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Geralt sighed wearily as he finished setting up camp under the fading sun, glancing over his shoulder to surreptitiously look at Jaskier. The other man had already set up their bedrolls and had taken a seat on a felled log, strumming away at the lute in his hands. Normally, Geralt would complain about Jaskier’s reluctance to set up camp, but the bard seemed blissfully happy as he sat there creating music. Geralt couldn’t find it in him to disrupt the beautiful melody. Anyways, the stifling weather near Toussaint would make any man lethargic and he had noticed the younger man suffering from the heat earlier on. He would let the issue lie for tonight.
With a huff, he turned back towards Roach, untacking her and brushing the dust out of her hair. She deserved to be pampered, especially since she had carried them so far today. He became so preoccupied with his task that he didn’t notice the shift in the air until his medallion began to shake violently upon his chest. In one swift motion, he pulled the silver sword from its sheath and turned to face the campsite.
Nothing. He glanced over the campsite once more, hoping to see what had caused such a powerful fluctuation of chaos, but all he found was Jaskier with a raised eyebrow and a playful tilt to his lips. “If my playing was annoying you, you could have just said. No need to take out your sword.”
Geralt grunted, still on edge from that unexpected flare of chaos. “No. My medallion,” he explained, hoping that Jaskier would understand.
Immediately, the bard tensed, holding his lute tighter as his eyes darted around their surroundings. “Is something here, Geralt?”
“Yes,” a soft voice hissed from the shadows in the trees. Or was it coming from right behind his shoulder? Geralt couldn’t be certain, and given the way Jaskier jumped at the response, he would bet that the bard had just experienced a similar sensation. A shiver shot up his spine as he spun helplessly around, desperately trying to pinpoint the location of the intruder.
“Calm yourself, witcher. I mean you no harm,” the lilting voice said, the words reverberating through the small clearing. “In fact, I am more interested in your bard.”
Geralt tensed, glancing over to said bard who had perked up at the mention of his name. “I’m actually my own bard, but yes, I am the famous Jaskier, singer of the White Wolf’s exploits! How may I be of service…” he trailed off, waiting for the creature to supply their name.
A laugh rang through the space, rattling their bones and nerves with equal strength. “Jaskier,” the voice repeated, as though they were testing out the way it rolled on the tongue. “You shouldn’t go sharing your name with strangers, Jaskier. There’s great power in a name.”
Geralt cursed under his breath, suddenly certain of the danger they were in. “We have no business with you, Fae. If this is your territory we will leave immediately.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement and turned to face it. The fae was tall and lithe, something common for her kind, her eyes bright and curious with flawless, pale skin. She would look like a beautiful human woman were it not for the pointed teeth and sharp nails. “Stay your blade, Witcher,” she commanded, looking unfazed by the silver sword.
“Why should I?” he gritted through his teeth, shifting the sword closer to the long column of her throat.
She smiled cruelly at him before taking a step closer. “Because, I know the name of your bard.”
“All the more reason to kill you!”
“Oh for fuckssake, stop your pissing contest.” Geralt looked up and saw Jaskier strolling in their direction, his natural swagger back in place even though the bard still stunk of fear. He strolled right up to the fae and put a hand on his hip. “What can I do for you, milady?”
There was a pause in that moment, each party uncertain what would happen next. The silence was broken by the intruder, with a smile spread on her terrible face. “I heard you playing. You’re quite good. Pretty as well.” Geralt rolled his eyes as Jaskier preened at the compliments paid to him. Yes, the fae was telling the truth. Jaskier was an expert in his trade and no one could deny he had handsome features, but Geralt did not like that this fae was taking interest.
“Yes, well I am an Oxenfurt graduate. I am knowledgeable in how to play more than just instruments.” With a suggestive eyebrow waggle, Jaskier inched closer to the woman. Geralt sighed, exasperated by his travel companion’s insatiable ego and libido, and yanked him back.
“Stop it.”
“Nope,” the bard easily replied, keeping his eyes glued to the fae.
“As I was saying, you play well, bard,” the fae said, a haughty smile teasing at the corner of her lips,”—but I play better.”
