For All the Things We Wished We'd Done - Chapter 5
Title: For All the Things We Wished We’d Done
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Geralt of Rivia | Geralt z Rivii/Jaskier |Dandelion
Rating: R
Words: 41,668
Warnings: Rape/non-con elements. Mind control. Implied/referenced mind control. Implied/referenced homophobia. Canon-typical violence.
A/N: For All the Things We Wished We’d Done was written for The Witcher Big Bang 2020. Please see Chapter 1 for additional notes.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!
Geralt stripped the leaves off the plant and dropped them into a marble bowl for Yennefer to grind with the pestle.
From his seat on a high stool, Jaskier looked on. His crippled hands, unbound from their splints and bandages, rested on the workbench.
After a trip to the herbalist in Novigrad, Geralt had already composed a witcher-strength potion that would mend any of his bones that were broken in the course of a monster hunt. But it had taken much of the day for the herbalist to locate the necessary herbs that would dilute the potion’s power enough for a human like Jaskier to tolerate it.
The workshop was cool, as the sun had already set. A hint of crisp autumn air squeezed through the narrow windows of the workshop, despite them being closed against the threat of an incoming storm. Their sills were covered in dust that made Geralt believe Yennefer’s handmaidens did not have access to this particular room of the manor.
Before Geralt left Jaskier’s room, he had already laid a fire. He planned to stay alert through the night as he kept watch over Jaskier for any adverse effects from the potion.
No fire burned in this workroom of sorts that Yennefer had set aside for the specific purpose of crafting potions and preparing magical treatments. Besides the large square workbench that emerged like an island in the centre of the room, other furnishings had been crammed into the space as if they were an afterthought. Butted against one wall, an oak desk was strewn with parchment. On the parchment, lists of herbs and ingredients were written in Yennefer’s hand. In one corner of the room, a mismatched pair of plush chairs may have once been used in a waiting area for Yennefer’s clientele. The scent of lilac and gooseberries did not linger here, but the pungent scent of fresh herbs and spices that hung to dry from a half-dozen wide ceiling beams stabbed at Geralt’s sensitive nostrils.
“This should be enough,” Yennefer said, pushing the bowl across the table to where Geralt worked.
“Thanks,” Geralt said.
“Getting nervous?” Yennefer asked, patting Jaskier on the back.
“A little,” Jaskier admitted. “But I know that you and Geralt will be here to pull me out of harm’s way, if necessary.”
“Hmm,” Geralt muttered. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Jaskier dismissively waved a hand at Geralt. “I’m excited, more than anything,” he said. “What’s in that stuff, anyway?”
“It’s an herb mixture named for the full moon,” Geralt said. “When I combine it with the tincture from the leaves Yennefer gathered, it will be much less potent than what I can withstand as a witcher. But you should do well with it.”
“The herbalist here in Novigrad specializes in making these rare herbs available,” Yennefer said as she scraped the paste of herbs off the pestle. “They can only be collected by the light of a full moon. And they only grow in a valley south of the town. You’re lucky that I live nearby.”
From a distance, a rumble of thunder rolled across the countryside, shaking the manor windows.
“It’s a good thing we didn’t need the herbs collected tonight,” Geralt said, eying the windows when the patter of rain began to drum against them.
Jaskier nodded and watched Geralt mix the herbs into a vial of mead.
“Do you think the potion will give me the ability to see in the dark?” Jaskier asked, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.
“It’s not that kind of potion,” Geralt answered as he capped the vial and shook it.
“Will it make my eyes turn black?”
“No, not at all,” Geralt muttered.
“Will my hair turn white?”
“Probably not.”
“Will it make my cock bigger?”
Geralt hid a knowing grin and said, “Your cock is perfect just as it is.”
Yennefer rolled her eyes.
“Come on, Yennefer,” Jaskier said smugly, his fingers clenching the workbench in front of him. “You know I’m perfect. Or have you forgotten that you once copped a feel?”
Geralt looked up from the potion he was mixing. “Jaskier,” he cautioned, knowing of Yennefer’s regret.
Yennefer lowered her head.
Jaskier went silent. He took his time to let his eyes rove over the workbench, its surface marred with scars from past experiments.
Geralt followed Jaskier’s gaze. A gash from a knife had plunged more than an inch deep into the workbench’s wooden top. A circular burn from an overflowing beaker of poison had left its mark on the wood. The stains of herbs seeped deep into the grain. Damage had been done, but the tabletop was still perfectly usable for their potion-making efforts.
“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said. “Sometimes, I speak before I think. That was inappropriate.”
“No,” Yennefer said hastily. “What I did to you, back then, was inappropriate. And I’m sorry. You’ve grown to become a… a friend. And I offer you my humblest apology.”
“That’s really not necessary,” Jaskier said, throwing his arms open wide.
“Yes, it is,” Yennefer insisted.
The mage walked to the end of the workbench and rounded it to where Jaskier sat. Her hand hovered over Jaskier’s arm, almost as if she did not dare touch him.
“Jaskier, I behaved abominably when we first met. I was out of my mind with the desire to regain what was taken from me. It was the only thing I could think about. I didn’t care who I hurt or what I did to get what I wanted,” her voice wavered in anguish. “My ability to have a child was stolen from me. I’d never have a child to nurture, to care for… it had become my greatest desire and when I saw the chance, I took it.”
There’s more than one way to nurture a child, Geralt thought. Someday soon, he would introduce his child of surprise to Yennefer. He had no way of knowing how long they would spend together or what they would discuss. Did children of Cirilla’s age even discuss things with adults? In any case, things might work out in Yennefer’s favour when he brought Cirilla to meet her. Perhaps they’d find a common bond.
“In my mania to regain my womb, I would stop at nothing. I didn’t think. I wasn’t thinking of you at all,” Yennefer said imploringly to Jaskier. She turned to Geralt and added, “or you, Geralt, when I sent you to fight my battles.”
Geralt appreciated Yennefer’s apology, but it was unimportant to him, after all this time. Jaskier, however, had recently endured a similar assault on his person and could probably benefit from hearing Yennefer’s apology now. It would do little to alleviate the trauma that Jaskier suffered at the hands of Lord Mathen’s men, but it could prove a useful step in Jaskier’s healing.
“You don’t need to explain or apologize further,” Jaskier said. He reached for Yennefer’s shoulder and patted it gently in an attempt to alleviate her torment. “You’ve done more than enough to get back in my good graces over this past month. Please don’t worry about it any further after tonight.”
“It’s important to me that you understand,” Yennefer said with a sigh. “My desire for a child led me to treat everyone with disregard if they stood in my way. Geralt is going to let me meet his child of surprise as a favour for helping you. Healing you is the least I can do to help things to come full circle now. I can hardly believe how I acted when I was presented with an opportunity to get what I desired most in the world. I need you to understand that I was not myself that day.”
