Patience
Title: Patience
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Geralt of Rivia | Geralt z Rivii/Jaskier |Dandelion
Rating: R
Words: 859
Warnings: None
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier prepare to leave Kaer Morhen after spending the winter together. Geralt bides his time until he can set things right.
A/N: I am missing Witcher Wheel of the Year because I love writing to prompts. Patience was written this year for last year's Witcher Wheel of the Year - Imbolc prompt. This is not the waxplay I anticipated writing. Thanks to my wonderful beta, Gillian, the best cheer-reader ever!
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!
One.
Geralt lowered the wick into the cauldron. He waited a moment before lifting it to inspect his work.
The tallow gave off an unpleasant scent as it heated. Sometimes a bubble would rise to the surface and burst into a splatter before being consumed by the gurgling liquid.
Two.
Geralt dipped the wick again and lifted the candle, coated in a layer of what served as wax in his winter home of Kaer Morhen.
Three.
The wax cooled, a sheen creeping down the candle’s length as it solidified in the chill of the witcher’s workshop. Geralt dipped the wick, adding another thin layer to his candle.
Candlemaking required patience.
Four.
Beside him, Jaskier worked on his own candle. His fingertips bore shiny new skin that Geralt had tended with salve and prayers to Melitele as each winter month had passed in the keep.
Five.
“How does this one look?” Jaskier asked, holding the candle high for Geralt’s inspection.
Geralt reached for Jaskier’s hand, stopping it in mid-motion as the candle swung from its wick. He stroked along the candle’s length, puckered and grooved by Jaskier’s inexperience at the task. The sticky tallow clung to every raised scar on Geralt’s fingers. He grunted his approval to the bard before returning to his own candlemaking.
Six.
Geralt dipped his candle again. Another thin shell coated the exterior.
Soon it would be time to leave for Oxenfurt.
Seven.
The deep snow that piled against the stone walls of the keep had shrunk in recent days. A southwest wind had turned the icy snowbanks into soft mounds that reminded Geralt of mashed potatoes flecked with pepper. Spring would arrive soon and, with its arrival, the many tasks that the witchers needed to address and complete before they embarked on their Path to rid the Continent of monsters.
Eight.
The tallow dripped down Geralt’s candle, giving it a new layer, unmarred like Jaskier’s new skin.
Nine.
To Geralt’s surprise, Jaskier had volunteered to help with the candlemaking.
A supply of tallow had accumulated over the winter. The resulting candles would serve to illuminate the dim halls of Kaer Morhen in the following year. Although the witchers didn’t rely on the candlelight to see in the dark, a well-crafted candle added warmth to the draughty old keep.
Jaskier argued that he should help with this particular task since, as a human, he benefitted most from the light. He added that he hoped he would be welcome at Kaer Morhen during the winters that followed the first one that he and Geralt had spent together.
Geralt clasped Jaskier’s shoulders when he volunteered. He scanned the bard’s face for any sign of distress before resting his forehead against Jaskier’s.
“Are you sure?” Geralt whispered, the memory of Jaskier’s injury weighing heavily on his mind. He let his fingers stroke the fabric of Jaskier’s chemise, sensing any tension in his shoulders or pattering heartbeat that would give away his lie.
Jaskier let out a huff. “I want to,” he said. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger… or something like that.”
Geralt slid his hands down Jaskier’s arms to catch his damaged fingers.
Jaskier lowered his gaze and let the witcher take his hands. He held his breath as Geralt inspected the pads of his fingertips.
“I don’t like the thought of anything killing you,” Geralt said, bringing Jaskier’s fingers to his lips for a kiss.
“They feel a lot better,” Jaskier whispered. “The salve helps.”
“Hmm,” Geralt grunted. A gust of his soft breath cooled the new skin of pink whorls and ridges that decorated Jaskier’s fingertips.
“I think I’ll be able to play again, as soon as I acquire a lute,” Jaskier reminded him.
“We’ll stop first in Oxenfurt,” Geralt said with a nod, although he had a much different chore to complete in the city.
“Thank you, darling,” Jaskier said, his grin growing wide, the memory of his torture hidden behind his bright eyes. “I can’t wait to be reunited with a few of my favourite instruments that I have stored in my rooms on the campus, although none can compare to my dear destroyed Elven lute.”
“I’m sure you’ll make do,” Geralt chuckled.
Jaskier leant forward and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s lips.
Geralt sighed and pulled Jaskier closer. He was grateful that he had asked Jaskier to accompany Ciri to Kaer Morhen. As the winter nights grew long, he had earned Jaskier’s forgiveness. He had been rewarded with the love that bloomed in each cold night shared beneath the furs, in the whisper of Jaskier’s breath against his nape as they burrowed together in Geralt’s bed.
Only one problem required a resolution, one wrong that Geralt vowed to set right.
Ten.
Geralt lowered his candle into the wax.
Oxenfurt awaited him.
And somewhere in that bustling city, Geralt would find the monster who had tortured Jaskier. He would meet him with the same calm that allowed him to pass the days dipping a wick into hot wax. His layers of calm, growing, growing. Until he could vanquish the monster with the flame of his fury just as a candle could vanquish darkness.
