A little Favour

by Serazimei

Summary:

Jaskiers father is turning sixty and wants to throw a big party. Of course he won’t take no for an answer when his only son tells him he can’t come. So Jaskier decides to retaliate by causing the hugest scandal he can think of, hopefully giving him a free pass to never visit the Lettenhove estate again. Now didn’t Geralt still owe him after the stunt after the dragon hunt?

Notes:

This is for the Secret Santa Event on tumblr and for my giftee puakaba.

Happy holidays everyone!

Chapter 1: A Letter

It all started with a letter. Well more like with a bunch of letters. A bunch of small conversations on paper, carried back and forth over huge distances between the two of them. Surprisingly it had been Geralt who had initiated the contact, knowing where to send the letters in any case and having the right means to do so without forcing some poor sod to make the track up and down the Blue Mountains every few weeks. Not that anyone but a Witcher would have been able to survive that.

Anyway. It started with a lavish apology, written on paper, proofread and edited by an enthusiastic thirteen year old, his brothers and his former fencing instructor and mentor. And it continued with a reply, an acceptance and a few teasing words.

Geralt had been looking forward to every new page he got in the days between training Ciri and upkeeping the fortress. Spring was slowly turning into summer, the stack of carefully tucked away parchments growing and he yearned to go out again. It was usually around this time that he would meet back up with Jaskier. If they were lucky and found their way to each other sooner, they might have even travelled together for a month or two at this point.

But with a child everything was different. Geralt had just brought Ciri to Kaer Morhen last winter and she still found it hard to settle. She was a precious whirlwind, as wild and headstrong as her grandmother, but as kind and empathic as her mother. She was also a snot nosed brat. Lamberts words. But they all had been at one point or another, Lambert especially never having outgrown that phase.

She was currently trying to sneak up on him while he opened the sealed envelope with the Oxenfurt Academy sign imprinted into the red wax. Jaskier must have still been teaching then. A smart move, given that Nilfgaard was trampling all over the continent in search for the Lion Cup of Cintra.

He turned just as she pounced, catching her by the waist and swinging her around a few times, delighting in her excited shrieks and giggles even as they hurt his ears. "You have to be quieter than that. I could hear you coming from down the hall."

"You have super hearing. That doesn’t count!" she exclaimed, pouting when he sat her down. But her eyes were soon drawn to the as of yet unread letter in Geralts hand. "Did he write you again? What does it say? Can you read it to me?"

"Sit down and sharpen your blade and maybe I will."

"But I already did that."

Geralt gave her the look that Vesemir had taught him. It was a good weapon against the petulance of children he had been told. A sort of gentle intimidation that usually was enough as long as Ciri wasn’t feeling especially stubborn.

"You were throwing training bombs at dummies with Lambert this morning and Eskel taught you how to cheat at cards after lunch." He loved his brothers dearly, but he was starting to think that they had vastly different opinions on what was essential for a teenager to learn.

Ciri crossed her arms and tried to look confident, but the slight wobble of her lips gave her away. "I had some time in between."

"Hm. Show me your weapon then."

That broke her like a charm. She huffed and stomped her foot. "Fine! But you promise to read the letter to me while I do it? Please?"

"If it’s appropriate for you." Sometimes Jaskier liked to ramble about his escapades for one reason or another and Ciri really didn’t need to hear about those. He had a whole keep of bad examples when it came to making decisions. No need to add another to the pile.

Ciri scrunched up her face. "Ewww. Agreed." Still she sat down beside him on the bed, only a sliver of space between them as she took out her dagger and rummaged in Geralts bedside drawer to get the whetstone and a piece of cloth out.

Geralt watched her work for a while, correcting her technique a few times before skimming over what Jaskier had written him.

To my dearest friend Geralt
I feel honoured that you decided to share some details of your stay with your family with me. As I know you don’t feel comfortable talking about such personal matters. Maybe the written word looses your tongue? If so I’d love to continue this correspondence during the long, dreadfully boring winter months when we must be apart.

But discussing that is for another time. You see, while you enjoy your stay with your family my own has decided to contact me again. I’m in need of your aid. My father sent for me and gave me no other option but to agree to attend his birthday party in Lettenhove.

I do not want to go. I’d really rather be swallowed by a Selkiemore or kiss a Drowner. But alas, I must and so I want to retaliate a bit. I wish for you to come with me, meet my family, drink all the good wine and eat all the good food. Glower and growl like you usually do. Fear not, you won’t be forced to dress up for the occasion. In fact I’d even let you go into the dining hall covered in mud and monster guts if you so choose.

And before you say no and force your poor bird to fly another few unnecessary miles in this dreadful weather to settle this matter. Remember what you wrote me after the dragon hunt? You promised you would be there for me should I ever need you. And this is a matter of utmost importance to me. Please do not betray my trust again.

Send my warmest greetings to young Cirilla and your family. I’m looking forward to seeing you again.

Your best friend in the whole wide world,
Jaskier

"Ohhhh he has you there!" Ciri piped up beside him, long since having stopped cleaning and sharpening her weapon to read alongside him. He had probably been silent for too long. Ciri did not like to wait for anything much.

"Hm."

"Can I come with? This sounds like it would be fun!"

"No. I’m not going."

Ciri gasped in outrage and slapped him on his arm. "You have to! You just made up with him! And you promised!"

Geralt frowned down at the letter in his hands. Ciri, unfortunately, had a point. "You’re still not coming. It’s too dangerous."

"But-" she cut herself off, sighing as her eyes took over a slightly glazed look.

Geralt hated when that happened and was quick to pull her into his lap, wrapping both arms around her and tugging her head under his chin. She was a strong young woman, but even the strongest had moments of weakness. She had seen too much, lost too much to forget and sometimes she got lost in her head because of it. Geralt more than understood that.

"I’ll bring you back something, yes?" he tried to cheer her up.

"A hair pin maybe? A sharp one. So I can stab people even when I’m unarmed." Ciri concluded after a while with a small nod, leaning back to stare at her father with determined, green eyes.

Clever girl, she would be terrifying once she grew up. He gifted her one of his gentle smiles, which had once been rare but now were not, Ciri breaking the last of Geralts already tumbling walls Jaskier had worked two decades to tear down.

"I will. Now go back to tending to your weapon while I’ll go and speak to Vesemir."

He carried her out of his room as he said that, closing and locking his door, before depositing his pouting child in her own four walls. Hopefully she would stay and do as she was told. It was a fifty fifty chance with her at this point. She had a lot of energy and barely any patience to sit still. Geralt was sure she and Jaskier would get on like a house on fire. Probably even set one aflame for real, given their tempers.

Vesemir was easy to find, dozing in the library. Geralt halted in the doorway to watch him with a fond smile. When did Kaer Morhen become so domestic, he wondered?

Gently touching his mentors shoulder, Vesemir startled awake. "Ah Geralt. Is it dinner time already?"

"No. I wanted to talk to you about something. Jaskier asked me to assist him with some family matters. I can’t take Ciri with me."

Vesemir nodded. "Say no more. I’ll stay and look after her. When will you be setting out?"

Geralt looked outside. It was nearing darkness, but the signs of the upcoming summer were everywhere. Any day would be good for travel now. "As soon as everything is sorted out. Jaskier didn’t name a specific date yet, I’ll have to write back and arrange a meeting place and time. He sends his regards by the way."

"Polite that one. Sending his wishes when he doesn’t know us, yet."

Yet. As though Jaskier would ever grace these halls with his presence. "You’d be surprised."

Vesemir looked up from his chair with a mischievious smile. "Would I?"

"Hm."

He got a fatherly shake of the head and a huff of breath that sounded almost like laughter. "Go write your letter, boy."

Matters were settled over the course of the next week, Geralt anxiously awaiting every new letter. Paper for paper the days ticked by and the weather got warmer, kinder. His brothers teased him relentlessly for the plans he had made.

"Maybe I’ll stay the whole year and help Vesemir with training Ciri." Lambert would joke, knowing Geralt feared nothing more than Lamberts influence on his daughter.

"Playing dress up for your bard again? Mind bringing me some fancy stuff as a souvenir?" was more Eskels line of teasing, amused and maybe a little jealous that Geralt would come to enjoy the finer things in life again. Geralt was half tempted to take Eskel up on his request. Surely Jaskier wouldn’t mind sneaking one or two things from his fathers estate. Things vanished at parties all the time.

Eventually the teasing peetered out as everyone prepared to go back on the Path. They had stayed for far longer than usual already, wanting to spend as much time with the new addition to the family as they could. But the Path was calling for them. Lambert was the first to go, to calm Geralts fears. Eskel lingered a few days longer to ease the blow for Ciri, who had gotten used to a keep full of Witchers and was visibly terrified of being left alone.

"You’ll come back, yes?" she asked, over and over again when it was just Geralt that was left.

"I promise." he answered every time.

When it was his turn to leave she hugged him so hard Geralt feared she’d break her arms. "Please be safe. Come back for me."

Geralt crouched down and returned the hug, careful to keep it just tight enough to feel secure, tugging his nose into her wild hair. "I will."