Jaskier studied his fingernails. “I do, Yennefer. And while I appreciate your apology and assure you that we need never speak of that grabby incident again, I do know a bit about desiring something above all else,” he said, lifting his eyes to Geralt. “Something that you would do anything for. Something that you desired so much that, no matter how dangerous, no matter how degrading, you are hell bent on having it.”
Geralt wasn’t certain what Jaskier was aiming at. Surely he didn’t mean that his desire for the witcher outpaced all of his human desires. It had to be something else.
“As much as I appreciate your help and your companionship-both of you, there is one thing missing in my life and I mourn its loss every day,” Jaskier said.
Yennefer looked at Geralt.
Geralt looked at Yennefer.
Jaskier stared at his fingers.
“It’s my music… my lute… it’s gone forever now, I’m sure. I’d do anything to get it back, but even more distressing….” Jaskier’s words trailed off and he went silent.
The rain outside intensified, beating against the windows and rolling off the roof in sheets of glimmering silver.
It was true, Jaskier might never see his lute again, but that was not what made a rough sob escape his throat.
“The loss of the use of my fingers for this past month… it will take me so much time to get back into performance shape with them… especially since I don’t even know where we would find a lute for me to practice with,” Jaskier said, his voice falling to barely a whisper.
Geralt nodded at Yennefer. He did not need to speak. Of all the things he wished he could give to Jaskier, he knew where one of the most important things could be found. He would graciously accept whatever small role he had in suggesting Yennefer give it to him tonight.
Without a word, Yennefer left the workshop to collect the lute.
Geralt stepped around the workbench and embraced Jaskier. The bard had been forewarned that the potion would make him tired and unstable on his feet. He had dressed in his sleep clothing, a soft tunic in powder blue with matching trousers that tied at the waist.
“The potion will work,” Geralt said, murmuring promises into Jaskier’s hair as he held him close. “You’ll get the use of your fingers back again.”
“It’s not just that,” Jaskier said with a sniffle. “The time I’ve lost in not being able to practice… and everything else….”
“I know,” Geralt said, stroking Jaskier’s hair tenderly. He hoped that Yennefer’s gift of the lute would be enough to quell Jaskier’s sorrow.
Geralt raised his eyes when Yennefer returned to the workshop. With Jaskier’s face pressed into Geralt’s chest, the bard didn’t see her enter.
Yennefer carefully set the lute atop the workbench and went to Jaskier’s side.
Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the gardens outside the workshop windows.
“Jaskier,” Yennefer said, touching his arm to get his attention. “We have something for you.”
“Go ahead, look,” Geralt said, nudging Jaskier’s chin with a finger.
Jaskier turned from Geralt to see what Yennefer had brought into the room.
Geralt’s only wish was that he could have seen the expression on Jaskier’s face, but his whoop of joy was enough for him to understand how happy the lute made the bard.
“Careful,” Geralt reminded Jaskier, who leapt toward the lute with unbound fingers.
“I will be,” Jaskier promised as he slid his left hand under the neck of the instrument and strummed one light pass on the strings.
Jaskier’s damaged hands were still too weak to lift the lute, but Geralt hoped they would soon remedy that.
The potion stood ready.
Yennefer’s fond expression told Geralt that they had done the right thing by gifting the lute to Jaskier on this night.
“How did you?” Jaskier asked, looking from Yennefer to Geralt and back again.
“Don’t look at me,” Geralt said. “It was all Yennefer’s doing.” He didn’t dwell on the fact that Yennefer, not he, had procured the prized instrument for Jaskier. This was Yennefer’s time to be appreciated. The mage had suffered enough in her distress over her treatment of the bard. Although the lute wasn’t directly given as an apology, it was comforting to see Jaskier and Yennefer bond over their losses and their desire for something seemingly unattainable.
“Thank you,” Jaskier said, taking his eyes off the lute to address Yennefer.
“You’re very welcome,” Yennefer said.
“Let me,” Jaskier said, stepping toward Yennefer and pulling her into a warm embrace.
Geralt didn’t know who was crying more tears of joy, Yennefer or Jaskier. This seemed to be just the thing to get the two of them on the same page, now and for the rest of their journeys together. Their friendship and mutual respect filled Geralt with warmth. He sincerely hoped that the diluted potion would help Jaskier heal more rapidly. If the bard survived the potion with no ill effects, Geralt’s night would be complete.
“I hate to interrupt you two,” Geralt said, after listening to the pair of confirmed friends chatter about the elven design of the lute and how it would need to be tuned accurately before Jaskier could get a decent song out of it.
“The potion,” Jaskier said excitedly.
“It’s all ready,” Geralt said, turning the vial over in his hand.
Yennefer laid a hand on Jaskier’s chest and said, “Let’s begin.”
Jaskier stepped away from Yennefer. With his hands tucked safely against his abdomen, he stood in front of Geralt.
Geralt could sense the rapid beating of Jaskier’s heart. The faint sense of juniper wafted from his skin. Geralt dipped his head so their foreheads touched.
“Are you ready?” Geralt asked.
“I’m ready,” Jaskier said.
“Be brave,” Geralt said.
Jaskier bit his lip.
“I’ll be with you the whole time, Yennefer too,” Geralt said. “We won’t let any harm come to you.”
“You should get comfortable,” Yennefer said. “The combination of the potion and the spells will make you very tired.”
“Will I pass out?” Jaskier asked.
“Yennefer grimaced. “You might,” she answered.
Geralt appreciated the fact that she was honest with Jaskier.
“It’s best if you’re somewhere you’ll be relaxed,” Yennefer reminded him.
“As long as Geralt will be with me,” Jaskier said.
“Of course,” Yennefer said.
“Let’s get you over to one of those chairs,” Geralt said, guiding Jaskier to the corner of the room where the plush chairs stood.
In one hand, Geralt tipped the vial containing the potion back and forth, ensuring that the ingredients stayed properly mixed.
“You’re not going to get naked and paint an image of a lute on your belly, are you, chum?” Jaskier asked.
Yennefer playfully cuffed him. “Sit down, bard,” she said with a laugh.
Although Jaskier made light of the situation, Geralt sensed his fear and vowed to keep him safe.
Holding his arms outstretched in front of him, Jaskier flopped down onto the plush chair. The scent of musty furniture wafted through the room.
“Budge up,” Geralt said, sliding onto the chair beside him. “I want to be able to hold onto you, in case you wriggle around a lot.
“Oh, lovely,” Jaskier said, squeezing himself onto the chair so he only took up half the space.
Yennefer pulled a low bench over to the chair and sat on it before Jaskier.
“This treatment will have a two-pronged approach,” Yennefer said with confidence. She draped a plush towel over her lap. “Geralt has mixed the potion that you will drink. I will collect the dregs from the vial and rub the potion onto your fingers, using magic to enhance your healing.”
Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he nodded tentatively.
“I would apply the potion to your hands, but I need to stay beside you in case you fight us and need to be restrained,” Geralt said.
“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” Jaskier said, offering his hands to Yennefer.