Geralt felt the tension build in Jaskier’s body, immediately tightening his hold on the younger man. While the bard was generally a genial man, his temper could turn hot at the slightest provocation, especially when someone questioned his musical talents or when someone was rude to Geralt. Predictably, the bard’s smile tightened, turning feral and cold. “I beg your pardon?”
The fae stalked towards them with a predatory glint in her eye. “I said that you play excellently, but I think I play better than you, Jaskier.”
Jaskier’s eyes narrowed as he let out a scoff and Geralt sighed, knowing that there was no way Jaskier would let that accusation stand. There was no way they were getting out of this. Fuck.
“Not fucking likely!” Jaskier replied through gritted teeth, looking as though he would physically fight the woman if Geralt let go of him for one moment.
“Let’s make a deal then,” the fae cooly responded. “We each play a composition of our own making. If you win, I’ll take back my words and give you my prized lute.” With a flourish of her hand, a lute made of pure gold appeared into existence. Geralt could see Jaskier’s eyes widen in astonishment as his hand drifted towards the instrument on its own accord. She snapped her fingers, making the instrument disappear into the ether and snapping Jaskier’s attention back to the bargain. “But if you lose, you must come with me to court and spend the rest of your days with me.”
“No,” Geralt coldly replied, keeping a firm hold on the bard’s shoulder. “We won’t be fooled by your trickery.” He looked down to make eye contact with his travel companion, silently pleading for him to follow his lead, but the bard ignored him, deep in thought.
A moment of silence passed before Jaskier spoke. “If I win, you must also promise to leave both of us unharmed and relinquish the power you have over our names.”
Geralt raised an eyebrow, shocked at the shrewdness with which Jaskier chose the terms of the agreement. Most would have taken the deal without considering the possible loopholes, but Jaskier was more cunning than he often let on. The fae scowled, but nodded in agreement.
“No,” Jaskier said, “I want you to say it.”
The fae chuckled at the bard’s insistence, before nodding once more. “You’re clever. More clever than most men, anyway.” Jaskier remained unmoved by her words, glaring at her until she relented. “Fine. I promise to agree to the terms laid out before me.”
With those words, Jaskier smiled brightly and nodded. “Alright, then we have a deal.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt hissed, pulling the bard back by the collar of his doublet. “A word.” Without giving the younger man the time to protest, the witcher dragged him a few feet away from the fae, who had once again conjured her lute and began to tune the instrument. “What the fuck are you thinking?” he hissed at the bard, his fear translating as anger through his words. “She’s going to kidnap you!”
Jaskier looked up, insolence flooding through his features. “First off, I am not a child, so she would be abducting me, not kidnapping. Second, it doesn’t matter because I am going to win.”
Geralt blinked. He almost believed the bard when he said it like that. Like his victory was an inevitability, something not to be questioned. But the bard’s hubris could be his downfall, like so many others before him. “Jaskier, you have never heard her play. You don’t know how skilled she is. She could have been playing the lute centuries before you were even born!”
Jaskier shook his head, tutting at Geralt’s worry like a mother would chastise an errant child. “Please, Geralt. She’ll rue the day she challenged me. I’m the best there’s ever been.” With a wink, Jaskier detached himself from Geralt’s grasp and sauntered over to his instrument. Geralt watched him walk away, struck dumb with shock. They were doomed.
Geralt sat down on the same log Jaskier had been occupying mere minutes beforehand, when it was just like any other night. Now, he watched as two musicians tuned their instruments for a duel that would determine their future. His hands stayed on his sword, watching the fae woman intensely. He knew it would be foolish to attack her now, but keeping a tight grip on the silver weapon made him feel safe. Useful, one might say, even though he was aware of how out of his depth he truly was.
After a few more moments of fiddling with strings and knobs, the two musicians stood up, both with intense expressions etched into their faces. Geralt noted that the previously confident look of Jaskier’s face had solidified, creating an armor that no words or doubts could penetrate. It was comforting to see Jaskier so sure of his victory. Maybe this wouldn’t be a complete disaster.