He felt a bit guilty for being so eager to leave, but the feeling quickly subsided with every step that brought him closer to Jaskier. He hadn’t seen his friend in so long, not after the mountain. And only now, as he made his way to him, so close to a reunion, did he really feel how much he had missed him.

~~~

The birthday of Jaskiers father was scheduled for the middle of summer, but they had decided to meet earlier than that. To get… reacquainted Jaskier had said. It hurt Geralt to think that they had grown apart so much over the two years they hadn’t seen each other.

Their meeting place was the same as ever, The Alchemy, a cozy, lively inn Jaskier liked to visit whenever he wintered in Oxenfurt. Of course Jaskier was already there, eyes nervously flitting all over the place, clutching a pint of ale as he sat in the darkest corner the inn had to offer. Geralts heart swelled at the sight. His friend knew him so well.

He went straight for the table in the dark, Jaskier catching his eye and standing in an aborted move to meet him in the middle. He looked awkward like that, caught between wanting to sit back down but also not wanting it to look like he didn’t know what he was doing. The smile on his face was real, which was a relief, yet it also wavered slightly as Geralt approached.

For Geralt the position was perfect. Taking a last, long step he reached out and pulled Jaskier into a hug that was twenty years overdue, arms tightening around his friend as Jaskier let out a small, wet sound. He relaxed when the hug was returned almost immediately.

"Hello, old friend." Jaskier whispered into his shoulder, voice flooded with warmth.

"I missed you."

"Now I know you have a lot to make up for, but if you keep acting this affectionate I might need to suspect that you are actually a doppler."

Geralt gave him a light shove as they parted. Jaskier laughed at the apparent scowl on Geralts face. "Ah there is the grumpy Witcher I know!"

It all fell back into place after that. The initial nervousness dissipating like smoke once Geralt sat down next to him. Things were different, of course. They had changed and those changes were even more outstanding because of their time apart.

Jaskier had gotten quieter in a way, still bright and chatty, but now there were moments of extended silence. Those Geralt had feared, at first. Scared that Jaskier was sad or angry. But eventually he came to cherish them once he understood that this was just how Jaskier was now. Sometimes quiet and sometimes loud. Allowing himself to process things every now and then.

Geralt – in turn - had become softer and more vocal. He had to, given that he had taken care of a traumatized angry child for two years. And that too had creeped Jaskier out at first. He liked it, of course. Geralt knew his bard soaked up affection like a sponge and the mild words and light touches were a balm to the wound Geralts words had inflicted at the end of the dragon hunt.

But it was still change. And changes were hard to swallow, good or bad. Needed to be adjusted to. Their boundaries had shifted. Jaskiers walls, while still rather low, had been build up, through the years on the Path, the mountain, but also the war. And Geralts had come down, for Ciri, for his brothers, Yennefer and Jaskier.

They were tipping scales trying to balance each other out again. It was an exciting process. A necessary one, too. Geralt was glad Jaskier had wanted to meet earlier. Not that they were talking about his little scheme much. All too soon everyday life had them firmly in her grasp again and there was barely any room for a stray thought in the haze that the routine of their lifes brought.

Time slipped by fast and both would probably have forgotten about the birthday of Jaskiers father hadn’t a group of mercenaries sought them out. It was on a bright, warm day, perfect for travelling. They had just finished their breakfast and were about to go get Roach from the stables, when five armed men stepped into their way. Geralt stayed outwardly calm, but made sure Jaskier stood behind him as he regarded their new company.

"Good morning, dear fellows!" Jaskier was faster to speak up than him. Some things just never changed. "Whatever business do you have with us on this fine day?"

The man in the middle, an older one with strands of greying hair and a sharp chin nodded in greeting. "Good morning Master Pankratz. We were send by your father to escort you and your… companion to the estate."

"Oh. Oh! Is it that time of the year already? My how fast the days pass when you’re enjoying yourself, right Geralt?"

"Hm."

Jaskier send him a glare that clearly stated You’re not helping. Geralt just stared back at him. At what?, he tried to portray with his gaze.

Their new company watched them with growing unrest, shifting nervously, eyes flickering from Geralt to Jaskier and back. It was obvious that they feared resistance. An intelligent bunch.
Geralt tore his eyes from Jaskiers pout and tilted his head at the commander of the lot. "Lead the way."

The mans shoulders sagged a bit and he gave them a small, grateful smile. "Right. Go get your horses ready. Do you have enough provisions?"

Riding out of the village it took them all but four steps before Jaskier started asking questions. Names, lifes, favourite drinks, details on their work, everything. Jaskier drained them off information faster than a vampire could suck the blood out of their victim.

Geralt left their escort to their fate, knowing full well trying to derail Jaskier would be near impossible. And while he might have been silent and seemingly focussed on the road before them, he listened intently to every tale the men were willing to share. Mercenaries weren’t exactly bad people, but they had a tendency to go rogue if someone higher paying came along. Better know your potential enemy.

Trevor was the name of the commander, the oldest of the group and the most tight lipped. Two of the men were brothers, Cian and Barra. Both had dark hair and darker eyes with a fair complexion and a collection of scars that rivalled even Geralts. Aodh had spent his childhood with a group of druids before leaving and answering the call of gold. And Fion and Maedock came from Skellige and had sailed together as pirates until they decided to try their luck on land.

It should have been a mix of people that were bound to cause trouble. Most of them were headstrong and unwilling to take any orders. And while they seemed to get along with each other well enough it was easy to see that they split off in pairs whenever they got the chance.

But everything stayed peaceful. Trevor even sought Geralt out from time to time, Jaskiers overbearing extrovertness draining him to the point that he’d rather stay in the company of a mutant.
Days went by without a fuss and opportunities for contracts were turned down in favour of gaining more ground in a shorter amount of time. Geralt would have been upset about it, had it not been for the fact that Jaskiers parents had paid for the whole trip, so they had enough coin to stay at inns even without having to work.

Not that Jaskier could be stopped from performing if you bound, gagged and locked him into his room all night. It helped to keep the tempers of the men at bay, at least. They liked the music well enough and because Jaskier tended to throw at least one round of drinks afterwards using his own money they didn’t mind the drag of the journey as much.

They even let him take on the more serious contracts. No Nekkers or Drowners, but those beasts that truly terrorized the villages and towns they went through. Ones that threatened lives instead of just being annoying pests easily avoided.

It settled his conscience a bit.

~~~

Jaskier couldn’t exactly say that he was having the time of his life. Not really. The path Geralt walked was mostly paved with hardships, death and pain. Geralts newfound soft side also threw him for a loop. Not that Geralt hadn’t cared before, hadn’t been a secret softie. But that was exactly the point. Geralt had hidden his care and fondness under gruff comments, thrown blankets and rough manhandling, the last one usually used to get Jaskier out of trouble.

Now Geralts actions came dangerously close to open shows of affection. Calling Jaskier his friend, hugging him, albeit rarely, initiating touch where there had before only been tolerance of Jaskiers invasions of his personal space.

Jaskier loved and hated it in even measures. He loved the attention. Of course he did. It’s all he had ever wanted from Geralt, from the moment his eyes had caught a glimpse of those heavenly silver strands. But it also made it so hard to ignore the yearning, the want for more. Every touch exchanged was like a drop of water in a desert. Not enough to save a dying man from thirst. Just enough to drive him crazy.

He had to be so careful now to not slip. He had missed his friend so much. Through all the anger and hurt Jaskier had wanted nothing more than to walk at his side again. Because here was the thing: Jaskier loved Geralt. But more importantly he loved the life they had together. Loved the pockets of space they left for each other in their daily habits. Loved the routine, the ease with which they breathed the same air.

All the uncomfortable little things he had to endure on the road and during their adventures, they were all worth it. And so were the growing pains their relationship went through at the moment. Or at least he hoped that was what it was. That they didn’t just strain themselves to hold together what was already broken beyond repair. It didn’t feel that way, but then again Jaskier had a tendency to turn a blind eye to the obvious.

Jaskier began to sing the bawdiest sea shanties he knew the moment they had crossed the border into Kerack. He belted out the lyrics with enthusiasm only a master performer like himself could fake, trying to cover the fact that his nerves were starting to fray so much soon only ashes would remain.

Their company happily joined into the singing. He had endeared himself to them over the course of their journey. They had been surprised to find him capable and willing to help when it came to setting up camp. And had quickly gotten used to his endless stream of noise.

Geralt wasn’t as easily fooled though. He was riding close, next to him, one hand dangling down, ready to catch Jaskier should he fall. He was frowning a lot, too, obviously unhappy with the way Jaskier held himself on his gelding. Which was to say that he didn’t hold on at all. He had his hands full with his lute.

Pegasus wasn’t exactly happy with him either. Jaskier did see that his horse had thrown his ears back in irritation, snorting every now and then to show his displeasure. Roach was bumping heads with him from time to time to calm him down. She was more used to Jaskiers ruckus and seemed to not want the bard bucked off for his habit of causing noise. It was sweet. He would need to sneak her an apple or two later.

Later… When they had arrived at the Lettenhove estate. Jaskier nearly gulped at the mental picture of his childhood home. He didn’t quite know what to expect. He was looking forward to seeing Ferrant and his sister again. But that was about it.

The building came into view much faster than he would have liked, with the birthday party still a week off. Jaskier hated that they had gotten to this part so early and fell silent as soon as the first small towers peaked over the horizon.

He got concerned glances from everyone, which only managed to make him scowl harder. In the letter he had send Geralt he had made it sound like he had a plan. Truth was that he didn’t. Because he didn’t know how he would behave once they got there. He hadn’t been back to Lettenhove since he had ventured out of Oxenfurt at 19. He had been too scared to return, to find that he had been engaged without his knowledge, shackled down to work in one of the worst, most hated professions humanity had ever invented: tax collection.

Chapter 2: Arrival

The estate of the Pankratz family was nothing grand or special, even if his father did everything to try and make it look that way. Preparation for the celebrations were in full swing, which added another layer of colour to the quaint manor house. Flags and banners hung everywhere and were spun through the trees that lined the road towards Jaskiers former home.

After taking some more time than strictly necessary to stable the horses Jaskier and his companions were marched to the front doors of the building by the guards that had greeted them at the gate. There, dressed in their finest silks like always, where his parents, standing there as stiff as statues, watching them approach warily. Jaskier donned a bright smile that bared all his teeth to them.

"Mother, Father!"

He hugged his mother, as was custom and gave a nod to his father, whose face had already fallen into that disappointed frown Jaskier knew all too well from his childhood. His mother tugged gently at a strand that had fallen into his face.

"Manners Julian, we taught you better than that. Who are the guests you brought with you?"

"Well this is Trevor, Maedock. Aodh, Fion, Cian and Barra. You should know them already. You hired them after all. We befriended each other during the journey, so they are my guests now."

"Really Julian?" his father scowled, eyeing the band of less than clean men with dread. The group of mercenaries looked just as taken aback, but soon smiles bloomed on the hardened mens faces. They looked downright giddy to be allowed to attend a formal feast without having to do work for once.

"Of course! You still owe them 200 Crowns, by the way. And this-", he waved to Geralt, who came closer, but refrained from giving the pair as much as a nod in greeting. "Is the Witcher Geralt of Rivia."

Jaskiers father scowled even deeper. "You brought your bedwarmer? Could you not at least try and act like the noble you are for once in your life?"

Jaskier stared him down. "No."

"We are happy to have you." his mother was quick to reassure Geralt. She sounded tired already. "We just fear for the gossip. And apologize for any ill comment you might get. Jaskiers is not the only sharp tongue around here." She dipped her head to him. Geralt returned the gesture with a shallow bow that could barely be called as such, but still seemed to please his mother immensely. She had always liked manners.

"You may call me Tamara." She threw a sharp look to her husband, who huffed. "Osvald."

"It’s a… pleasure to meet you." Geralt answered, voice slightly strangled and expression pinched.

He walked like someone had shoved a stick up his ass and all the way to his head to support his spine as they were shown to their rooms. Room. Actually, just a room. Oh dear. With one bed. A big bed, but still. This shouldn’t have freaked him out as much as it did. They had shared much smaller spaces before. This shouldn’t be a problem. But the implications…

"Is that all you have with you?" Tamara nodded at the two bags and dirty bedrolls that had been flung into the next best corner.

Jaskier shrugged. "Not much space for more on the road."

"Of course. But you have formal clothes with you, yes?"

"I have what I have and Geralt has his armour."

"His armour." The flat tone she used was the only indicator that she was upset about this revelation. "Well that won’t do. You need to at least try and blend in if we want to get through this without becoming the laughing stock of the community. I’ll see what I can do. For now I’ll tell the servants to prepare you a bath. You need it. Try to refrain from any uncouth activities."

She muttered plans as she left them to their own devices, making a verbal list of tasks that Jaskier blocked out, too caught up with the last thing she had said to them.

He let himself fall onto the big bed with a groan, hiding his face in the fluffy pillow. He loved the way the soft blanket sank down under his weight. He would rummage through the closet, shelf and trunk later, eager to find out what of his stuff they had kept and what they had thrown out. For now, though he was happy to lay there and hope the feathers would put an end to his miserable circumstances.

"You’ll get the sheets dirty." Geralt admonished, packing their things away with halting movements.

Jaskier wriggled a little on the spot, rubbing the dust of the road deeper into the sheets. "That’s the plan."

"Jaskier…"

Jaskier rolled over and sat up to look at his friend. He knew what was coming and for once he really didn’t want to speak about it. "Yes?"

"They think we’re…" Geralt grimaced, moving his lips, but the word was unwilling to get out.

Jaskier sighed. "I know. I’m not sure what to make of it either."

"We’re not…"

"No." Jaskier nodded, hating that it was so. But no, he had just gotten Geralt back as a friend, he shouldn’t be getting greedy now.

"What…"

Jaskier waited for him to finish that sentence. He really did. But he hadn’t inherited his mothers patience and Geralt seemed to have caught a sudden case of muteness.

"Look we can tell them, if that makes you more comfortable-" it was the best they could do. But then an idea hit him, like lightning it zapped into his brain and burned all the cells that were there for critical thinking. He really shouldn’t say what he had just thought of. But fuck it if he wasn’t weak against his desires.

"It would be a nice way to rile my father up, though. And either way I doubt they would belief us if we said we weren’t… together like that. Might as well play into it, show them you are a sweet, loving partner and much better than anyone here will ever be."

Yellow eyes bored into him. Jaskier shifted uneasily under the intense stare, hoping his eagerness didn’t show on his face.

"Hm… You really hate your father."

"Hate is a pretty strong word. I’m annoyed at him. He doesn’t know how to treat people and he’s stock full of prejudices. He also doesn’t have a lick of taste, I mean have you looked at those banners? A blind man would have seen those colours don’t mix well!"

Geralt tilted his head at him. "So you want to what? Embarass him?"