Geralt nodded. He could not agree more.
“I’ll be gentle,” Yennefer promised.
Jaskier allowed his fingers to unfurl so Yennefer could touch them.
“Lean forward a bit more,” Geralt instructed as he slipped an arm behind Jaskier’s back.
Jaskier leant forward as directed, but before he did so, he turned to look at Geralt. “I’m a bit scared,” he whispered, wide-eyed.
Geralt did not need to be told this. He sensed Jaskier’s heartbeat, his scent, and the look of fear in his eyes. Despite his proximity to Yennefer, he quietly pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s lips. He hoped it was enough to calm him and to let him know that he was cared for and loved.
Jaskier blinked back tears and turned his attention to Yennefer.
While Jaskier was distracted by Geralt’s kiss, Yennefer had taken each of Jaskier’s hands and laid them on the soft towel. She nodded to Geralt when she was satisfied that Jaskier’s hands were in the right position.
Geralt uncorked the vial and said, “It’s time.” He held it to Jaskier’s lips and tilted it toward him.
Jaskier stuck out a pink tongue to find the edge of the vial, but his eyes did not leave Geralt’s. He drank as Geralt tipped the potion into his mouth.
“There’s a good lad,” Geralt said tenderly. He hoped he could assuage any of Jaskier’s fears with a comforting tone.
Yennefer took the vial from Geralt’s hand when Jaskier had finished drinking. She upended the vial and collected the remaining potion, thick with pulverized herbs, onto her fingers. Setting the vial aside, she took one of Jaskier’s hands in her own and began to trace each finger in its turn, smearing the potion onto his skin.
“I don’t feel anything yet,” Jaskier said, after a while.
“You might not feel anything right away,” Geralt reminded him. “You might just fall asleep.”
Jaskier shuddered. “I don’t want to fall asleep and miss the experience,” he complained.
“Or you might become combative,” Yennefer said. “But Geralt is here to hold you in case you try to fight against the potion.”
“I promise I won’t fight it,” Jaskier said. “I want to be able to play the lute again.”
Yennefer smiled. “That’s it,” she said as she stroked his fingers soothingly. “Keep thinking those good thoughts, calm thoughts.”
“I will,” Jaskier said.
In the silent room, Yennefer began to chant in time with the thunder that drummed outside the window.
Geralt watched as sparks of lightning travelled up and down Jaskier’s fingers.
Jaskier, his eyes wide open and enthralled with the magic, settled into Geralt’s hold.
Yennefer’s voice was soothing and melodic. Geralt was reminded of another time when he was in the presence of such magic. It was on the night that he had served as a bodyguard to Jaskier when he performed at Pavetta’s betrothal party. It was the very night that he claimed the Law of Surprise and was awarded the unborn child of Pavetta and Duny’s union.
The magic in the air that night was not unlike what Geralt witnessed now, listening to Yennefer’s chants and watching the bright spark of electricity as it mended Jaskier’s bones. It wouldn’t be long before he retrieved his child and brought her to meet Yennefer. The mage would undoubtedly be thrilled if Cirilla possessed a fraction of the magic Geralt saw Pavetta display on that fateful night.
That was it.
Geralt inhaled sharply.
Magic.
That was what Yennefer and the child might bond over. Geralt should have seen this when Yennefer first asked for the privilege of meeting her. If the child had any magical ability, it would strengthen Yennefer’s resolve to nurture the child on her own terms. Everything became clearer now. A magical child would be in good hands with Yennefer. Better to be under Yennefer’s motherly protection, than used as a weapon by someone with more nefarious plans for the princess.
Only Jaskier’s healed fingers were required now.
“How are you feeling?” Geralt asked as he rocked Jaskier’s body to Yennefer’s chanting.
Jaskier tipped his head toward Geralt. “It’s not so difficult. I could probably become a witcher if this is all there is to it,” he said with a yawn.
Geralt laughed at the bard’s penchant for overestimating his abilities. “There was no friend like Yennefer to rub my fingers tenderly for the Trial of the Grasses, I assure you,” Geralt reminded him, nuzzling his hair in a manner that he hoped was comforting.
Yennefer continued stroking Jaskier’s fingers, electricity thrumming through them while she chanted.
“It feels a little weird now,” Jaskier said.
“Your fingers?” Geralt asked.
“Yes, they tingle a bit,” Jaskier said.
Yennefer looked up at Geralt.
“That’s the potion doing the work,” Geralt said, rubbing soothing circles onto Jaskier’s back.
Jaskier nodded in understanding.
“What about inside?” Geralt asked.
Jaskier made a face as he felt around in his mouth with his tongue. “Nothing, really,” he said.
“Hmm,” Geralt mumbled. He glanced at Yennefer, who had looked up from Jaskier’s hands.
“Well, maybe,” Jaskier said, suddenly.
By the time Geralt’s eyes shifted back to Jaskier, the bard had slumped into the chair, his eyes closed in sleep.
Yennefer’s voice went quiet. She stopped massaging Jaskier’s fingers, while the storm still raged outside. “Is he… sleeping?” she asked.
Geralt checked Jaskier over. His heart rate was normal for a human. He didn’t seem distressed at all. Yes, improbably, the bard was asleep. “Well, that was a bit anticlimactic,” he said.
“Better to have him sleepy, than in his usual state,” Yennefer said, settling Jaskier’s hands on his lap. She wiped the herb residue from his fingers with the towel and remarked, “He’s a feisty one.”
“He is,” Geralt said, resting his hand on Jaskier’s chest. He was comforted by the bard’s even breathing. His chest rose and fell calmly, like a wave on the ocean.
“He’s truly charming,” Yennefer said, wiping her brow, dewy from the exertion of using her magic.
Geralt sighed. “The bit about painting a lute on your belly was funny.”
Yennefer bit her lip as she rubbed the herbs from her own fingers onto the towel. “He does a lot of that,” she said.
“Being obsessed with a lute?” Geralt asked.
Outside, the rain pelted the windows.
“No,” Yennefer shrugged. “You know how he is. As soon as one of us brings up something serious, he deflects us with a witty remark. He says something to try to get us to laugh.”
“He’s behaving normally, if you ask me,” Geralt said.
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Yennefer said. “He’s behaving too normally. He’s been through a lot of trauma. After he regains the use of his fingers, only half of his healing will be done.”
Geralt adjusted his hold on Jaskier. The bard looked so peaceful in his sleep. His body was warm and unmarred by the injuries that were visible when Geralt first brought him to Yennefer.
“It’s none of my business, but have you discussed what happened to him?” Yennefer asked quietly.
Geralt shook his head against the memory of the blood, mud, and semen that caked Jaskier’s body on that awful night. It seemed inappropriate to be discussing such matters when Jaskier could not intervene on his own behalf. But Jaskier hadn’t really discussed much of what had happened before Geralt found him in the barn-not that it was any of Yennefer’s business.