“I’ll start,” the fae said, gracefully lifting her lute into position. There was a moment of anticipation, where the silence poised all parties on top of a great precipice. With a deep breath the fae began to strum the instrument, allowing dulcet tones to reverberate throughout the small hollow. The tune started off at a fast pace—a tempo, an inner monologue that sounded strangely like his bard, swiftly corrected—and Geralt felt his heart sink. She was good. Very good. Even though he was no musician, he could hear that the notes easily combined to create a wave of infectious sound and rhythm. If Geralt weren’t a witcher, he would be dancing a jig on the spot. Although Jaskier’s music often had the same quality, Geralt couldn’t guarantee that the bard would come out on top.
The witcher risked a glance over to the bard who watched his opponent with an impressed expression etched onto his face, but his body remained lax with ease. Jaskier showed no sign of anxiety, a fact which pissed him off. Did the bard think this was a game? That this was a silly test that they could lose and later finagle themselves out of? At that moment Jaskier turned his head slightly, catching his gaze for a single second. The bard nodded assuredly at Geralt, as though he thought it would be comforting. Jackass.
Both of their attentions were drawn back to the fae when they heard new melodies joining the fray. The witcher was shocked to find that other faes had appeared out of thin air holding multiple instruments and had suddenly begun to provide back-up to the lutenist. As the sweet melody was accompanied by soaring harmonies, Geralt felt his blood begin to boil. This was not a fair fight. Jaskier was human and didn’t have the ability to conjure up an orchestra on a whim. He only had the lute underneath his fingers. How was Jaskier meant to compete against that?
He turned once more towards Jaskier and saw the first glimmer of doubt shining in those blue eyes that had become more familiar to him than his own. To most the bard would appear as unflappable as ever, but the tension crinkling the fine lines beside his eyes and the white knuckles grasping tightly at his lute were signs that Geralt knew well-enough. Just as quickly as the bard grew doubtful, Geralt observed a hardening of his determination. He watched Jaskier roll his shoulder back into place and glare at the fae, whose song ended with a spectacular final note.
The final note reverberated through the small clearing that once again was empty save for the three of them. With a growl, Geralt stalked towards the fae, itching to take out his silver and cut the monster where it stood, but he stopped a foot away from the fae. She just looked at him with a bored expression, strumming idly at the extravagant lute in her hands. “Liked it?” she asked with a cocky tilt to her mouth.
“That was not part of the bargain,” Geralt growled, using his size to tower over the fae, but he grew even angrier when she continued to stare at him as though he were an overgrown puppy dog; annoying, but, overall harmless. “You were meant to play against each other, no one else was meant to join.”
A callous laugh met his ears, the fae regarding him as though he were an unruly child, and unfortunately, that was not an incorrect comparison. Geralt knew that he had no power here. They were at her mercy. “Actually, I said that we would each play a composition of our making. I never said that we had to be the only ones playing. My composition just required proper accompaniment.”
Geralt glared at her, but was only greeted with a shit-eating grin. “Of course, if the master bard requires accompaniment, he can summon some.”
A growl fell past his lips as he loomed over the fae, powerless against her machinations. She’d tricked them. Of course she had, she was a fae, but he had hoped that Jaskier’s scrutiny of the contract’s language would have saved them from this. Apparently he had hoped in vain.
He looked over shoulder towards the bard and found Jaskier’s face pinched in consternation. It would seem that the bard had also missed this loophole. Jaskier’s scent grew more sour by the second as the futility of their situation dawned on him. That scent of fear covering the floral scent he had come to love and search for to find comfort. He couldn’t stand Jaskier being cheated like this.
“The bard has no magic. He has no way to conjure an orchestra out of thin air.”
The fae shrugged, glancing down at her nails with feigned disinterest. “I’m afraid it’s a ‘bring your own band’ sort of event. It seems as though the bard will need to perform without accompaniment. But of course that is no issue for you, is it Jaskier ?”
As she hissed out his name, Jaskier stiffened and clenched his jaw indignantly. Geralt knew there was no way for the bard to back down from the challenge, and from the coolness in Jaskier’s eyes, the bard knew the same.
“It’s no trouble at all,” Jaskier said, the faint waver in his voice the only indication that the bard was nervous. They shared a look as Jaskier positioned his lute in front of him. Geralt tilted his head as he met Jaskier’s gaze, uncertain what the bard meant to convey through his fervent expression. All too soon the moment passed, as Jaskier straightened his spine and strummed the beginning notes of his song.