Frowning Jaskier stood and went over to his friend placing a hand on his shoulder. "No. I want to show him that he’s wrong. And I want us to have a good time."

"And your version of a good time is us being together?" Geralt asked, lips quirking upwards into a teasing smirk.

Jaskier spluttered. "Well… I mean… Maybe?"

Geralts next exhale could have been interpreted as a laugh. A knock interrupted the beautiful sound and Jaskier glared at the servant that entered. He knew the man from his youth and he had never seen Alfred so stiff.

"Your bath… s are ready."

"Thank you Alfred. How have you been?"

The old man nodded to him, face not once moving a muscle to indicate an emotion or thought. "Well. I have a son now. He works here, too. Please refrain from bedding him." And with that he turned and left them.

"Well that was rude." Jaskier said, pouting before gathering new clothes for himself and Geralt.

"Was it warranted?"

"Depends on if the son is cute."

"I thought we were supposed to be a couple?" Geralt teased further, even going so far as to place a cold hand on Jaskiers lower back. Despite the fact that Jaskier was the one leading them it now looked as though Geralt was guiding them around.

"Well, you hadn’t decided yet."

"Hm, if the charade would make you keep it in your pants for the duration, maybe it’s a good idea."

Jaskier willed his heart to stop pounding so fast. He didn’t want to get his hopes up just yet. But it was hard, with the thing that he had wanted for so long being dangled right in front of his nose. Instead of letting his brain overthink he opened the door to the bathhouse, which was just a fancy name his father had given the washroom.

It was neither lush nor truly comfortable. The floor was tiled, yes and there was a bathtub standing in front of a blazing fireplace, but there was nothing much else to it. It was the same room they did their laundry in, whenever the river had frozen over or the storms got too bad to savely venture out.

There was only one hard bench and a shelf that held fresh linens, a bar of soap and a small selection of oils.

"I go first." Jaskier declared. "I’m less muddy. You can clean yourself with a washcloth while I soak or something."

There was a short moment of silence as they both got rid of their clothes. Jaskier was about to step into the tub when Geralt spoke up again.

"We could also bath together."

"Uh…"

"Call the servants for more warm water."

"We’d have to splash a lot to… Hm… I’m getting the feeling you don’t like my father. Or is this your way of grovelling for forgiveness for the mountain?"

Geralt lifted and dropped one of his shoulders in a half shrug. "I promised you I’d help."

Jaskier mulled that thought over in his head, then went into the tub and groaned at the way the warm water loosened his muscles. He waved his hand at Geralt in a gesture that could have meant anything.

"As long as you are comfortable with it, my friend."

Geralt snorted and walked over. "I’ve never been comfortable with festivities, Jaskier. Move over or I won’t fit."

Geralt plopped himself behind Jaskier in a manner that sent water flying everywhere. And then scooped up some of the water left in the tub to drench Jaskier with.

Jaskier shook his head as he sneezed and rubbed at his eyes. "Geralt! What the fuck!"

"Sorry, the tub is too small to dunk you."

Jaskier leant back to knock his head against Geralts jaw. An action that probably hurt him more than his dear Witcher.

"You’re a bastard."

"Hm."

"And none of us got the soap or the oils."

"Go on then. You’re the one on top."

Jaskier did not blush, he didn’t. He wasn’t a virgin for fucks sake. With a lot of drama he stood and went over to the shelf, fully aware that his backside was in full view and for some reason very embarrassed about it.

"What do you want? Nothing too smelly, right?" There were only four bottles, he sniffed all of them.

"Is there anything that would make the bathwater look milky?"

"Oh you devil!" Jaskier laughed, grabbing the one that might just accomplish that task.

Getting back into the bathtub was tricky and awkward, especially because Jaskier was trying his damndest to avoid accidentally sitting on Geralts dick while acting nonchalant. But eventually, with a whole lot of extra splashing and a mini water fight that nearly sent the tub tumbling, he managed.

"Bathing has never been so taxing before." Jaskier groaned slumping against Geralts chest, just to see if he could. Geralt didn’t even so much as tense, having leant back himself, spread out like a starfish with his arms resting on the sides of the tub and his feet dangling over the edge.

"I don’t know what you mean." Geralt teased. They were both drenched at this point, but not even slightly less dirty.

Jaskier tipped the oil into the water and called for a servant. A minute later a girl with wild curly locks that shone like polished wood in the candlelight came in, huffing as she carried a bucket over to them.

She didn’t quite know where to keep her eyes and nearly emptied half the bucket beside the tub. Jaskier groaned at the new warmth, which caused the poor woman to blush and bite her lip.

"Jaskier." Geralt admonished.

"Sorry. My apologies Martha, I wasn’t aware you were on bath duty today."

Martha waved his worries away. "It is quite alright Master Julian. I should have expected something like this, only you haven’t been around for so long we’ve all become much more delicate in such matters, I’m afraid."

"What a shame. Does no one know how to have fun around here anymore?"

Martha gave him a smile, still slightly off balance, but already much more confident in her gaze. "We do, we just keep it private."

"But darling shouting it out to the world is so much more fun."

"There’s a certain thrill to secrecy, as well I’d say. Have a nice bath."

Jaskier shook with laughter as she went and felt Geralt shake his head behind him. "How many of the staff have you corrupted as a teenager?"

"All of them, excluding Alfred." Jaskier chuckled, grabbing the washcloth that had floated in front of him for a while now and getting to actually scrubbing himself clean.

He jumped when hands suddenly touched his head, fingers carding through his hair, massaging soap into the dried out strands. A lump formed in his throat as his heart formed wings, the rotten thing fluttering in his ribcage like a caged bird.

"What are you doing?"

The hands halted in their motion and Jaskier could do nothing but lean into the touch and prompt them to continue. One flicked his ear before moving to clean his hair again.

"Well I’m your… hm… you know now. Have to act the part, no?"

Oh fuck Geralt would be the death of him. And yes he had known that the moment he had decided to follow the man around. But his idea of death had always involved a whole lot of screaming and pain and blood. Something violent and heroic. And romantic. Something like dying together while protecting the elves from bloodthirsty humans. Maybe something with an army of darkness that they have to hold back.

He had never imagined this, melting under the gentle ministrations of his longest time crush and best friend until there was no more of him.

The excitement was nearly too much to handle and Geralt easily picked up on his mood now.

"Are you alright? Too far?"

Damn this beautiful man for suddenly developing emotional intelligence. He would need to have a word with Ciri afterwards. This was just unfair.

"Alright." More than alright. Just never stop. "Please continue." He hoped that didn’t sound too eager.

To his absolute delight Geralt did. Bath time was over far too quick after that, the majority of the time spent in companionable silence with Jaskier trying to relax as best as he could. He was second guessing his decision making skills for this one by the time they got back to their room. Having to keep his heart from tripping all over itself was hard work and he was already exhausted. How was he supposed to control himself for up to a week?

He glanced at Geralt as he thought that. They were both getting themselves bed ready even though it was still early evening. Whether it was the opportunity of sleeping in a soft bed or just an excuse to avoid having to eat dinner with the family neither of them was truly sure.

Either way his family had seemingly set its mind to bothering them. Tamara slipped into their space after a brief knock, not even waiting for their reply.

"I see you won’t be joining us this evening." She said as if she had already known that would be the case.

"We are both tired." Jaskier said with a shrug.

"I’m sure." Tamara drawled. She went over to the table and placed a delicately wrapped present on the splintering wood. "I got you a present for your father as I’m sure you didn’t bother getting him anything."

"I thought I could gift him my beautiful voice and talent with the lute."

Tamara shook her head. "Your father already sent for a bard."

"What?!"

"You know he doesn’t like your… style."

Jaskier fumed as Tamara left. Geralt gently took the present out from his tightening grasp, saving it from being destroyed.

"Doesn’t like my style?! I’m the best godsdamned bard on the whole fucking continent! Kings have paid a fortune to hear me play! People have fallen to their knees weeping when they heard me sing! I’ve charmed the dryads of Brokilon with my music!"

"He might just have a different taste." Geralt tried to calm him, but only ended up riling him up even more.

Jaskier rounded on him with fire in his eyes and even made the Witcher take a step back. "Different taste?! He has no taste at all that old cretin! He must be deaf or his brain rotten-"

He finished the sentence with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whistling kettle and which abruptly cut off the moment he actually looked at Geralt. Geralt, who had taken a step back and was watching him with what could only be described as pure fondness.

Now that just wasn’t fair at all. Jaskier wriggled even more into Geralts personal space, slapping his hands on his best friends cheeks and pinching them. "You cheat." With a dramatic sigh he turned and fell onto the bed only allowing the grin to spread when it could be hidden in the pillow. "Let’s sleep."

The confusion that radiated from Geralt was nearly palpable, his movements in turn more hesitant and slow. Jaskier drifted into a light doze, lulled by the noises Geralt made walking around the room. Eventually the mattress shifted under him and a warm body joined his under the blanket.

Without a second thought Jaskier rolled over and wormed closer, not enough to touch, the bed was too big to excuse such a motion. But close enough to feel the heat of his friend. Geralt twitched beside him, shifting until he too was on his side, one of his hands resting in between them, pinky finger gracing Jaskiers nose with every inhale.

Yes, this was perfection. Now if only their current actions weren’t wrapped in a net of lies.

Chapter 3: Vacation

Geralt had no clue what he was doing. He should have been the voice of reason. Jaskiers hair brained schemes tended to get them into trouble more often than not. Surely this petty plan for revenge would not be an outlier either. But he had wanted to be allowed to show his softer, more caring side to his friend for a while now. And Jaskier had always drawn back from his more affectionate advances on the road. It was as though his old traveling companion was only comfortable with initiating touch. And with every other human being except Ciri Geralt would have expected the reason to be fear.

But this was Jaskier and regrettably he knew the true problem behind the avoidance. Jaskier didn’t know what to make of that new tactile side of Geralt. How could he, after Geralt had held him at arms length for over two decades?

Jaskier longed though. Geralt could smell it, see it in the way Jaskier leaned into his touch before catching himself. Without the constant self loathing blinding him to the truth Geralt saw the love his friend had for him, although he had yet to decipher what kind of love it was.

It wasn’t only guilt driving his actions, most of it wasn’t in fact. There had been so many times where he had wanted to hug the bard over their two decades together. So many times where smiles threatened to break his stony demeanor. He had been too scared and prideful then, feeling compelled to keep up the facade of being unapproachable by all means necessary.

He wasn’t that man anymore. He would drown his best friend in affection if he so desired, no matter who was watching. That Jaskier turned into a spluttering, flushing, speechless mess whenever he did something flirty was only payback for all the years of constant teasing.

Right now Geralt wasn’t sure if the payback and everything else was worth it. He was standing on a small pedestal, only his braies on, arms up and a small woman with greying hair and gold rimmed glasses scuttling around him touching him everywhere.

"You said I wouldn’t need to wear anything formal."

Jaskier hummed in agreement in far better spirits than the night before. He probably enjoyed Geralts suffering, leeched off of it like a Succubus did of lust. He tried to look busy, inspecting the different fabric samples with his mother, but Geralt could see his eyes flick to him every now and then.

No one else noticed how truly uncomfortable Geralt was. Tamara was drawn in by the bright colours and intricate patterns featured in the tailors shop and the tailor herself was fully immersed in her task.

She tsked when she was done. "You sir, have far too many muscles. What am I going to do with you? You’ll chafe through everything! Tamara you have brought me a nightmare!"

Tamara looked up from the bright blue coloured cloth she was currently rubbing between her thumb and finger. And finally Jaskiers whole focus was back at him as well. Geralt used the bards attention to send him the meanest glare he was capable of at the moment. Given that he stood in nothing but his underwear no one in the room was very impressed by it. Maybe Lambert was right, maybe he had lost his edge.

"Maybe we can soften him up a bit over the next few days."

The tailor shook her head. "You’d need months. And for some reason I doubt this one will cease to exercise for long enough to get a little less… defined."