“No,” Geralt said, but he did not divulge more than that.
“I tried to talk about it with him when you were off hunting drowners,” Yennefer said. “But he laughed it off like he usually does.”
Like Yennefer, Geralt feared that Jaskier was still suffering from the damage done to his heart and mind. Bruises faded and bones healed, but Jaskier’s spirit was still recovering.
“He was excited about the lute,” Geralt said, taking a moment to stroke Jaskier’s arm tenderly. No matter what misgivings he had about Yennefer providing Jaskier with the most sought-after object the bard desired, he was pleased both that Yennefer secured the lute for Jaskier and that they agreed she should give it to him tonight.
“With any luck, as early as tomorrow, the halls will be filled with song,” Yennefer said with a smile.
Geralt laughed. He missed the bard’s singing and the way his deft fingers danced across the strings of the instrument. He slid a finger across Jaskier’s hand, feeling where the bones were mending beneath the skin. He willed them to heal without any further discomfort.
“Do you think you’ll take him with you when you visit Cintra?” Yennefer asked.
“I hope that question means you truly believe he’ll be healed by this potion and your magic,” Geralt said.
“I trust in my magic and in the powers of the herbs we prepared for him,” Yennefer said. “Of course, he’s welcome to stay here with me while you travel to Cintra.”
“He’ll come with me,” Geralt said. “After all, he is well known to the Cintran court and I’ll need every advantage to convince Queen Calanthe to let me take her granddaughter away for a short while, even if it is my right to do so.”
“If she loves the girl as a mother does, she’ll want what’s best for her,” Yennefer said solemnly.
Geralt admired Yennefer’s commitment to the ideals of motherhood.
Long ago, Geralt dreamed of what it would feel like to be loved by a mother. He remembered it now, in some shattered part of his mind that was wiped out by mutagens. To experience such a love, unconditionally. To always be forgiven. To be cherished. He had longed for the kind of love that a mother could give, or a lover-if one were fortunate enough to find a heart that beat in time with his own. But those dreams died as each Trial of the Grasses was surmounted. Had he known that his child of surprise could quell Yennefer’s desire to be a mother, he should have offered to introduce the pair long ago.
“You know she may have some magical ability,” Geralt said. It wasn’t really a question. He was certain that Yennefer knew of Pavetta’s abilities. She had to wonder if they had been passed down to her daughter.
“It has been rumoured,” Yennefer said. She acted quickly to put Geralt’s mind at ease. “I’d like to learn if it’s true. I assure you that no harm will come to the girl when she’s in my care.”
“I believe you. It’s your desire to provide a mother’s love,” Geralt said, with an understanding he hadn’t possessed on the day he berated her for the same desire on the mountainside. “I can see that, in the way you treat Jaskier.”
“I do mother him a bit,” Yennefer said with a smile. “And look at you. You only have eyes for him. I told you some time ago that he loves you. I’m glad that you’ve found each other.”
Of everything Yennefer said, at least the first part was true. He only had eyes for Jaskier. In the hours they spent together while Jaskier recovered, Geralt’s love for him had sparked… but maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Perhaps he had loved Jaskier all along, over their many years together as they travelled from town to town. The new addition of the kissing and the touching simply complemented what had already existed.
“How can I believe it?” Geralt whispered.
“How can you believe what?” Yennefer asked. Her eyes glanced toward the windows as a flash of lightning brightened the workshop.
Geralt took a deep breath. He thought about the times when he’d dreamed of love- the kind of love that Yennefer had for a child she hadn’t even met yet. Sometimes, coming down off a potion, with eyes black and his veins thrumming with fire, he’d dream that his mother returned to him. She tended to him and cradled him in her arms. She healed his soul from the damage done when he found himself dropped off on the doorstep of Kaer Morhen all those years ago. But when he awoke, the dream would be gone and Geralt was left with no shred of a memory to cling to as he continued his life on the Path.
“Why would he love me? He could love anyone else on the Continent. Why me? It makes no sense. How do I know that I won’t wake up one day and find that it’s all been a dream?” Geralt asked. “How can I believe that he loves me?”
Yennefer leant forward and touched Geralt’s hand. “It’s in everything he does, Geralt.”
Geralt frowned and held Jaskier closer, unwilling to break contact with him for even a moment.
“He loves you,” Yennefer said. “Whether you want to believe that he loves you or not, whether you think you’re deserving or not. He loves you, all the same.”
“No one can love a witcher,” Geralt said.
“Apparently, Jaskier does,” Yennefer said. “He demonstrates that he loves you with everything he does, Geralt. His songs, his devotion to following you, he puts himself in danger to be near to you, it’s in everything he does. It always has been. I don’t think you need any proof other than that.”
“Hmm,” Geralt mumbled. He wanted to believe that what Yennefer said was true. Jaskier genuinely loved him? He just couldn’t believe it. He was of no value at all to the bard. It made no sense. He stifled a yawn and decided that it was an issue for another day.
“I’d best be getting this one off to bed,” Geralt said, patting Jaskier’s shoulder.
“It’s late,” Yennefer said, clapping a hand over a yawn. “I’m exhausted from sending so much healing magic his way.” She stood, while Geralt got his footing on the stone floor of the workshop.
Geralt leant over and hoisted Jaskier’s sleeping body into his arms. His muscles strained against his shirtsleeves. He took one last look around the workshop while Yennefer held the door open for him.
“The lute,” Yennefer said, remembering to grab the instrument off the workbench.
Geralt carried Jaskier down the torchlit hallway to his room as Yennefer followed with the lute.
Geralt waited for Yennefer to open the door for them when he got to Jaskier’s room. He set the bard upon the bed, as gently as he could, while Yennefer left the lute on the table. He walked her to the door and bid her goodnight.
“Sleep well, Geralt,” Yennefer said, leaving a soft kiss on his cheek.
“You, too,” Geralt said. “Get some sleep.”
Geralt closed the door and walked to the fireplace with the kindling ready to burn. With his fingers, he cast igni to start the fire. He tugged off his boots while the flames ignited.
Returning to Jaskier, Geralt covered the bard with a soft fur to ward off the chill of the night. He tucked the covers along Jaskier’s neck while he snored softly, unperturbed.
As the fire grew, Geralt added a few logs, positioning them to catch. Satisfied, he went to one of the room’s windows and pulled aside the gossamer drapes. He watched the rain as it streaked down the outside of the windows. Unbuttoning his shirt and letting it drop to the floor, he caught a glimpse of his reflection off the glass when a bolt of lightning flashed.
Geralt possessed the scarred and damaged body of a witcher. His medallion marked him for his trade. He killed monsters for coin. He was of no use to the beautiful man who lay asleep in the bed. He turned from the window and stepped toward the bed, illuminated by the fire in the grate. He pressed a hand to Jaskier’s forehead, admiring the softness of his cheeks, the curve of his sleeping smile, and the graceful fan of his eyelashes in the firelight.