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Geralt of Rivia | Geralt z Rivii/Jaskier |Dandelion
Rating: R
Words: 859
Warnings: None
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier prepare to leave Kaer Morhen after spending the winter together. Geralt bides his time until he can set things right.
A/N: I am missing Witcher Wheel of the Year because I love writing to prompts. Patience was written this year for last year's Witcher Wheel of the Year - Imbolc prompt. This is not the waxplay I anticipated writing. Thanks to my wonderful beta, Gillian, the best cheer-reader ever!
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!
One.
Geralt lowered the wick into the cauldron. He waited a moment before lifting it to inspect his work.
The tallow gave off an unpleasant scent as it heated. Sometimes a bubble would rise to the surface and burst into a splatter before being consumed by the gurgling liquid.
Two.
Geralt dipped the wick again and lifted the candle, coated in a layer of what served as wax in his winter home of Kaer Morhen.
Three.
The wax cooled, a sheen creeping down the candle’s length as it solidified in the chill of the witcher’s workshop. Geralt dipped the wick, adding another thin layer to his candle.
Candlemaking required patience.
Four.
Beside him, Jaskier worked on his own candle. His fingertips bore shiny new skin that Geralt had tended with salve and prayers to Melitele as each winter month had passed in the keep.
Five.
“How does this one look?” Jaskier asked, holding the candle high for Geralt’s inspection.
Geralt reached for Jaskier’s hand, stopping it in mid-motion as the candle swung from its wick. He stroked along the candle’s length, puckered and grooved by Jaskier’s inexperience at the task. The sticky tallow clung to every raised scar on Geralt’s fingers. He grunted his approval to the bard before returning to his own candlemaking.
Six.
Geralt dipped his candle again. Another thin shell coated the exterior.
Soon it would be time to leave for Oxenfurt.
Seven.
The deep snow that piled against the stone walls of the keep had shrunk in recent days. A southwest wind had turned the icy snowbanks into soft mounds that reminded Geralt of mashed potatoes flecked with pepper. Spring would arrive soon and, with its arrival, the many tasks that the witchers needed to address and complete before they embarked on their Path to rid the Continent of monsters.
Eight.
The tallow dripped down Geralt’s candle, giving it a new layer, unmarred like Jaskier’s new skin.
Nine.
To Geralt’s surprise, Jaskier had volunteered to help with the candlemaking.
A supply of tallow had accumulated over the winter. The resulting candles would serve to illuminate the dim halls of Kaer Morhen in the following year. Although the witchers didn’t rely on the candlelight to see in the dark, a well-crafted candle added warmth to the draughty old keep.
Jaskier argued that he should help with this particular task since, as a human, he benefitted most from the light. He added that he hoped he would be welcome at Kaer Morhen during the winters that followed the first one that he and Geralt had spent together.
Geralt clasped Jaskier’s shoulders when he volunteered. He scanned the bard’s face for any sign of distress before resting his forehead against Jaskier’s.
“Are you sure?” Geralt whispered, the memory of Jaskier’s injury weighing heavily on his mind. He let his fingers stroke the fabric of Jaskier’s chemise, sensing any tension in his shoulders or pattering heartbeat that would give away his lie.
Jaskier let out a huff. “I want to,” he said. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger… or something like that.”
Geralt slid his hands down Jaskier’s arms to catch his damaged fingers.
Jaskier lowered his gaze and let the witcher take his hands. He held his breath as Geralt inspected the pads of his fingertips.
“I don’t like the thought of anything killing you,” Geralt said, bringing Jaskier’s fingers to his lips for a kiss.
“They feel a lot better,” Jaskier whispered. “The salve helps.”
“Hmm,” Geralt grunted. A gust of his soft breath cooled the new skin of pink whorls and ridges that decorated Jaskier’s fingertips.
“I think I’ll be able to play again, as soon as I acquire a lute,” Jaskier reminded him.
“We’ll stop first in Oxenfurt,” Geralt said with a nod, although he had a much different chore to complete in the city.
“Thank you, darling,” Jaskier said, his grin growing wide, the memory of his torture hidden behind his bright eyes. “I can’t wait to be reunited with a few of my favourite instruments that I have stored in my rooms on the campus, although none can compare to my dear destroyed Elven lute.”
“I’m sure you’ll make do,” Geralt chuckled.
Jaskier leant forward and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s lips.
Geralt sighed and pulled Jaskier closer. He was grateful that he had asked Jaskier to accompany Ciri to Kaer Morhen. As the winter nights grew long, he had earned Jaskier’s forgiveness. He had been rewarded with the love that bloomed in each cold night shared beneath the furs, in the whisper of Jaskier’s breath against his nape as they burrowed together in Geralt’s bed.
Only one problem required a resolution, one wrong that Geralt vowed to set right.
Ten.
Geralt lowered his candle into the wax.
Oxenfurt awaited him.
And somewhere in that bustling city, Geralt would find the monster who had tortured Jaskier. He would meet him with the same calm that allowed him to pass the days dipping a wick into hot wax. His layers of calm, growing, growing. Until he could vanquish the monster with the flame of his fury just as a candle could vanquish darkness.