"Geralt only needs to wear it for a day, mother. What does it matter if it chafes off a bit of fabric?"

"No this will be expensive, I will not have him ruin his clothes just by existing. And what if you come visit again, hm? You won’t be able to have a wedding, but what if you wanted to celebrate your anniversary? Or your sisters birthday? Or your birthday?"

"Maybe don’t make it body tight?" Geralt muttered, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

He got three outraged gasps. "Absolutely not! What would you want to wear? A puffed up shirt with frilly sleeves? That was worn a decade ago! I will not let you make a fool out of yourself like that." The tailor admonished him.

"But puffy shirts are comfortable…"

Jaskiers looked him up and down, eyes narrowing in thought. And for some reason that stirred more fear in him than a Fiend charging at him would have. Holding his breath in anticipation of what horrors his now fake lover would unleash on him he failed to watch Jaskiers mother. Her gaze swept to the pile of leather clasps and protective gear Geralt had carefully stacked on a chair and a smile began to bloom on her face as an idea took form in her head.

"What if we go for a loose shirt and dye his armour? He’ll look like those knights from Toussaint! Only more fashionable."

Geralts eyes widened but a fraction, but it was enough to lure Jaskier in, who patted his naked arm in a show of comfort.

"No." Geralt rasped.

The tailor hummed in thought and went to inspect the armour and the woolen shirt. "Hm, it wouldn’t be as form fitting as the doublet you had in mind and with the armour over it we wouldn’t have to make the shirt out of high quality fabric to make it look good. Thus it wouldn’t chafe so bad and wouldn’t be such a waste. But if the fabric doesn’t shine we’ll have to dazzle them with colours and patterns. Black makes for a great contrast, maybe we can add some yellow? Something to compliment the eyes."

Jaskier grabbed Geralts arm with surprising strength, keeping him from bolting out the door in nothing but his pants. "How about a dark blue for the pattern?" He threw in his opinion, knowing the fight over whether the armour would be painted or not was already lost. "And a lighter blue for the shirt. Yellow would just distract from his eyes. And the darkness of his armour makes his beautiful silver hair stand out so much better."

"Jaskier." Geralt hissed at him, but all he got was a dazzling smile.

"You won’t need to wear anything formal this way." Jaskier teased, so clearly happy with this turn of events. "I vote for buttercups for the design."

Geralts shoulders slumped. "Fine. You owe me a new set of armour Jaskier."

"They’re making it better Geralt I don’t know why you complain so."

Another few hours were spent in that dreaded shop, because of course Jaskier wanted some new clothes for himself as well. He was egged on by Tamara and the tailor and eventually threw all caution to the wind and bought a soft pink and golden doublet with matching pants. Under it he would wear a baby blue puffy shirt, so Geralt wouldn’t be alone in wearing outdated fashion.

Geralt looked on the verge of passing out when they finally left the tailor to work in peace and made their way to the blacksmith to hand off the armour.

Jaskier rubbed his back in sympathy. "Now, now, the worst is over."

"Next time you’ll go alone. I never felt this tired even after the Striga."

"How about we go to the beach afterwards? Get something from the kitchen and have us a little picnic on the shore?"

That idea sounded lovely.

"You won’t eat lunch with your family?" Tamara asked though, voice strained.

"I am."

"Jaskier." Geralt whispered and Jaskier turned to him to better ignore his mothers crestfallen look. "Let’s eat together with them and then go to the beach."

Jaskier sighed. "Alright. But I’m not talking politics with my father again."

~~~

Geralt regretted coaxing Jaskier to spend lunch at the family's estate. They sat in a beautiful palor room, flooded with light from high windows that held a beautiful rich green garden behind their glass. The tiled floor was a colourful red and blue, a nice contrast to the polished wooden walls. The table was small enough to comfortably sit beside each other and not feel isolated, but big enough for the stacks of food stuffs that the servants continued to bring in.

It should have been a nice experience, if it weren’t for the heated glares and uncomfortable silence.

Osvald cleared his throat, eyes still boring into his sons skull. "So how come you brought your… muse with you? This can’t be comfortable for him. All the finery and etiquette, not his usual habitat I would say."

Geralt sat stock still, concentrating on the fine food in front of him. He had heard worse, but he worried about Jaskier. His friend had arranged his face into a stony mask of indifference.

"Geralt knows more about manners and etiquette than any of the folk that usually graces your halls. And I brought him because I love him and wanted him to finally meet my family. I thought it appropriate after meeting his and enjoying the stay. Although I regret that he isn’t getting the warm reception I got."

The lies spilled effortlessly from his lips. Geralt couldn’t have told them from the truth hadn’t he known for a fact that none of it was true. Although Jaskier meeting Geralts family sounded far less horrifying than it had once.

"Hm." Osvald picked at his chicken leg with his already greasy fingers. "Are you sure it is love? You were always prone to collect strange things in your youth."

"I’m going to scream his head off." Jaskier breathed, too low for anyone to hear but him. That was it.

He stood, slow enough not to alarm anyone, and put a hand on Jaskiers shoulder.

"I believe that isn’t a conversation I should be present for." Geralt explained as politely as possible.

He hesitated, huge blue eyes holding him captive in their raging depths. Without a thought Geralt bent down and kissed Jaskiers brow. "I’ll be in our room preparing for the beach, come when you're ready."

He wouldn’t describe his retreat as hightailing it out of there, but it definitely was a strategic retreat. Geralt picked up his pace as soon as they were out of sight, blocking out the raising voices behind him and closing the door tight when they had finally made it to their room.

He stood there for a long moment unable to process what he had done. He rubbed his lips and something settled within him. Something pleased and purring. He sprung back into motion and packed what he thought they could need for the trip to the beach. He debated taking his swords with him, and strapped them to his back in the end. Water was dangerous, the ocean even more so. He may not have his armour at the moment but he could at least take the weapons that could defend them from any monster, creature or man.

He was just done cramming a huge blanket into one of their emptied bags when Jaskier stuck his head in. He was a little red in the face and hesitant to enter the room for some reason.

"Hey. I’m sorry about that. I should have…" He trailed off and Geralt picked up before his friends tendency to fret could take over.

"It’s okay. More time to go to the beach."

"Can we take Roach?" Jaskier asked, meek, his lip wobbling.

"Yes."

"Can I ride Roach?"

"N-" Wait... there was no reason he couldn’t. Roach liked him and Geralt trusted him. Geralt took a breath, wrestling down the habit of a response. No was old Geralts answer. "Yes."

"What?"

"Don’t make me change my mind bard."

"Never!" Jaskier proclaimed, flinging himself into Geralts chest.

Only his fast reflexes were to thank for them still standing. He held tight as Jaskier buried his face into his shoulder and breathed. There was no smell of salt, no wetness, but there might as well have been. Geralt thought about the arguments Lambert tended to have with Vesemir. The screaming matches whenever the painful memories and injustices of the world got too much to bear. Lambert tended to take out his emotions on the next best training dummy, but Jaskier had always been averse to fighting and Geralt was only too happy to be the one to provide the comfort for once. They only got a few breaths in before a tentative knock sounded from the door. Jaskier didn’t budge, but called out anyway.

"Yes?"

"It’s me. Can I come in?" Tamaras voice answered.

"Yes. Go on it’s not locked." With a sigh Jaskier turned enough in Geralts arms to comfortably lean against him while still facing the entrance to their room.

The door creaked open and in stepped Tamara, a basket in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. She held both out like a peace offering.

"I apologize for my husbands behavior. He worries and he is very bad at dealing with that. But that is no excuse for the way he spoke to you. You are our guest and I want you to feel welcome here." She lifted the basket a bit. "I prepared some food for you to take with you, for your picnic."

"Thank you mother."

Geralt wished he could see Jaskiers face. His warm voice indicated that he was smiling that fond smile of his, though. The one that always made Geralt want to smile back.

It seemed to have the same effect on Jaskiers mother. "You’re welcome. Have a nice day out."

Jaskier went to take the offered articles from her, bending over to give her a small kiss on the cheek, before they were left alone again. Geralt went to pick up the bag he had packed while Jaskier opened the lid of the basket and made a happy sound at what he found inside.

"Don’t start eating yet." Geralt warned.

Jaskier stuck out his tongue at him.

~~~

Roach was all too happy to see them. She bumped her head into Geralts shoulder and then ignored him in favour of searching Jaskier for treats.

Geralt narrowed his eyes at his friend when he actually produced some sugar cubes for her. "She’ll grow fat because of you."

"Don’t be ridiculous you put her through enough workout sessions to keep her slim and powerful even if I fed her buckets of sugar cubes a day."

Geralt rolled his eyes and let Roach out of the stable. "That would kill her."

His answer was a squeak, because Geralt didn’t wait for Jaskier to haul himself up onto Roach. He opted to grab Jaskiers waist instead and lifted him up until he sat comfortably in the saddle, clutching onto the pommel while Geralt took the reins and led them away from the estate.

Soon the soothing rush of the ocean waves came closer and Jaskier couldn’t be held atop of Roach anymore. He jumped off with surprising agility and bounded ahead, sprinting towards the water with an excited laugh. Geralts grip on Roach’s reins tightened as Roach wanted to hurry behind their bright companion. Geralt would not allow it, though. There were stones and rocks everywhere, the ground anything but smooth going. He wouldn’t risk Roach stumbling just for a few more minutes on the beach. Hopefully Jaskier wouldn’t find trouble in the few moments they left him alone.

At a sedate pace Geralt followed, navigating down a steep, narrow path that led him down a cliff face. Before long two walls of sharp rock blocked his sight on either side, the small strip of white sand and blue water the only thing he could see in front of him.

The area he and Roach stepped into was secluded by water and stone, the sand stretching only far enough to allow for the blanket to be laid down. The ocean lapped gently at the land, which curved downward into the blue depths at a reasonable angle. Further out were rocks, flat and glittering in the sun. A small trickle of water flowed close to the cliff face that cut the beach off to the left. It dipped into another pool that was half covered by a shallow cave.

Unlit candles had been crammed into the nooks and crannies of the smooth stone. At night this had to be a truly magical place.

Jaskier had already discarded most of his clothes and was submerged up to his waist in fresh salt water. He was grinning from ear to ear, splashing and laughing like a child uncaring of the beauty of the place. Geralt watched him as he prepared their picnic site.

Jaskier was an amazing swimmer. He slipped through the waves like a fish, flipping this way and that, burrowing into the water with such speed and accuracy that Geralt stopped any movement whatsoever, too mesmerized to do anything else but stare.

And then he suddenly went under. And didn’t come back up. After several missed breaths Geralt panicked, throwing down his swords and jumping into the waves. Something grabbed his ankle as soon as he was in deep and tugged.

Geralt kicked into nothing as he was dragged down by an inch, a long, slender body torpedoing up and rubbing against his chest. Hands settled on his shoulders, steadying the laughing, gasping bard he suddenly had in his arms.

"Damn it Jaskier!"

Jaskier only laughed louder. "Got you!"

Who got whom in this scenario was debatable, especially because Geralt was supporting most of Jaskiers weight. But Geralt didn’t want to argue, he wanted the food that he had found in the basket.

"Got us drenched." He mumbled anyway, tugging Jaskier out of the waves and onto the blanket.

Jaskier sprawled out on it immediately and stared up at the cloudless sky with a sigh and a content smile.

"This is nice isn’t it? A proper vacation. Our accommodation could be better, but nothing can be perfect I guess."

"Hm." Geralt held a biscuit out to Jaskier, munching on his own and letting his gaze wander over the endless blue on blue. It was rather relaxing. Out here there was no trace of other humans, not even the distant sails of merchant ships in sight. And the quiet rush of the waves slowed down his sluggish heartbeat even more.

"It is nice." he concluded. It wouldn’t have been as nice without you. He didn’t say.

"You could have had this far sooner, you know."