Geralt slipped into the bed with Jaskier and settled in for a sleepless night.
~
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Geralt of Rivia | Geralt z Rivii/Jaskier |Dandelion
Rating: R
Words: 41,668
Warnings: Rape/non-con elements. Mind control. Implied/referenced mind control. Implied/referenced homophobia. Canon-typical violence.
A/N: For All the Things We Wished We’d Done was written for The Witcher Big Bang 2020. Please see Chapter 1 for additional notes.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!
Geralt stripped the leaves off the plant and dropped them into a marble bowl for Yennefer to grind with the pestle.
From his seat on a high stool, Jaskier looked on. His crippled hands, unbound from their splints and bandages, rested on the workbench.
After a trip to the herbalist in Novigrad, Geralt had already composed a witcher-strength potion that would mend any of his bones that were broken in the course of a monster hunt. But it had taken much of the day for the herbalist to locate the necessary herbs that would dilute the potion’s power enough for a human like Jaskier to tolerate it.
The workshop was cool, as the sun had already set. A hint of crisp autumn air squeezed through the narrow windows of the workshop, despite them being closed against the threat of an incoming storm. Their sills were covered in dust that made Geralt believe Yennefer’s handmaidens did not have access to this particular room of the manor.
Before Geralt left Jaskier’s room, he had already laid a fire. He planned to stay alert through the night as he kept watch over Jaskier for any adverse effects from the potion.
No fire burned in this workroom of sorts that Yennefer had set aside for the specific purpose of crafting potions and preparing magical treatments. Besides the large square workbench that emerged like an island in the centre of the room, other furnishings had been crammed into the space as if they were an afterthought. Butted against one wall, an oak desk was strewn with parchment. On the parchment, lists of herbs and ingredients were written in Yennefer’s hand. In one corner of the room, a mismatched pair of plush chairs may have once been used in a waiting area for Yennefer’s clientele. The scent of lilac and gooseberries did not linger here, but the pungent scent of fresh herbs and spices that hung to dry from a half-dozen wide ceiling beams stabbed at Geralt’s sensitive nostrils.
“This should be enough,” Yennefer said, pushing the bowl across the table to where Geralt worked.
“Thanks,” Geralt said.
“Getting nervous?” Yennefer asked, patting Jaskier on the back.
“A little,” Jaskier admitted. “But I know that you and Geralt will be here to pull me out of harm’s way, if necessary.”
“Hmm,” Geralt muttered. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Jaskier dismissively waved a hand at Geralt. “I’m excited, more than anything,” he said. “What’s in that stuff, anyway?”
“It’s an herb mixture named for the full moon,” Geralt said. “When I combine it with the tincture from the leaves Yennefer gathered, it will be much less potent than what I can withstand as a witcher. But you should do well with it.”
“The herbalist here in Novigrad specializes in making these rare herbs available,” Yennefer said as she scraped the paste of herbs off the pestle. “They can only be collected by the light of a full moon. And they only grow in a valley south of the town. You’re lucky that I live nearby.”
From a distance, a rumble of thunder rolled across the countryside, shaking the manor windows.
“It’s a good thing we didn’t need the herbs collected tonight,” Geralt said, eying the windows when the patter of rain began to drum against them.
Jaskier nodded and watched Geralt mix the herbs into a vial of mead.
“Do you think the potion will give me the ability to see in the dark?” Jaskier asked, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.
“It’s not that kind of potion,” Geralt answered as he capped the vial and shook it.
“Will it make my eyes turn black?”
“No, not at all,” Geralt muttered.
“Will my hair turn white?”
“Probably not.”
“Will it make my cock bigger?”
Geralt hid a knowing grin and said, “Your cock is perfect just as it is.”
Yennefer rolled her eyes.
“Come on, Yennefer,” Jaskier said smugly, his fingers clenching the workbench in front of him. “You know I’m perfect. Or have you forgotten that you once copped a feel?”
Geralt looked up from the potion he was mixing. “Jaskier,” he cautioned, knowing of Yennefer’s regret.
Yennefer lowered her head.
Jaskier went silent. He took his time to let his eyes rove over the workbench, its surface marred with scars from past experiments.
Geralt followed Jaskier’s gaze. A gash from a knife had plunged more than an inch deep into the workbench’s wooden top. A circular burn from an overflowing beaker of poison had left its mark on the wood. The stains of herbs seeped deep into the grain. Damage had been done, but the tabletop was still perfectly usable for their potion-making efforts.
“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said. “Sometimes, I speak before I think. That was inappropriate.”
“No,” Yennefer said hastily. “What I did to you, back then, was inappropriate. And I’m sorry. You’ve grown to become a… a friend. And I offer you my humblest apology.”
“That’s really not necessary,” Jaskier said, throwing his arms open wide.
“Yes, it is,” Yennefer insisted.
The mage walked to the end of the workbench and rounded it to where Jaskier sat. Her hand hovered over Jaskier’s arm, almost as if she did not dare touch him.
“Jaskier, I behaved abominably when we first met. I was out of my mind with the desire to regain what was taken from me. It was the only thing I could think about. I didn’t care who I hurt or what I did to get what I wanted,” her voice wavered in anguish. “My ability to have a child was stolen from me. I’d never have a child to nurture, to care for… it had become my greatest desire and when I saw the chance, I took it.”
There’s more than one way to nurture a child, Geralt thought. Someday soon, he would introduce his child of surprise to Yennefer. He had no way of knowing how long they would spend together or what they would discuss. Did children of Cirilla’s age even discuss things with adults? In any case, things might work out in Yennefer’s favour when he brought Cirilla to meet her. Perhaps they’d find a common bond.
“In my mania to regain my womb, I would stop at nothing. I didn’t think. I wasn’t thinking of you at all,” Yennefer said imploringly to Jaskier. She turned to Geralt and added, “or you, Geralt, when I sent you to fight my battles.”
Geralt appreciated Yennefer’s apology, but it was unimportant to him, after all this time. Jaskier, however, had recently endured a similar assault on his person and could probably benefit from hearing Yennefer’s apology now. It would do little to alleviate the trauma that Jaskier suffered at the hands of Lord Mathen’s men, but it could prove a useful step in Jaskier’s healing.
“You don’t need to explain or apologize further,” Jaskier said. He reached for Yennefer’s shoulder and patted it gently in an attempt to alleviate her torment. “You’ve done more than enough to get back in my good graces over this past month. Please don’t worry about it any further after tonight.”
“It’s important to me that you understand,” Yennefer said with a sigh. “My desire for a child led me to treat everyone with disregard if they stood in my way. Geralt is going to let me meet his child of surprise as a favour for helping you. Healing you is the least I can do to help things to come full circle now. I can hardly believe how I acted when I was presented with an opportunity to get what I desired most in the world. I need you to understand that I was not myself that day.”