As the notes echoed throughout the woods, Geralt’s eyes widened. This was a song that he had never heard before. Well, that was not entirely true. He had heard snippets of the soothing melody in moments when the bard did not believe him to be listening. Sometimes when he returned to camp after a hunt or when they had been wandering down a lonely dirt path Geralt would hear the starting notes of this song, but Jaskier would immediately stop playing when he noticed Geralt’s presence.
Although he would never admit it, Geralt was hurt by this unusual secrecy. Jaskier was many things, but quiet was not one of them. When they’d first met, it was a quality that he had found obnoxious, but after a few months of travelling together the incessant noise became soothing. He had never felt less alone in his life.
But soon he came to realize that even though Jaskier spoke as though any word could be his last, the bard never actually said anything of importance. Geralt could recite central tenets of music theory from all the times Jaskier had babbled about it’s importance—although the witcher would never mention that to the bard—but Geralt had no clue where Jaskier had been born. He knew nothing of his family, or his adolescence. Though it pained Geralt to admit it, Jaskier was a secretive man, and sometimes kept things close to his chest.
For the longest time, Geralt had resigned himself to never fully hearing this composition, knowing that the bard would deny its existence if it were brought up in conversation, and that was alright. At least that’s what Geralt told himself whenever the soothing notes of the melody abruptly stopped with his presence. But now, as Jaskier strummed his lute, Geralt found himself completely entranced by the beautiful sound it made, his heart pounding as he realized that he would finally hear the mystery piece that had been bugging him for ages.
The song itself was unusual when compared to Jaskier’s other pieces. When Jaskier performed in taverns his songs were raunchier and more simplistic, the type of tunes that common folk would recognize and sing along to. When they were in court, they were more refined, the type of songs that nobles found pleasing to their ears. This composition was neither. It was slow and yearning, like a romantic ballad of heartbreak and love. Those were Geralt’s favorite songs, but Jaskier rarely played them for an audience.
Jaskier opened his mouth and the low baritone of his voice rang out clearly among the grove. As Geralt listened to the words, his heart clenched with warring emotions. It was a love song. Jaskier was playing a love song, and to Geralt’s ears it was possibly the most beautiful piece of music he had ever heard.
As Jaskier sang, the lyrics whirled through the air, embedding themselves into Geralt’s very marrow and wrapping themselves around his heart. The words were filled with pure love. Nothing from the fairy tales that Jaskier told to the children he came across in towns, but a simpler, mundane, every day kind of love. The kind of love that grew stronger through years of hardship, that would stay constant despite the ravages of time. It was the kind of love he felt for Jaskier, finally formed into something more substantial than the all encompassing emotion he felt whenever he thought of the bard.
With a final flourish, the final notes of the song reverberated through the clearing leaving silence in its wake. Jaskier stood perfectly still, almost as though he were afraid to disturb the spell that he had weaved over the people in the woods. The moment was broken by a riotous applause coming from the treeline. Geralt stood up straighter, taking in the crowd that suddenly filled the edges of the clearing. It appeared that at some point during Jaskier’s performance several faes had formed a crowd to watch the spectacle.
As Geralt took in his surroundings he noted that the faes looked impressed by the performance. They were all clapping enthusiastically and looking at Jaskier with eyes full of hunger. Geralt walked over towards the bard, who was looking unexpectedly timid after such a magnificent performance, and stood between him and the majority of the crowd. It seemed that Jaskier was too talented for his own good and now had very powerful admirers.
Gerlat’s ruminations were cut off by the infuriated shriek of the fae who had started this entire debacle. If her inhuman screech of anger weren’t enough, she had started to move towards the bard, her pace turning her steps into a blur. She stopped in front of Geralt, breathing heavily as she glared at the bard hiding behind him.
“You’re good, but you are not better than me!”
Geralt felt Jaskier shudder behind him, but before either man could answer a voice boomed out from the treeline. As the words rang throughout the clearing, Geralt felt the power behind the speaker, and apparently so did their opponent, who immediately tensed at their sound.