Jaskiers tone was teasing, but white hot guilt still burned its way up Geralts throat. Yes, Jaskier had tried to steer him away from disaster hadn’t he? And Geralt hadn’t listened. Had made an ill timed, rude joke and gone to Yennefer instead. Had belittled his best friend in his moment of vulnerability-

"Hey, oh no, no, no. You are not going to start brooding now." Two very sticky hands grabbed his cheeks and squished them. "You apologized. I accepted. We were both dumb. We’ll continue to be dumb. I love- love travelling with you. Don’t let your brain ruin your fun."

"Hnrg."

Jaskier nodded. "Exactly. Now let’s kill that bottle, shall we?"

"I won’t let you into the water afterwards."

"Aww shucks. Okay wait, give me a minute don’t start drinking without me!"

The sun was starting to set when they both sat back down on the blanket, shoulders and knees touching, foregoing the glasses Tamara had given them and taking turns from sipping from the bottle instead.

"There were mermaids here once, you know." Jaskier muttered, leaning his head on Geralts shoulder, swishing the bottle towards the sunset.

"Oh?"

"Hmhm. They would pop out of the water by the stone formation there and hiss at us. But they turned out to be great listeners. They were my first audience, when little me had decided to learn the lute. That was way before I found my love for poetry by the way. I always loved music. It’s part of the traditional upbringing around here. If you don’t know how to entertain your subjects you’ll soon find yourself either in a ditch with your throat slit or with a brawl every few days."

Geralt squinted at the patch of stones in the distance, hand twitching towards his discarded swords. His medallion hadn’t vibrated yet, but that didn’t necessarily mean that they were safe. Fuck he had let Jaskier into possibly monster infested waters. He should have checked beforehand. Any body of water was potentially dangerous, most rivers and ponds home of Drowners and Water Hags at the very least. And the coast was much more deadly, what with Sirens, Kraken and other sea dwelling monsters roaming the place. With shocking clarity he suddenly remembered why he didn’t like the coast.

Jaskier continued his tale, unaware of Geralts inner turmoil. "Eventually I would dare to settle on those rocks at low tide and play for them. And they would sing along. Their voices Geralt." Jaskier sighed wistfully. "Oh the things they could do with their voices! They reached pitches and made sounds I could never imitate even with a century of training."

"Mermaids have different vocal cords, that’s why." He did too, had translated a book for a mermaid once, the only one physically able to speak her language. But Jaskier didn’t need to know that. Gods forbid the poor fool would want him to sing. "That was foolish of you. They could have harmed you. You were defenseless in their element."

His heart clenched at the image of a child version of Jaskier out there alone, surrounded by creatures bearing ill will. Not that mermaids were a violent species per say. Not always at least. And yet, it was so undeniably Jaskier. That absolut disregard of his own safety. The endless curiosity. The lack of prejudice when it came to pretty things and adventure.

Jaskier waved his worries away. "Psh. I had known them for months at that point. We were friends. But it doesn’t matter. They are all gone now. My parents didn’t like their presence on their romantic outings and sent for soldiers to scare them off. I doubt they killed them. But I haven’t seen them since."

"I’m sorry." Was all Geralt could think to say. He was secretly glad Jaskiers parents had opted to better be safe than sorry. But pointing out logic to Jaskier never went well.

"It’s all over and done with anyway. I hope they found another nice territory away from meddling humans- Oh Geralt look at those colours! I wish I could paint for shit, this is gorgeous. The sea has the best sunsets I tell you. I wish I could bottle them up and look at them whenever I wanted. But I guess the stuff in the bottle would only be a pale after image of the real thing."

Geralt leaned back and watched the sky change colours, only half listening to Jaskier prattle on. Calm washed over him, his mind quiet for once, as though there was nothing but here and now. No other world to speak of. Just them.

He didn’t care much for the scenery, had grown mostly numb to the beauty that sometimes came to him on the Path. But this very moment he would gladly take with him to keep forever.

Chapter 4: The Guests

Jaskier was dying. He was dying a slow, painful death. And his garroter was no one else but Geralt. He always was, in every aspect, every phase of their ever developing friendship. Jaskier wouldn’t have it any other way. And really from a poets perspective this was a perfect setup. The best of stories.

As someone currently in the middle of it and feeling too much all the damn time Jaskier really wanted it to stop though. As always his plan had backfired terribly. He had thought he could have some fun on Geralts expense. Embarass him a little and at the same time indulge himself on the softer side of his friend.

He hadn’t counted on Geralt being this… good. He should have, he really should. He had seen how Geralt had acted around Yennefer, how he had pretty much read her every wish from her lips before she could even speak it.

Geralt loved to serve, to bring pleasure to those he loved in any way possible. Being the focus of that was… a lot.

All his open smiles and small shows of affection made Jaskiers heart curl up and weep with joy. But it was also terribly clear that this was all for show. Just as the attention Geralt paid him on the road was mostly out of habit now (Geralt had been raising a child with Yennefer and his family for a while after all). Jaskier couldn’t let himself believe anything else. He might have been a fool but he wouldn’t set himself up for heartbreak again.

It didn’t help that Geralt was such a terrible, endearing tease. He was sassy and tactile, but never bold enough to do anything more radical and it was just…

"Urgh…" Jaskier let his head drop onto the desk, the impact cushioned by the smallest amount by the parchment that lay on it.

The last few days had been everything he had wished for and more. Lazy afternoons spend at the beach, early mornings spent roaming the town, playing in taverns (Jaskier the lute, Geralt Gwent) and all opportunities taken that would annoy his father.

One after the other guests trickled in and whispers started rising. Jaskier had always been an oddity, but the two of them combined were something more, something otherworldly, unheard of. Jaskier preened under the attention, good and bad. He knew most glares and petty words to be only for show anyway. Noble life was boring at best, downright frustrating at worst. Those fuckers secretly loved having a new source for gossip.

The only two arrivals who weren’t terribly shocked to find a Witcher amongst their midst were his sister Lotta and his cousin Ferrant. His little sister sniffed him out immediately, running up to him after she had been done greeting their parents.

The look on Geralts face as he was promptly hugged too had been priceless. Jaskier had to smile now too at the memory. Ferrant had approached them in a calmer fashion, starting with a warm handshake that he used to pull Jaskier into a firm embrace.

"I can’t tell if you are sulking or amused from here." Geralt mused from the doorway. He was still steaming from the recent bath he had taken, absolutely taking advantage of every luxury Jaskiers family would allow him.

"Both." Jaskier sat up straight as Geralt went to their bags and let something vanish into their depths. "Hoarder." He quipped fondly.

"This is okay though? My family asked for trinkets. Well joked about them. They don’t get to enjoy these things much, so I thought-"

"Don’t fret." Jaskier interrupted him, smoothing the lines of worry on Geralts forehead away with his thumbs before rubbing soothing circles under those pretty honey eyes. "We can take some of my stuff as well and raid the pantry and bathhouse… and wine cellar. And I can ask Martha if they have anything interesting for Ciri or would she rather have something from the armory?"

Jaskier so badly wanted to kiss the corner of Geralts lips as it lifted up into a smile. He drew back instead, beckoning his best friend to follow him.

"Maybe both. She asked for a sharp pin to stab people with."

"Clever girl."

Geralt puffed out his chest with pride. "She is."

They made their way down the black and white checkered corridor and turned to go down some stairs when Jaskier saw a pair, the man leaning into the womans space, both laughing. He froze. No, it couldn’t be. His father couldn’t be that much of an asshole. Had he gone completely tone deaf?!

"Get out of my dear sisters space this instant you scoundrel!"

At the end of the stairwell the sounds of joy quickly cut off. Valdo only leaned a little away from Lotta but otherwise stayed close, her hand on his arm. Both looked up expressions fighting between wary and fond.

"Julian! Fancy seeing you here. I didn’t think you would come."

Snarling Jaskier stomped down to meet them, Valdo taking a step back before Jaskier could shove him away from his sister. The rat smiled pleasantly at him. Greenish blue eyes flickered towards Geralt and those thin lips stretched wider to reveal teeth.

"Ah the Witcher Geralt of Rivia! It is a pleasure to finally meet the man of legends! How are things going with dear Julian? You’re treating him well I hope?"

Jaskier looped an arm around Geralt, who could only stand there, utterly confused and stiff as a board.

"Don’t talk to my man. What are you doing here?"

"Your father hired me to play." And Valdo looked downright apologetic as he said that, tugging one of his sunshine coloured locks behind a delicate ear.

"That fucking traitor." Jaskier hissed.

"Two bards isn’t bad though." Lotta tried to calm him. "You could play something together. I can still remember hearing you sing duetts in Jaskiers room. It always sounded so pretty. Your voices mash so well."

Valdo threw Lotta a besotted look. "I wouldn’t be averse to that."

"I won’t be playing any of your drivel."

"Then we’ll be playing yours."

"My songs are brilliant you-"

"Jaskier." Geralt, mind finally catching up with the situation at hand, tugged at the bards arm, sidestepping the couple. "Let’s get a clear head first. Marx." He nodded his head to the tall troubadour, holding Jaskier back with one arm so he couldn’t start a fist fight.

"Witcher."

"You’ll excuse us."

Lotta gave them an unsure smile. "We’ll see each other at dinner I presume?"

"Of course. Till then."

"Geralt!" Jaskier screeched, but was ignored and further dragged along.

Geralt didn’t know where he was going. He only knew he had to get Jaskier away from that man before a murder happened. Picking the next best hallway he strode on, picking his struggling bard up and throwing him over his shoulder when he didn’t cease to resist him.

"So that is Valdo Marx?"

"Indeed."

"The man you wanted dead." Geralt clarified, still baffled.

"Want. Geralt. Want. He is horrible. A predator of the worst kind I tell you. A rat. Worse than a rat."

"He seemed quite polite." Geralt made the error to say.

The struggling started up again with vigor and Geralts other hand shot up to hold Jaskier in place.

"Polite?! Sure that’s what he wants you to think! He’ll smile and compliment you and when you turn your back to him he’ll go and get himself hired by your current lover, causing you to get thrown out. And then have the audacity to court your only sister! And his music Geralt! It sounds like claws scratching on stone- no, metal! It makes your ears bleed while your brain shrivels up with boredom from the uninspired- We’re walking into the wrong direction, by the way."

"Do you promise to stay with me if I put you down."

He got a mumbled "Yes." so his hands tentatively left Jaskiers ass and thigh. Jaskier slid down with ease, clinging on for a second longer before stepping away and patting himself down.

Sniffing and with the most adorable pout on his face Jaskier stomped past Geralt again. "Onward to visit our dear Martha!"