Jaskier studied his fingernails. “I do, Yennefer. And while I appreciate your apology and assure you that we need never speak of that grabby incident again, I do know a bit about desiring something above all else,” he said, lifting his eyes to Geralt. “Something that you would do anything for. Something that you desired so much that, no matter how dangerous, no matter how degrading, you are hell bent on having it.”
Geralt wasn’t certain what Jaskier was aiming at. Surely he didn’t mean that his desire for the witcher outpaced all of his human desires. It had to be something else.
“As much as I appreciate your help and your companionship-both of you, there is one thing missing in my life and I mourn its loss every day,” Jaskier said.
Yennefer looked at Geralt.
Geralt looked at Yennefer.
Jaskier stared at his fingers.
“It’s my music… my lute… it’s gone forever now, I’m sure. I’d do anything to get it back, but even more distressing….” Jaskier’s words trailed off and he went silent.
The rain outside intensified, beating against the windows and rolling off the roof in sheets of glimmering silver.
It was true, Jaskier might never see his lute again, but that was not what made a rough sob escape his throat.
“The loss of the use of my fingers for this past month… it will take me so much time to get back into performance shape with them… especially since I don’t even know where we would find a lute for me to practice with,” Jaskier said, his voice falling to barely a whisper.
Geralt nodded at Yennefer. He did not need to speak. Of all the things he wished he could give to Jaskier, he knew where one of the most important things could be found. He would graciously accept whatever small role he had in suggesting Yennefer give it to him tonight.
Without a word, Yennefer left the workshop to collect the lute.
Geralt stepped around the workbench and embraced Jaskier. The bard had been forewarned that the potion would make him tired and unstable on his feet. He had dressed in his sleep clothing, a soft tunic in powder blue with matching trousers that tied at the waist.
“The potion will work,” Geralt said, murmuring promises into Jaskier’s hair as he held him close. “You’ll get the use of your fingers back again.”
“It’s not just that,” Jaskier said with a sniffle. “The time I’ve lost in not being able to practice… and everything else….”
“I know,” Geralt said, stroking Jaskier’s hair tenderly. He hoped that Yennefer’s gift of the lute would be enough to quell Jaskier’s sorrow.
Geralt raised his eyes when Yennefer returned to the workshop. With Jaskier’s face pressed into Geralt’s chest, the bard didn’t see her enter.
Yennefer carefully set the lute atop the workbench and went to Jaskier’s side.
Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the gardens outside the workshop windows.
“Jaskier,” Yennefer said, touching his arm to get his attention. “We have something for you.”
“Go ahead, look,” Geralt said, nudging Jaskier’s chin with a finger.
Jaskier turned from Geralt to see what Yennefer had brought into the room.
Geralt’s only wish was that he could have seen the expression on Jaskier’s face, but his whoop of joy was enough for him to understand how happy the lute made the bard.
“Careful,” Geralt reminded Jaskier, who leapt toward the lute with unbound fingers.
“I will be,” Jaskier promised as he slid his left hand under the neck of the instrument and strummed one light pass on the strings.
Jaskier’s damaged hands were still too weak to lift the lute, but Geralt hoped they would soon remedy that.
The potion stood ready.
Yennefer’s fond expression told Geralt that they had done the right thing by gifting the lute to Jaskier on this night.
“How did you?” Jaskier asked, looking from Yennefer to Geralt and back again.
“Don’t look at me,” Geralt said. “It was all Yennefer’s doing.” He didn’t dwell on the fact that Yennefer, not he, had procured the prized instrument for Jaskier. This was Yennefer’s time to be appreciated. The mage had suffered enough in her distress over her treatment of the bard. Although the lute wasn’t directly given as an apology, it was comforting to see Jaskier and Yennefer bond over their losses and their desire for something seemingly unattainable.
“Thank you,” Jaskier said, taking his eyes off the lute to address Yennefer.
“You’re very welcome,” Yennefer said.
“Let me,” Jaskier said, stepping toward Yennefer and pulling her into a warm embrace.
Geralt didn’t know who was crying more tears of joy, Yennefer or Jaskier. This seemed to be just the thing to get the two of them on the same page, now and for the rest of their journeys together. Their friendship and mutual respect filled Geralt with warmth. He sincerely hoped that the diluted potion would help Jaskier heal more rapidly. If the bard survived the potion with no ill effects, Geralt’s night would be complete.
“I hate to interrupt you two,” Geralt said, after listening to the pair of confirmed friends chatter about the elven design of the lute and how it would need to be tuned accurately before Jaskier could get a decent song out of it.
“The potion,” Jaskier said excitedly.
“It’s all ready,” Geralt said, turning the vial over in his hand.
Yennefer laid a hand on Jaskier’s chest and said, “Let’s begin.”
Jaskier stepped away from Yennefer. With his hands tucked safely against his abdomen, he stood in front of Geralt.
Geralt could sense the rapid beating of Jaskier’s heart. The faint sense of juniper wafted from his skin. Geralt dipped his head so their foreheads touched.
“Are you ready?” Geralt asked.
“I’m ready,” Jaskier said.
“Be brave,” Geralt said.
Jaskier bit his lip.
“I’ll be with you the whole time, Yennefer too,” Geralt said. “We won’t let any harm come to you.”
“You should get comfortable,” Yennefer said. “The combination of the potion and the spells will make you very tired.”
“Will I pass out?” Jaskier asked.
“Yennefer grimaced. “You might,” she answered.
Geralt appreciated the fact that she was honest with Jaskier.
“It’s best if you’re somewhere you’ll be relaxed,” Yennefer reminded him.
“As long as Geralt will be with me,” Jaskier said.
“Of course,” Yennefer said.
“Let’s get you over to one of those chairs,” Geralt said, guiding Jaskier to the corner of the room where the plush chairs stood.
In one hand, Geralt tipped the vial containing the potion back and forth, ensuring that the ingredients stayed properly mixed.
“You’re not going to get naked and paint an image of a lute on your belly, are you, chum?” Jaskier asked.
Yennefer playfully cuffed him. “Sit down, bard,” she said with a laugh.
Although Jaskier made light of the situation, Geralt sensed his fear and vowed to keep him safe.
Holding his arms outstretched in front of him, Jaskier flopped down onto the plush chair. The scent of musty furniture wafted through the room.
“Budge up,” Geralt said, sliding onto the chair beside him. “I want to be able to hold onto you, in case you wriggle around a lot.
“Oh, lovely,” Jaskier said, squeezing himself onto the chair so he only took up half the space.
Yennefer pulled a low bench over to the chair and sat on it before Jaskier.
“This treatment will have a two-pronged approach,” Yennefer said with confidence. She draped a plush towel over her lap. “Geralt has mixed the potion that you will drink. I will collect the dregs from the vial and rub the potion onto your fingers, using magic to enhance your healing.”
Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he nodded tentatively.
“I would apply the potion to your hands, but I need to stay beside you in case you fight us and need to be restrained,” Geralt said.
“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” Jaskier said, offering his hands to Yennefer.
Geralt nodded. He could not agree more.