“The bard has won, Adelina! You are bound by your word. Forfeit your lute and let them leave in peace.”
Adelina, as he now knew to call her, grit her teeth in frustration, but did as bid, handing the lute over to Jaskier. The bard took the proffered instrument gently, blue eyes widened in awe at the splendor of the instrument. Geralt took the time to look over the instrument as well, silently admitting that he had never met its equal. It would suit Jaskier well.
However, Jaskier nudged himself in front of the witcher and handed it back to Adelina, whose face was painted in shock. “Keep it,” Jaskier said with a smirk on his face, “Mine serves me perfectly well.”
“Jaskier! What are you—”
“Relax, Geralt. Anyways, I don’t need a golden lute to remember the time I proved that I am truly the best lute player there’s ever been!” Jaskier said the words jovially, but Geralt noted that the bard hadn’t looked at him since performing his song. Even now as he jested, Jaskier still avoided looking directly at his eyes. Something was wrong.
Adelina stepped away from the two men with a newfound respect reflecting in her eyes. “You may stay the evening. Come morning you will find your way out with no problem.” She paused and focused her attention on Jaskier. “If you ever wish to play together, the Court could use talent like yours. Keep that in mind should you tire of travelling with your Witcher.”
Geralt tensed at those few words, uncertain of whether Jaskier would take up such an outlandish invitation over continuing their travels together. Jaskier had always been an odd person who loved to outdo others accomplishments. What other human could say that they had been invited to play at the Fae Court? That would offer immortality, riches, more than Geralt could offer.
As those thoughts ran through Geralt’s head, he heard Jaskier clear his throat. Looking up, he saw the brunette shake his head. “Thank you for the gracious offer, but I shall never tire of travelling with Geralt.”
Geralt’s eyes widened at the surety with which Jaskier spoke his words. Though he had told Geralt several times that he would always rejoin him on the path, never had Jaskier said so in such a blatant manner. He wasn’t going to leave. He was going to stay.
Adelina’s eyes shot between the two of them with a knowing glint before she nodded, and with a snap of her fingers the clearing was once again empty save for two exhausted men and one confused horse.
Geralt slumped, finally letting down his guard after the most intense half hour of the week. Normal people might consider this event the most stressful of their lives, but he was a witcher with a bard that had a penchant for mischief. This didn’t even make his top ten list.
Turning around he found Jaskier putting his lute away, his body still stiff with a tension like the strings his fingers plucked so easily. It felt wrong to see the normally exuberant bard like this. So reserved, almost as though he were waiting for something bad to happen.
“Jaskier.”
The bard jumped at Geralt’s voice, so lost in his thoughts that he had forgotten that anyone else was around him. That, or, the more terrifying possibility, was that Jaskier was afraid of him . He would never admit it, but the thought tore his heart in two. Jaskier was the only human who had never been scared of him, and now a stupid competition brought the truth to light: Geralt wasn’t enough. He couldn’t protect Jaskier when it truly mattered. Maybe the bard had wised up and realized that a witcher’s company wasn’t worth the nights in a forest and the grumpiness. Maybe Jaskier would call out into the forest for Adelina, saying that he had reconsidered her offer after the shock had worn off.
Instead, Jaskier whispered, “I’m so sorry. I never meant for you to hear that, but I knew it was my best composition, and I had to get you out of this mess. It was of my own making and I refused to drag you down with me.” Jaskier paused, taking a deep breath, as though he were running at top speed rather than having an incoherent conversation. “I understand if this changes things, if you would rather not travel with me anymore.”
Geralt startled at those words, panic and confusion filling his mind faster than ever before. Nothing Jaskier did could make him want to leave. Years ago, Geralt would have loved nothing more than blessed silence as he walked the path, but now, even when he was at his most obnoxious and flamboyant, Geralt craved Jaskier’s company. Geralt shook his head and walked over towards the bard, who upon further examination was shaking like a leaf. He kneeled down to Jaskier’s level, placing a single hand on the meat of his shoulder, hoping that his touch would bring comfort instead of further anxiety.
“I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?”