Shaking his head and sending a short prayer to gods he didn’t believe in Geralt followed him. He didn’t look forward to that dinner.

~~~

With more and more guests arriving the family had relocated into the larger hall outfitted with various tables for the festivities to come. There didn’t seem to be any order to it, though. Jaskiers close family members sat together, yes, but Valdo had also taken a seat next to Lotta and Ferrant sat right opposite Geralt. Others had joined them, all foreign to Geralt and most too afraid to introduce themselves to him.

Geralt was glad they kept their distance. He already didn’t know what to do with the bunch of Jaskiers relatives that he knew. An uncomfortable silence had settled on their part of the table, the clatter of cutlery, slurping and chewing overridden by the loud talking and laughing coming from around them.

As much as nobles liked to believe that they were all above the common folk manners wise, cram them all together in a room with alcohol, food and music and they’d soon behave themselves like any other man or woman.

This night a local group of bards had taken over the stage to provide simple background music, nothing to dance or sing to, only songs to set the mood. Tomorrow Marx would serenade them. Geralt wondered if he truly sounded as bad as Jaskier said he did. For some reason he doubted it. You didn’t get hired by court if you sounded terrible. Right?

Speaking of Marx, he had been watching them for a while now, stealing glances between bites. He was the only one who dared to look over to them. Lotta was busy listening to the conversation a man to her other side had with another, throwing in her thoughts every once in a while, but being mostly ignored. Which only seemed to amuse her given that her interventions tended to throw both men off, making them huff and puff before they found their thread again.

Ferrant was focussing solely on his food and if he had to look up then he would always seek out Jaskiers reassuring blue gaze and friendly smile.
Jaskier seemed oblivious to the tension between Geralt and Ferrant. He was trying his hardest to seem merry, watching his sisters antics and occasionally shooting daggers at Valdo. Geralt was surprised that it wasn’t him that broke the silence first.

"I was wondering, are you two not comfortable here?" Valdo asked out of the blue, drawing all the attention of their little group to him.

"I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean." Geralt said at the same time Jaskier hissed a "Leave us be, Valdo."

Valdo shrugged and twirled a lock around his finger. "It just seems strange to me, after all of Jaskiers love songs I thought you’d be more… affectionate towards each other. Especially you, Jaskier. I know you, you can’t stop your bad flirting to save a life. When you’re truly enamoured with someone, that is. Neither your wandering hands when you’re actually in a passionate relationship. So it has to be either you are trying to put on a show, a very poor one at that. Or, and I’m sure that’s probably the case, you are uncomfortable in your own home. Which would be a tragedy."

Jaskier squirmed in his seat, opened and closed his mouth, going red, but ultimately wasn’t able to get a word out.

Geralt watched him with growing concern for a while, before deciding that maybe he should take the lead here. Glancing around and finding everyone distracted he reached out to take Jaskiers hand, dragging it under the table and squeezing it.

"We didn’t have the friendliest of welcomes."

Lotta, who had tired of her game, turned to him with a frown. "Did mother or father say something untoward?"

"Both." Jaskier sighed, a dramatic little thing and slumped against Geralts shoulder. He glanced at him through his lashes, gaze uncertain. Question apparent: Was this okay?

Geralt laced their fingers together as an answer and felt Jaskier weight settle more firmly against him as a result.

Valdo made a sound of disapproval. "Bollocks there shouldn’t be anything to worry about here in Kerack. Your parents are just being overprotective I believe."

"I think I know my parents quite well, Valdo."

"Be that as it may I think your insecurities may blind you to the truth."

Jaskier groaned. "Just stop thinking, will you?"

"You know we support you in your decisions though, right? Don’t hold back because of us or the other guests." Ferrant threw in his opinion, trying to seem encouraging but was visibly fighting against the urge to cower under Geralts intense stare.

Lotta nodded. "If any of them give you shit I’m sure Ferrant will have them disappear by morning."

"Now my lady, that-"

"I’m pretty sure Geralt could just get rid of them himself." Valdo threw in.

"Don’t you dare even suggest he’ll do something to ruin his reputation!" Jaskier hissed.

"Again." Ferrant muttered, low enough that only Geralt could hear him. With great satisfaction Geralt watched as he nearly toppled off the bench in fright at Geralts growl.

At Jaskiers questioning look Geralt gave him a soft smile and a kiss to his temple. "Just got something stuck in my throat."

"He sounds just like an actual wolf." Valdo burst out, smiling like a cat that got the cream.

"Valdo I swear. You haven’t even seen a wolf once in your miserable life-"

Geralt tried to tune out the rest of that conversation and focus back on the rich food in front of him. Trying to dissect his chicken was much harder with only one hand. For some reason he felt the upped difficulty was a fair price to pay for the warm thumb that rubbed soothing patterns into his skin.

~~~

"I believe we need to up our game." Jaskier proposed much later that night, with as much bravado as he could muster in his semi drunken state. Damn Valdo and his intimate knowledge about Jaskiers habits and behavioral patterns.

"You mean you need to up your game."

Jaskier glared at his best friend, who had sat down on the floor to sharpen and polish his blades. Why he did that Jaskier didn’t know. It wasn’t like they had been used for the last few days. Maybe he was preparing to kill Valdo. That would be great. But oh he should probably not let him do that.

"What do you mean? I’m doing great!" Well better strike himself blind to the murderous possibilities. He can just act surprised when he finds the corpse later.

"Marx was especially suspicious of you. And he’s right, you’re usually more affectionate with your conquests."

The sudden, violent urge to impale himself on Geralts swords surfaced. Geralt couldn’t mean what Jaskier thought he meant. He couldn’t really want him to… Meliteles tits, this would truly be his downfall.

"I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable." He tried to defend his actions and was terribly aware of the way his heart fluttered in his chest, heat rising at the mere thought of being allowed to touch and kiss and hold.

Geralt tilted his head, eyeing him with a glint that Jaskier was too distracted to truly decipher. "I won’t be uncomfortable."

"Oh. Well I… Do you think we should maybe… practice? Just to make it more believable."

Why was he trying to torture himself so? But surely Geralt would save him from himself. He wouldn’t let-

"Good idea. Need to look natural. Come here."

No, no, no, this was not what Jaskier had imagined would happen when proposing this whole scheme! Well yes sure he had certainly dreamed of it, but never in a thousand years had he thought- It didn’t really matter what he had thought now, though, did it?

With a confident grin that shook at the edges Jaskier sauntered over, nearly tripping into Geralts awaiting arms. Good thing he had laid aside his swords or Jaskier really would have impaled himself on them.

"Hi. Hope you don’t mind me sitting here."

Geralt let out a puff of breath that might have been the start of a laugh, rearranging Jaskiers limps so they both could be comfortable, resting his hands on Jaskiers hips in the end.

"There is your bad flirting."

Jaskier pinched Geralts nose. "My flirting is excellent, thank you very much."

Geralts eyes went cross to see what was going on with his nose and Jaskier wanted to kiss that adorably stupid expression from his face. Then he remembered that this was the whole point of this scenario and leant forward.

The taste of sour wine mingled with that of bitter ale as their lips met. A shock went through his body at the contact and Jaskier jerked back on instinct, something in his mind screaming at him that this was forbidden. But a large, rough hand caught him at the back of his neck and dragged him back.

Soon he needed every last one of his few brain cells to keep up with the kiss. Geralt was slow but thorough, prodding and asking permission with little touches at every step. And Jaskier needed to decipher all those little questions and answer fast for fear that Geralt might draw back otherwise.

His body rose to the challenge, along with another part of his body that really shouldn’t be added to this equation at all. Jaskier tried to discreetly shift away from Geralts nether regions, but was dragged back down and met with a thrust.

Geralt interrupted their training session to let Jaskier pant against his shoulder. He moved to Jaskiers throat instead, nosing along the length of it.

Jaskier felt his self satisfied grin on his sensitive skin.

"There, this seems natural."

"Bastard." Jaskier groaned, sliding deeper to stick his face in the crook between shoulder and collarbone. "I’m not always horny."

"Most of the time though."

Jaskier bit him in punishment, but that only made Geralt rumble in pleasure. Yes, no Jaskier would like to die now please. He had experienced heaven. He was ready to go to hell. Or to whatever other kind of plane his poor wretched soul would be dragged to after death.

"You’ll have to dance with me tomorrow." Jaskier mumbled into damp skin and itchy fabric. "Because that’s what couples do."

"No."

"You have to."

"I can’t dance Jaskier."

"A maybe then."

"Jask."

The remainder of their practice session wasn’t very productive with Jaskier dozing off in Geralts lap eventually and being carried to bed without waking once. It was nice either way.

Chapter 5: The Party

Dressing up for a festival was something Geralt vowed never to do again. Geralt liked the preparation phase just fine. But then again he would never say no to a good, long soak in a decently sized tub. Scratch that he would cram himself in a bucket if he had to. But a tub that fit him was rare and nice. That Jaskier was bold enough to join him was just a plus. More than a plus. He’d chosen a bath in a swamp if it meant having Jaskier pressed close, naked and wet, pulse racing with nerves, skin hot and electrifying.

Well the swamp wouldn’t be hot, per say. And Jaskier would probably complain a lot and dunk Geralt for dragging them into that whole mess even though Jaskier would probably have been the one to get them into it-

The point was Geralt had been more than fine with the bath. He had also been happy to finally get his armour back before the whole cleaning business. He had been happy to find that his armour hadn’t been painted with anything too ridiculous. And the shirt and pants looked acceptable as well.

But the actual dressing part… Geralt hadn’t thought getting into some clothes could get so complicated. And he was used to closing dozens of clasps on his protective gear all the time. It wasn’t only clothes, either. It was oils and powder and perfume, everything carefully chosen as to not hurt his poor nose. Jaskier took a small eternity combing his silvery hair until it shone like silk. And then didn’t even let Geralt do the same to him.

"I don’t need to comb through this darling, my hair needs to be fluffy, too much combing and it will just be flat and lifeless."

A poor excuse, but at least Geralt got away with ruffling it that way. It was indeed very fluffy.

"I don’t remember needing so much time getting ready for Calanthes court."

Nimble fingers closed the small, flower shaped buttons on his shirt, smoothing out the fabric every once in a while. It was a detail that would be entirely lost under his armour, but the tailor had insisted on adding them for some reason. Geralt could understand the want to touch, though. The shirt was woolen and yet it was softer and lighter than anything he had worn before.

"I didn’t need to prepare you that much back then because you were supposed to slink into the shadows and look menacing enough to keep the angry folk away from me. Now though? We’ll dazzle them with your roguish charm!"

"Is that why you dressed me like a sad silk trader?"

Jaskier slapped his chest and let out an offended gasp. That he left Geralts space to get into his own, frilly, baby blue shirt felt a bit like punishment.

"I didn’t!"

"Hmhm. And now I’m a sad toussainty knight."

The doublet Jaskier threw over his shirt glittered in the sun and soon knee high boots came on to hide strong calves and more pink fabric. The reddish brown leather shoes were delicate and had golden buttercups lining the seams. Nothing about this outfit was functional, it puffed Jaskier up, made him look bigger, more space consuming. It was made to draw attention and it would gather even more with Geralt by his side, his cold and dark colours and harsh lines a stark contrast to Jaskiers soft ones.

"If you wanted to look like a clown there should be a few buckets of paint still somewhere around here. I can throw them at you if you’d rather resemble a rainbow."

Geralt closed the last clasp with a click, his own black, sturdy, functional boots heavy on the stone floor. He grabbed his bard by the waist and kissed his cheek, marveling at the ease of it all.
"I wouldn’t want to destroy all your hard work."

Jaskier turned in his embrace, hesitated for but a moment and then dipped in to give Geralt a peck on the lips. Hm, maybe Geralt should find more reasons to pretend being a fake boyfriend. He could get used to this.

"Marvelous. Now let’s get this show on the road."

The main part of the festivities was held outside, spread over the whole estate and even further onto the beach. The sun stood high in the sky when people emerged from their chambers, all decorated in finery and the most expensive outfits they could afford.

Geralts senses were assaulted on all sides by bright, light reflecting fabrics and flowery and fruity smells that together made for a scent cocktail that was hard to stomach. The noise, surprisingly, stayed at a comfortable level. Probably because the area was vast enough for all the people to disperse into smaller groups.

The main event was held in the courtyard where several benches and tables had been dragged out. White and red checkered cloth covered the tables and on them was so much food that Geralt was amazed they hadn’t broken down under the weight yet. He was sure at least half of what was being offered here would go into the trash later. There might be many guests, but Geralt didn’t think anyone could eat so much. He should probably get started on saving those pastries, it would be a shame if they went to waste.

A harsh tug on his elbow steered him away from the treats however. "The buffet hasn’t been opened by my father yet. You’ll get to stuff your belly soon enough."

"What are we supposed to do then?"

It was a very good question in Geralts opinion. Only background music was playing, the dancefloor as of yet nonexistent. No one was playing any Gwent or dice. They were all just… standing and walking around. Talking and watching the other guests.

"We mingle."

Oh no.

Jaskier took one look at his face and laughed. "We’ll look busy then. Come on."

Taking Geralts hand Jaskier led him to a long table that was already stacked high with presents. They deposited the box Tamara had given them there and lingered.

"See that golden set of candlesticks? Father will hate that. It’s probably from uncle Vernon. He has as much taste as my father, which is to say none. Only they have vastly different styles of none taste, if you get what I mean."

