injuries that sometimes echoed onto his skin, but there was no curing pain that wasn’t his.
Soulmates Share Injuries AU
- Part 1 of What's Mine is Yours
Some songs, Jaskier sings for Geralt only. Too bad it takes Geralt so long to notice.
To anyone else, Jaskier would be just a spot of movement in the darkness. Movement and a soft clear voice, picking up the threads of a refrain, winding them together, letting go again. But Geralt can see him quite clearly.
He rides with his chin up, eyes front, easy with the motion of his horse. He’s within arm’s reach, but he looks far, far away.