“I’ll be gentle,” Yennefer promised.
Jaskier allowed his fingers to unfurl so Yennefer could touch them.
“Lean forward a bit more,” Geralt instructed as he slipped an arm behind Jaskier’s back.
Jaskier leant forward as directed, but before he did so, he turned to look at Geralt. “I’m a bit scared,” he whispered, wide-eyed.
Geralt did not need to be told this. He sensed Jaskier’s heartbeat, his scent, and the look of fear in his eyes. Despite his proximity to Yennefer, he quietly pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s lips. He hoped it was enough to calm him and to let him know that he was cared for and loved.
Jaskier blinked back tears and turned his attention to Yennefer.
While Jaskier was distracted by Geralt’s kiss, Yennefer had taken each of Jaskier’s hands and laid them on the soft towel. She nodded to Geralt when she was satisfied that Jaskier’s hands were in the right position.
Geralt uncorked the vial and said, “It’s time.” He held it to Jaskier’s lips and tilted it toward him.
Jaskier stuck out a pink tongue to find the edge of the vial, but his eyes did not leave Geralt’s. He drank as Geralt tipped the potion into his mouth.
“There’s a good lad,” Geralt said tenderly. He hoped he could assuage any of Jaskier’s fears with a comforting tone.
Yennefer took the vial from Geralt’s hand when Jaskier had finished drinking. She upended the vial and collected the remaining potion, thick with pulverized herbs, onto her fingers. Setting the vial aside, she took one of Jaskier’s hands in her own and began to trace each finger in its turn, smearing the potion onto his skin.
“I don’t feel anything yet,” Jaskier said, after a while.
“You might not feel anything right away,” Geralt reminded him. “You might just fall asleep.”
Jaskier shuddered. “I don’t want to fall asleep and miss the experience,” he complained.
“Or you might become combative,” Yennefer said. “But Geralt is here to hold you in case you try to fight against the potion.”
“I promise I won’t fight it,” Jaskier said. “I want to be able to play the lute again.”
Yennefer smiled. “That’s it,” she said as she stroked his fingers soothingly. “Keep thinking those good thoughts, calm thoughts.”
“I will,” Jaskier said.
In the silent room, Yennefer began to chant in time with the thunder that drummed outside the window.
Geralt watched as sparks of lightning travelled up and down Jaskier’s fingers.
Jaskier, his eyes wide open and enthralled with the magic, settled into Geralt’s hold.
Yennefer’s voice was soothing and melodic. Geralt was reminded of another time when he was in the presence of such magic. It was on the night that he had served as a bodyguard to Jaskier when he performed at Pavetta’s betrothal party. It was the very night that he claimed the Law of Surprise and was awarded the unborn child of Pavetta and Duny’s union.
The magic in the air that night was not unlike what Geralt witnessed now, listening to Yennefer’s chants and watching the bright spark of electricity as it mended Jaskier’s bones. It wouldn’t be long before he retrieved his child and brought her to meet Yennefer. The mage would undoubtedly be thrilled if Cirilla possessed a fraction of the magic Geralt saw Pavetta display on that fateful night.
That was it.
Geralt inhaled sharply.
Magic.
That was what Yennefer and the child might bond over. Geralt should have seen this when Yennefer first asked for the privilege of meeting her. If the child had any magical ability, it would strengthen Yennefer’s resolve to nurture the child on her own terms. Everything became clearer now. A magical child would be in good hands with Yennefer. Better to be under Yennefer’s motherly protection, than used as a weapon by someone with more nefarious plans for the princess.
Only Jaskier’s healed fingers were required now.
“How are you feeling?” Geralt asked as he rocked Jaskier’s body to Yennefer’s chanting.
Jaskier tipped his head toward Geralt. “It’s not so difficult. I could probably become a witcher if this is all there is to it,” he said with a yawn.
Geralt laughed at the bard’s penchant for overestimating his abilities. “There was no friend like Yennefer to rub my fingers tenderly for the Trial of the Grasses, I assure you,” Geralt reminded him, nuzzling his hair in a manner that he hoped was comforting.
Yennefer continued stroking Jaskier’s fingers, electricity thrumming through them while she chanted.
“It feels a little weird now,” Jaskier said.
“Your fingers?” Geralt asked.
“Yes, they tingle a bit,” Jaskier said.
Yennefer looked up at Geralt.
“That’s the potion doing the work,” Geralt said, rubbing soothing circles onto Jaskier’s back.
Jaskier nodded in understanding.
“What about inside?” Geralt asked.
Jaskier made a face as he felt around in his mouth with his tongue. “Nothing, really,” he said.
“Hmm,” Geralt mumbled. He glanced at Yennefer, who had looked up from Jaskier’s hands.
“Well, maybe,” Jaskier said, suddenly.
By the time Geralt’s eyes shifted back to Jaskier, the bard had slumped into the chair, his eyes closed in sleep.
Yennefer’s voice went quiet. She stopped massaging Jaskier’s fingers, while the storm still raged outside. “Is he… sleeping?” she asked.
Geralt checked Jaskier over. His heart rate was normal for a human. He didn’t seem distressed at all. Yes, improbably, the bard was asleep. “Well, that was a bit anticlimactic,” he said.
“Better to have him sleepy, than in his usual state,” Yennefer said, settling Jaskier’s hands on his lap. She wiped the herb residue from his fingers with the towel and remarked, “He’s a feisty one.”
“He is,” Geralt said, resting his hand on Jaskier’s chest. He was comforted by the bard’s even breathing. His chest rose and fell calmly, like a wave on the ocean.
“He’s truly charming,” Yennefer said, wiping her brow, dewy from the exertion of using her magic.
Geralt sighed. “The bit about painting a lute on your belly was funny.”
Yennefer bit her lip as she rubbed the herbs from her own fingers onto the towel. “He does a lot of that,” she said.
“Being obsessed with a lute?” Geralt asked.
Outside, the rain pelted the windows.
“No,” Yennefer shrugged. “You know how he is. As soon as one of us brings up something serious, he deflects us with a witty remark. He says something to try to get us to laugh.”
“He’s behaving normally, if you ask me,” Geralt said.
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Yennefer said. “He’s behaving too normally. He’s been through a lot of trauma. After he regains the use of his fingers, only half of his healing will be done.”
Geralt adjusted his hold on Jaskier. The bard looked so peaceful in his sleep. His body was warm and unmarred by the injuries that were visible when Geralt first brought him to Yennefer.
“It’s none of my business, but have you discussed what happened to him?” Yennefer asked quietly.
Geralt shook his head against the memory of the blood, mud, and semen that caked Jaskier’s body on that awful night. It seemed inappropriate to be discussing such matters when Jaskier could not intervene on his own behalf. But Jaskier hadn’t really discussed much of what had happened before Geralt found him in the barn-not that it was any of Yennefer’s business.
“No,” Geralt said, but he did not divulge more than that.