Geralt didn’t. "What’s wrong with golden candlesticks?" Other than them being unnecessarily expensive.

"We already have ones, but those are better."

"You can sell them then."

"For what? If my father wanted to have more money he would just raise the taxes. And he’s not much for haggling. Hey maybe he’ll even give you them if we asked nicely. I bet those would look beautiful in Kaer Morhen."

"Wouldn’t that be impolite?"

"Pshh. We would be doing him a favour."

They wandered down the long side of the table, Jaskier pointing out various knick knacks, easily keeping a light conversation going. More and more Geralt started to relax at his side. This wasn’t so bad. He wasn’t being left alone in a sea of power hungry harpies, stranded alone in a world with rules Geralt didn’t understand, with layers and layers of truth and lies hidden beneath a single sentence. Jaskier was his guide, his anchor and as long as he enjoyed himself everything was fine.

He could do this.

Geralt let himself be led to wherever Jaskier wanted to go and eventually found himself in the shade of a tree with Jaskier in his lap ("I’d get grass stains otherwise, Geralt. Grass stains! I’d look ridiculous."). Snuggled together they watched the other people go by and got plenty of stares in return.

Whatever Jaskier was doing it was working. They weren’t even being loud and yet whispers were starting to spread. Geralt could make out some of them in the sea of noise, but mostly tuned them out. He didn’t want to sour his mood with bad commentary. He just wanted to keep sitting under that tree, with Jaskier playing idly with his hair, every once in a while pressing a kiss to his lips.

Never were his wishes granted.

"Bringing weapons to the party?" The birthday boy himself had sought them out, decked in gold and red, seemingly sweating like a swine in this heat. Geralt was grinned internally. Yes puffy shirts might have been out of season, but at least both of them were comfortable.

"Just for show I can assure you." Geralt stroked over the leather sheath of his steel sword. Both of his weapons lay beside him so he was able to press his back comfortably against the bark. "Can’t be a sad knight without swords."

"Geralt! You’re the worst." The slap on his breast plate probably hurt Jaskier more than him.

"I don’t seem to get the joke."

Geralt nodded. "It has quite a bit of history to it."

"A little over a decade wouldn’t you say? Happy birthday father. By the way."

"I raised you better than that."

"Maybe. Can’t say anything much stuck other than the music."

"I can see that."

Geralt caught a glimpse of Tamara standing a ways back glaring daggers at her husband. He tilted his head, wondering what was going on here.

The uncomfortable pause stretched on as father and son stared at each other.

"Nice party." Jaskier finally muttered. "Went all out with… everything."

"Yes. Tamara outdid herself with the preparations… Listen… Uh... Lotta came to me this morning with the idea that you and Valdo could play together. I’d like you to refrain from playing anything too bawdy and simple… or Witcher related. But… Well if you wanted to. I mean if you are willing and prepared... I’d like you to perform."

Was this how Geralt always sounded back then when it had come to talking about emotions? If so he felt for Jaskier this was torture to listen to. And yet the result was more than worth it. Jaskiers face lit up like the sun, brighter even and Geralt suddenly found himself helplessly lost in those expressive oceans of blue. Surely Jaskier was saying something back, something that made Osvald leave. But Geralt didn’t hear it. He was busy holding himself back from kissing his best friend so he could get the conversation done.

But after that Jaskier didn’t even have the time to fully turn to him before his lips were caught and held captive until the need for air arose.

"Was that a kiss to shut me up or one of encouragement, dearest."

"Hm."

"That’s a neutral I don’t know what just happened but I’m pretending to get what you just said hum."

Damn. Geralt had no argument against that. But he did have the excuse of being allowed to kiss him in public for the gossip so he did just that.

"Okay that was a kiss to shut me up." Jaskier laughed.

"Didn’t work well."

"Guess you’ll just have to try harder."

Grinning at each other Geralt was sure they made for quite the intimidating picture, both grins feral, showing teeth and a challenge in their eyes that promised chaos. Jaskier's hand not so subtly lingered somewhere very close to Geralts crotch and in turn Geralts hands, after but a moment of thought, settled over Jaskiers ass cheeks. Just to steady him of course. Nothing else. Just like Jaskiers hand was only situated there to hold him up.

Loud clanging so unfairly interrupted their improvised flirting session. Geralt felt more than one gaze forcefully tear itself away from them. There was discontent muttering from the not so discreet crowd they had gathered, but the earl wanted their attention now and so he got it.

"My dear guests! Thank you for flocking to my old abode for this very special day in such huge numbers. It truly swells my heart to see all my family and friends together like this in a day and age where every breath could be our last."

Osvald paused to sweep his gaze over the crowd. He had taken the liberty of using one of the tables as a boost for his height and thus had a great view of all the people who hadn’t wandered off to some far corner or other. The guests held their breath as they waited for him to continue.

Jaskier only rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, low enough that even Geralt had trouble catching the words. "Sure use the dramatic pause, oldest trick in the book."

"It makes this old man truly happy that you all cared enough for me to take on perilous journeys, uncomfortable nights on the road and the dangers of the wild to share in the celebration of my continued existence in this world. Well cared for me and the good food! So let’s get to that!"

Cheers arose from all around them and Jaskier sprung up with a whoop. "Finally! Come on Geralt! I need a full belly if I need to perform with Valdo later."

There seemed to be no sitting order this time around, only favourite foods to gravitate towards. And yet they somehow still found themselves back in the company of Ferrant, Lotta and Valdo. A short while later Tamara and Osvald joined them.

"A truly marvelous speech, Osvald." Valdo spoke up before Jaskiers father had even fully sat down. "It’s obvious that you’ve been educated in the finer arts."

"Thank you! I’ve come up with it on the spot, would you believe it? Not much for planning, little old me. That’s why I have my brilliant wife by my side."

The praise made Tamaras plump cheeks flush a rosy red and she briefly squeezed her husbands hand, quickly moving it to grab a bowl of grapes.

"It was decent." Jaskier murmured between bites sticking mostly to the sweet pastries.

"Ever the critic." Lotta giggled. "What would you have done differently, dear brother mine? Added some flair? Blown it up a bit more?"

"Gotten rid of the dramatic pause."

"And added two others in different places I presume." Osvald shook his head. "They only teach you shit in Oxenfurt nowadays."

Ferrant was giving Geralt looks, but he didn’t quite understand what they meant. They looked pleading, but if it was a plea to leave the table and let Ferrant enjoy the presence of his favourite cousin, or if it was a plea for him to interrupt the ongoing argument between the family members he didn’t know.

So he did what he did best in social situations such as these. He scowled.

It cowed Ferrant quite effectively, but only seemed to gather Valdos curiosity. Fucking bards.

"Oh someone looks downright grumpy. Don’t like the company?"

This made Jaskier halt in the middle of his sentence and turn to pinch Geralts cheek. "Darling no pouty face! There’s no angry husbands to intimidate here."

Osvald frowned and shook his head as Geralt gave a noncommittal grunt. "I really don’t know what to make of you two. Either you’re glued to this Witchers side like a lost puppy or you treat him like a mutt."

"It’s called being affectionate, father. Maybe you should try it sometime."

"Now, now let’s not start this argument about proper courtly manners again. Valdo, Jaskier why don’t you go warm up? It’s about time for your performance." Tamara was quick to cut in, shooing both men off with practiced ease.

Geralt felt quite bereft with Jaskier gone and it must have shown in the way he watched them both go, because Osvald snorted at his predicament.

"Don’t worry, lad. We won’t eat you."

"I wasn’t worried about that given that there is enough food here and my medallion has kept still the whole time, meaning that either you’re Higher Vampires or plain old humans."

"Old we are that’s for sure! Well not Ferrant here. Although he sometimes acts ten times his age."

"I’m merely being decent." Ferrant whispered into his bread.

"Decently boring." Lotta snatched up the last sweetroll before Ferrant could get to it, leveling her cousin with a challenging look. He didn’t raise to it, just huffed and took some fruit instead. No backbone that man.

It was good not to be the center of focus though. And he even got to tease Ferrant, now that Jaskier was gone. "He’s merely doing what his status and profession demands from him."

Tamara heaved a great, heavy sigh. "He arrested you in the past, didn’t he?"

Damn it he probably should just have stayed quiet. "On several occasions."

"It was my duty."

"Not when Jaskier was around."

Ferrant opened and closed his mouth like a fish, red pooling into his cheeks. "He’s family!"

Snorting laughter made them turn their heads. Osvald still had his teeth firmly dug into the tender leg of lamb, spraying bits of flesh everywhere as he loudly announced his amusement. Finally tearing the meat apart and swallowing without chewing even once he spoke up between bouts of coughing.

"You can’t fault him for it, truly. Julian has had him wrapped around his little finger from age four. And don’t tell me his charm has eluded you. I doubt you’d be sitting here, hunched shoulders and poised to run, if it had." The way he pointed the mangled lamb leg at Geralt sent some of the grease in his direction. Thankfully it only landed on his face. Jaskier would have had his head had it soiled the armour or shirt. "Or did you merely tag along to get some good food and lodgings for a change? I wouldn’t fault you for that. Only I would because that would mean you lied to my son. And while I’m admittedly not on very good ground with him at the moment-"

"Ever." Geralt heard Lotta whisper.

"I’d be very cross with you had you betrayed Julians loyalty. Stabby cross."

Now Geralt understood where Jaskier had gotten his… more violent leanings from. He wiped the grease from his cheek, wracking his brain for a come back. It wasn’t like he was lying to Jaskier, right? They were both lying to his parents, but-

"That." Osvald cut through his thoughts, casually breaking the bones of his meal to get to the marrow. "Or any other excuse would spark my ire."

Ferrants lips twitched up at that. "That reminds me. You hadn’t been this cosy when I last saw you together. In fact only last year did I visit him in Oxenfurt and found him drunk and in quite the low mood. Would you know anything about that?"

"Really?" Great, now Tamara sounded wary, too. Shit. He would need to use his swords on Jaskiers favourite cousin today it seemed. Geralt hoped Jaskier wouldn’t be too heartbroken about the whole affair, but it simply had to be done.

"When did that happen?" she pressed on.

"At the beginning of last winter."

"We had a disagreement on where to spend the winter. It would have been too cold for a human in my home that year, but I couldn’t delay visiting my family. The Witchers Path is a dangerous one, every year could be the last I see one of my brothers. So I had to leave him in Oxenfurt. He wasn’t very happy about that."

Geralt lied through his teeth and patted himself on the back for his quick thinking. Thankfully he was spared from further questions by Jaskier and Valdo, who emerged from the house and jumped on one of the emptied tables in perfect synch, strumming their lutes as they did.

For a short, nauseating second Geralt looked at them and saw two people who were made for each other. He couldn’t comprehend it, why those two had ended up rivals instead of lovers. They moved with a familiarity around each other that spoke of years of training together. Their witty banter in between song changes was both amusing and endearing to watch and their voices!

Geralt had thought hearing Jaskier and Essi sing together was the height of contentment, but the warmth in Valdos and Jaskiers honeyed voices was all encompassing. It felt as though one was taking a bath in hot chocolate. You wanted to keep soaking in that silky heat, while also craving to drink it all up.

He instantly wanted it to stop. Seeing Jaskier there in the limelight, sharing it with someone else. Someone who was so much like Jaskier, so well suited for him…

Geralt bit his lip to keep from baring his teeth, locking every muscle so as not to get up and drag Jaskier back to his side. Or, just as likely, shove Valdo off the table.

A great amount of willpower was used up to keep that position through several sets of songs until Valdos lute dwindled off into silence, the man hopping off the furniture without looking where he was going, leaving Jaskier alone with all eyes on him.

The melody turned gentle and transitioned into a song Geralt had never heard before. A birthday song, tailored to Jaskiers father, reviewing his last sixty years in ten year jumps. Six heart wrenchingly sweet verses later, with the chorus catchy and easy enough for everyone to sing along, Jaskier finished with a flourish and bowed to a ravenous applause.