Jaskier scoffed, wiping away a bit of moisture gathering at the coroner of his eyes. “No, Geralt, you did nothing wrong. I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable now that you know of my feelings—”
“Feelings?” Geralt asked, suddenly feeling totally out of his depth. Jaskier had feelings for him? There had to be something he was missing, some piece of the puzzle that would explain this unexpected turn of events.
Jaskier finally looked at him, eyes filled with tears, but still managing to express incredulity at the question he’d just asked. “Yes, feelings! I know the song was blatantly obvious, and I’m so sorry. I’ll never play it again if you wish—”
“Wait,” Geralt grunted, eyebrows drawn as he considered what Jaskier had just said. “The song was beautiful. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever played, but I don’t understand what it has to do with me.”
Jaskier looked at him for a moment before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. Truthfully, Geralt thought he looked a little unhinged as his fingers dragged wildly through his hair and tears ran unabashedly down his face. After a minute of this response, Geralt had had enough.
“Jaskier!” He exclaimed, trying to pull the bard out of his moment of insanity.
Jaskier wiped at his eyes, still laughing raggedly until he looked up at him. “Of course you didn’t understand,” he choked out, eyes red from the tears that still dripped out of them.
“It was for you, Geralt, like all of my songs. The song was for you.”
Time stood still as Jaskier’s words sunk in. The song was for him. Him. Geralt. The love song was for him? But no that couldn’t be right. Jaskier...Jaskier loved him?
Finally understanding, Geralt turned towards Jaskier, taking in his downtrodden appearance. The bard was once again avoiding his gaze, as though he had already resigned himself to an answer of unrequited love. How could Jaskier not know?
“It’s fine,” Jaskier said, his voice breaking one the final word. “I know you don’t feel the same, but if it makes you uncomf—”
Geralt cut Jaskier off by grabbing him by the back of the neck and forcing their lips together.
It wasn’t the best kiss ever. There were too many teeth clacking against one another for it to even come close, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Jaskier was pressed against him, pliantly moving his lips against his own.
As they broke apart, Geralt took in Jaskier’s shocked face, still puffy from his bobut of crying, but no less beautiful. Moving a stray piece of hair back into its place, Geralt happily hummed. “Was that okay?”
“Was—was that okay?” Jaskier asked incredulously. “Yes! That was more than okay. In fact, if you don’t start kissing me immediately, I swear—”
Geralt rolled his eyes and pressed their lips together, this time more gently, allowing for a sweetness that had been missing in their first kiss. Gone was the initial desperation, replaced with a gentleness that Geralt could only associate with one person. As they broke apart for air, Geralt smirked at Jaskier’s breathlessness. “I found a way to get my blessed silence.”
Jaskier gasped. “How rude! Here I am letting you kiss me after I saved both of our lives, and you reward me with cruelty! How will I ever carry on?”
Geralt shook his head fondly as he moved closer to Jaskier. “You’re lucky we are still alive.”
“Pfft, it’s not luck, Geralt, it’s talent.” Jaskier smirked at Geralt. “Anyways, we were never in real trouble.”
Geralt looked at Jaskier incredulously as the bard smirked at him. “Like shit we weren’t in trouble!”
Jaskier shook his head, placing a small kiss to the point of his nose. “Darling, she didn’t know our real names.”
“....What?”
Jaskier looked at him, waiting for Geralt’s moment of understanding, but unfortunately, Geralt had no idea what he meant. “Jaskier,” he said slowly, “your name is Jaskier.”
A laugh burbled passed Jaskier’s lips as he shook his head incredulously. “Darling, do you really think someone would name their son after a weed? Did you never question that I didn’t have a last name?”
Geralt pursed his lips, considering Jaskier’s questions. Of course he had thought about it, but he had concluded that it was just one of the things that made Jaskier, Jaskier.
The bard huffed out an affectionate laugh before cuddling closer into his side. “I’ll tell you my real name later, darling. For now let’s rest. We need to leave early tomorrow to make sure I’m not kidnapped by the Fae Court.
Geralt grunted, acknowledging the bard’s words, but already falling asleep on the soft grass with Jaskier pressed to his side. It seemed as though he had been right about Jaskier’s secrets, but that was okay. He’d have time to learn them.