“I tried to talk about it with him when you were off hunting drowners,” Yennefer said. “But he laughed it off like he usually does.”
Like Yennefer, Geralt feared that Jaskier was still suffering from the damage done to his heart and mind. Bruises faded and bones healed, but Jaskier’s spirit was still recovering.
“He was excited about the lute,” Geralt said, taking a moment to stroke Jaskier’s arm tenderly. No matter what misgivings he had about Yennefer providing Jaskier with the most sought-after object the bard desired, he was pleased both that Yennefer secured the lute for Jaskier and that they agreed she should give it to him tonight.
“With any luck, as early as tomorrow, the halls will be filled with song,” Yennefer said with a smile.
Geralt laughed. He missed the bard’s singing and the way his deft fingers danced across the strings of the instrument. He slid a finger across Jaskier’s hand, feeling where the bones were mending beneath the skin. He willed them to heal without any further discomfort.
“Do you think you’ll take him with you when you visit Cintra?” Yennefer asked.
“I hope that question means you truly believe he’ll be healed by this potion and your magic,” Geralt said.
“I trust in my magic and in the powers of the herbs we prepared for him,” Yennefer said. “Of course, he’s welcome to stay here with me while you travel to Cintra.”
“He’ll come with me,” Geralt said. “After all, he is well known to the Cintran court and I’ll need every advantage to convince Queen Calanthe to let me take her granddaughter away for a short while, even if it is my right to do so.”
“If she loves the girl as a mother does, she’ll want what’s best for her,” Yennefer said solemnly.
Geralt admired Yennefer’s commitment to the ideals of motherhood.
Long ago, Geralt dreamed of what it would feel like to be loved by a mother. He remembered it now, in some shattered part of his mind that was wiped out by mutagens. To experience such a love, unconditionally. To always be forgiven. To be cherished. He had longed for the kind of love that a mother could give, or a lover-if one were fortunate enough to find a heart that beat in time with his own. But those dreams died as each Trial of the Grasses was surmounted. Had he known that his child of surprise could quell Yennefer’s desire to be a mother, he should have offered to introduce the pair long ago.
“You know she may have some magical ability,” Geralt said. It wasn’t really a question. He was certain that Yennefer knew of Pavetta’s abilities. She had to wonder if they had been passed down to her daughter.
“It has been rumoured,” Yennefer said. She acted quickly to put Geralt’s mind at ease. “I’d like to learn if it’s true. I assure you that no harm will come to the girl when she’s in my care.”
“I believe you. It’s your desire to provide a mother’s love,” Geralt said, with an understanding he hadn’t possessed on the day he berated her for the same desire on the mountainside. “I can see that, in the way you treat Jaskier.”
“I do mother him a bit,” Yennefer said with a smile. “And look at you. You only have eyes for him. I told you some time ago that he loves you. I’m glad that you’ve found each other.”
Of everything Yennefer said, at least the first part was true. He only had eyes for Jaskier. In the hours they spent together while Jaskier recovered, Geralt’s love for him had sparked… but maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Perhaps he had loved Jaskier all along, over their many years together as they travelled from town to town. The new addition of the kissing and the touching simply complemented what had already existed.
“How can I believe it?” Geralt whispered.
“How can you believe what?” Yennefer asked. Her eyes glanced toward the windows as a flash of lightning brightened the workshop.
Geralt took a deep breath. He thought about the times when he’d dreamed of love- the kind of love that Yennefer had for a child she hadn’t even met yet. Sometimes, coming down off a potion, with eyes black and his veins thrumming with fire, he’d dream that his mother returned to him. She tended to him and cradled him in her arms. She healed his soul from the damage done when he found himself dropped off on the doorstep of Kaer Morhen all those years ago. But when he awoke, the dream would be gone and Geralt was left with no shred of a memory to cling to as he continued his life on the Path.
“Why would he love me? He could love anyone else on the Continent. Why me? It makes no sense. How do I know that I won’t wake up one day and find that it’s all been a dream?” Geralt asked. “How can I believe that he loves me?”
Yennefer leant forward and touched Geralt’s hand. “It’s in everything he does, Geralt.”
Geralt frowned and held Jaskier closer, unwilling to break contact with him for even a moment.
“He loves you,” Yennefer said. “Whether you want to believe that he loves you or not, whether you think you’re deserving or not. He loves you, all the same.”
“No one can love a witcher,” Geralt said.
“Apparently, Jaskier does,” Yennefer said. “He demonstrates that he loves you with everything he does, Geralt. His songs, his devotion to following you, he puts himself in danger to be near to you, it’s in everything he does. It always has been. I don’t think you need any proof other than that.”
“Hmm,” Geralt mumbled. He wanted to believe that what Yennefer said was true. Jaskier genuinely loved him? He just couldn’t believe it. He was of no value at all to the bard. It made no sense. He stifled a yawn and decided that it was an issue for another day.
“I’d best be getting this one off to bed,” Geralt said, patting Jaskier’s shoulder.
“It’s late,” Yennefer said, clapping a hand over a yawn. “I’m exhausted from sending so much healing magic his way.” She stood, while Geralt got his footing on the stone floor of the workshop.
Geralt leant over and hoisted Jaskier’s sleeping body into his arms. His muscles strained against his shirtsleeves. He took one last look around the workshop while Yennefer held the door open for him.
“The lute,” Yennefer said, remembering to grab the instrument off the workbench.
Geralt carried Jaskier down the torchlit hallway to his room as Yennefer followed with the lute.
Geralt waited for Yennefer to open the door for them when he got to Jaskier’s room. He set the bard upon the bed, as gently as he could, while Yennefer left the lute on the table. He walked her to the door and bid her goodnight.
“Sleep well, Geralt,” Yennefer said, leaving a soft kiss on his cheek.
“You, too,” Geralt said. “Get some sleep.”
Geralt closed the door and walked to the fireplace with the kindling ready to burn. With his fingers, he cast igni to start the fire. He tugged off his boots while the flames ignited.
Returning to Jaskier, Geralt covered the bard with a soft fur to ward off the chill of the night. He tucked the covers along Jaskier’s neck while he snored softly, unperturbed.
As the fire grew, Geralt added a few logs, positioning them to catch. Satisfied, he went to one of the room’s windows and pulled aside the gossamer drapes. He watched the rain as it streaked down the outside of the windows. Unbuttoning his shirt and letting it drop to the floor, he caught a glimpse of his reflection off the glass when a bolt of lightning flashed.
Geralt possessed the scarred and damaged body of a witcher. His medallion marked him for his trade. He killed monsters for coin. He was of no use to the beautiful man who lay asleep in the bed. He turned from the window and stepped toward the bed, illuminated by the fire in the grate. He pressed a hand to Jaskier’s forehead, admiring the softness of his cheeks, the curve of his sleeping smile, and the graceful fan of his eyelashes in the firelight.
Geralt slipped into the bed with Jaskier and settled in for a sleepless night.
~