Geralt chanced a glance at Osvald and caught the man with tears in his wide eyes, something akin to awe in them. Tamara was grinning from ear to ear, openly weeping and squeezing her husbands arm hard enough to bruise.

Letting out a long, silent breath Geralt relaxed. The performance was over. Jaskier would bask a moment more in all the attention and then come trodding back to him. Everything would go smoothly from there on out. Geralt was sure of it.

Only Jaskier didn’t come back. He got off the table, rejoined with Valdo and encouraged the people to burn some of the food off by dancing. Fuck.

Osvald sniffled a bit before reining himself back in and turning to Geralt. "He’s good when he sets his mind to it, isn’t he? Now where were we?"

"I was going to dance with Geralt!" Lotta jumped up, motioning for Geralt to follow her. "It’s only fitting that we should open the dance floor. Or would you rather? As the birthday couple."

"No, no these old bones aren’t made for much moving about anymore. Go on."

“Have fun.”

Geralt wanted to punch the mirth out of Ferrants eyes. But Lottas gesturing pulled him up and towards her. Her hand felt tiny in his and he was suddenly very aware that he was dealing with Jaskiers sister. Jaskiers actual sister by blood.

Jaskier had already been protective of Essi. Shit what if he accidently broke her?

“I’m a very bad dancer.”

“Don’t worry I’ll scream if you step on my toes.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Her grin was as bright as her brothers as she spun and arranged them into the right position. “The big bad wolf, afraid? I understand my brothers crush now. You’re cute.”

His scowl didn’t phase her in the slightest. “I’m not.” Neither did the growling. What an exasperating family.

“A big softie.” She cooed. “And an idiot. You check every last one of my brothers boxes.”

They swayed back and forth a bit before Fiona guided him into a series of easy steps. Jaskier and Valdo took the hint and played something with a reasonable rhythm, fast and cheery enough to dance to, but with a melody and pace that allowed for Geralts brain to concentrate on the conversation rather than the dance.

“I wasn’t aware he had boxes.”

"He isn’t either, but I’ve noticed a pattern."

Others, who had stood by the sidelines to watch them move from one set of motions to another slid onto the patch of grass that had been turned into the dancefloor. And while Geralts and Lottas movements were jerky and boring at best the people who took over the spotlight created elaborate patterns with their partners, feet as sure as Geralts when he was fighting monsters.

Geralts shoulders loosened by a fraction comforted by the veil of moving bodies who did a much better job at blending in then he did. "Even when you see him so seldom?"

Lottas smile dimmed, turned sadder, but wasn’t lost entirely. For that Geralt was thankful. He hated seeing Jaskier in a depressed state and his sister looked too much like him to not pull on Geralts heartstrings.

"He doesn’t come around often. And when he does I tend to be away. But don’t think for a second I’m not keeping an eye on him. I have my little birds to tell me secrets."

She dipped back and Geralt caught her without a second thought, diving in low, letting her drag him down and into a spin that saw them both come back up standing. The other pairs evaded them with ease or maybe Lotta had guided them through the mass of twisting bodies. Geralt had no illusions as to who was leading whom at this point.

"Birds like Marx?"

He was sure Jaskier couldn’t hear them over all the music and laughter, but by Meliteles right tit Geralt saw him perk up at Valdos last name. The man was like a gods damned bloodhound in this matter.

"Valdo is a special kind of bird. But we weren’t talking about him."

"Weren’t we talking about relationships?"

"Yours and Julians specifically." She put her foot down, both metaphorically and literally, let herself be dragged into one last spin outward and tugged until he was the one to follow her. "You know I’ve wanted to see him with you for a long, long time now. Since I first heard Toss a Coin and more and more so with every new song, every new tale he spun from your deeds."

"And now that you’ve seen us, are you satisfied?"

They came to a stop a few tables away from the writhing crowd, her warm hand sliding out of his. "Maybe." She murmured, glancing at Jaskier and Valdo. "I haven’t decided yet."

With these words she parted from him, easily dodging back into the fray. Geralt quickly lost sight of her and went to wait for the end of Jaskiers at one of the tables. He wasn’t bothered much in the meantime, which he was thankful for. Only a few curious souls approached him to ask questions and make small talk. Martha came by for a few minutes to talk to him and sneak him the last pastries. For Jaskier, she had said, a treat after his beautiful performance.

Trevor sought him out, merrier and louder than Geralt had come to know him. The mercenary was having the time of his life, uncaring of the dirty looks he and his companions got. And he was thankful. So thankful in fact, that he had a whole, drunken, affectionate speech for Geralt.

By the time it had ended other, less talented bards had taken over and Jaskier was nowhere to be seen. Geralt stood, awkwardly holding the plate of pastries in his hands, and let his gaze sweep over his surroundings. No familiar speck of pink colour came into view. And Geralt couldn’t hear the spark of Jaskiers voice.

Instead he could make out Valdos head of golden locks, his tight fitting, dark, formal outfit, rimmed with red and gold. The troubadour was advancing on him. For a short moment Geralts flight or fight instinct kicked in. He gnashed his teeth and breathed through the urge to flee, barely wrestled down the need to bash the mans head in for no reason. Fuck if Jaskier found them talking he surely would be sleeping on the floor tonight.

"Geralt! You look a little lost, need help finding your flower?"

"Marx… Good… performance."

"Ohhh praise from you? Don’t let Julian hear that, he’ll have your cock."

Geralt tilted his head at him, but did check his surroundings one last time. No Jaskier in sight. His balls were safe. For the moment.
"Your relationship with him confuses me."

Valdo shrugged and tried to steal one of the pastries, which earned him a slap on the hand and a warning growl. The pout Valdo gave him for being denied looked a lot like the one Jaskier always gave him. Only it was less endearing and just served as a reminder that those two had to have been close for a long time in order to take on the others' mannerisms. Or maybe it was just a bard thing.

"There’s nothing complicated about us, trust me. We’ve grown up together, we’re friendly rivals. That’s all."

"Jaskier wanted a djinn to strike you with apoplexy and die."

Valdo hummed not in the slightest put out by that fact. "I wished death upon him at one time or another, too. Sadly with no magical aid in sight. I bet he was sad when nothing happened."

Geralt shook his head only more confused now. Valdo didn’t seem to notice that his statement just thoroughly contradicted his previous one. "What do you want Marx?"

The troubadour leaned elegantly on the edge of the table. He looked at him with a sharp smile that promised pain. Geralt couldn’t understand how someone so lanky and dandy like could be so intimidating. That must have been definitely a bard thing.

"Now we’re talking. Not one for beating around the bush with flowery metaphors are you? No wonder you’re uncomfortable here. You must hate politics. I’ll be blunt then. I don’t like how you’re leading Julian on. I’m a people reader, Geralt. That’s my job. And a blind man can see your pining. And his pining. It’s sad. And unbearable to watch. And by the gods if you don’t actually confess to him I’ll go out and find him another Witcher to be obsessed with, mark my words."

"We’re not pining. We’re together."

"Sure. That’s why you guys throw each other yearning looks whenever the other isn’t looking."

Geralt released a tired groan, heat pooling in his cheeks that would never colour them the red they deserved to be at the moment. "Why do you care so much?"

Valdo had the gall to pat his arm. "I’m a romantic at heart and the love story you and Julian share is one of the best I’ve seen yet. A bit too much slow burn, but that’s what I’m here for. Now don’t mess this up. I can’t trust Julian not to, he has the grace of a newborn foal when it comes to actual deep rooted feelings. So I hope for you that you are better at them. Have fun."

Why did everyone at this party decide to drop bombs on him before leaving? Geralt scowled hard at Valdos back, the minstrels threat feeling like a sword held to his neck. He didn’t doubt for a second this man wouldn’t go through with it. If Geralt had learned one thing from his years with Jaskier as a travel companion it was that bards were crazy. And if Valdo dragged Eskel to Jaskier Geralt would be screwed.

Fuck.

He needed to find Jaskier.

Why was this falling to him? He was shit with feelings.

Leaving his spot with another, world weary sigh he started to look for his bard. Not an easy task given the amount of space Osvald had prepared for the party. Every nook and cranny he searched without a hint of Jaskier only made his throat close up more and his heart beat louder.

He stumbled through the festivities as if in a trance, mind solely primed to catch Jaskier. It was his scent that Geralt caught first and once he had it he was determined to never let it go. More guests tried to talk to him, the alcohol giving them courage they hadn’t had before. Some even tried to flirt with him. He declined all their attentions in the most polite manner he knew, imitating Jaskiers warm smile and empty excuses that he gave whenever he was too tired after a performance to entertain the guests even a moment longer.

Jaskiers scent led him back into the house and into one of the parlor rooms. Jaskier was draped over the armrest of a plush red sofa using the whole length as his resting place. He was gesticulating wildly to an enraptured crowd, telling of one of Geralts more dangerous hunts.

"Ah here he is! Our hero! I’m so sorry love! That I didn’t come to you right away, I was swept up by these lovely people right after my performance and just couldn’t say no to a bit of wine and calm."

Geralt threw a meaningful look at the assortment of empty bottles on the low table. Only two of them held wine and those were still half full. Neither would he have described the room as calm.

But that was fine. He just needed to ask Jaskier to come with him back to their room, so they could talk in peace.

"Hm." Was the only sound his strangled throat could produce.

And Jaskier, bless him, caught on anyway. "Oh dear of course. I’m sorry my lovely ladies and gentlemen, but I need to tend to my partner for a second."

One young lady stared at Jaskier with wide, adoring eyes. "You read him so well."

He threw her a winning smile, getting up and sauntering over to Geralt, who didn’t hesitate to wind an arm around his waist and pull him close. "Of course. Over twenty years on the road, my lady. You learn a thing or two. I wish you all a good night! Don’t get too drunk. Do what I would do!"

The assembled group laughed and raised their glasses in a toast. "We’d be having an orgy then!" One of the men yelled.

"Don’t be too loud if you do!" Jaskier teased back, letting himself be crowded out of the room and led through the house back to their lodgings.

"Is everything alright, Geralt? This wasn’t too much was it? Oh no what did Lotta say? Or my father? Or mother? Were they being rude to you?"

Geralt caught Jaskiers hands as they flitted anxiously through the air, holding them between them to keep them still. "No. No, everyone has been on their best behavior."

"That doesn’t mean much in this household, Geralt!"

"They’ve been nice." And vaguely threatening., Geralt thought but opted not to say. "They just gave me food for thought."

Jaskier groaned. "By Meliteles right tit what balderdash have they planted into your brain?"

"Nothing bad I assure you."

"Let me be the judge of that. What is it then? What has got you so nervous and tongue tied?"

"I was wondering…"

For a brief moment he got lost in Jaskiers blue eyes. Or at least that was his excuse should anyone ever ask why he never finished that sentence.

"Yes?"

"Those last few days. Did you like them?"

"Of course I did. I’m happy that you finally got to relax a bit. And my family is less horrible than I remember. Maybe age has made them softer or maybe it was your cute broody face that won them over. But yes, I enjoyed it very much."

"And us? Did you enjoy us?"

Jaskier blinked at him, confusion swirling in those pretty blue gems and a hint of fear tainted the air with its sour, acrid smell. He took a long time to reply. And through his time of thought Geralt waited patiently, never once letting go of Jaskiers hands, a lifeline for them both.

"I did." Jaskier admitted eventually, in a whisper so low Geralt had trouble catching it.

"Would you… like to continue?"

"Pretending?"

"Not pretending."

Jaskiers gaze, which had drifted toward the ground during their conversation, snapped back up. "What are you asking here?"

Geralt wanted to kiss the frown from Jaskiers face. But refrained. Not yet. Only when all was said and done. Only when he was allowed to do so. Ciri had told him that communication was important. Backstabbing and lies were for court life only, not for family and loved ones. Although Ciri had come to prefer real stabbing these days and didn’t exclude the wolves of Kaer Morhen from it.

"I’m asking, do you… would you like to be together with me? Without any excuses to pretend. After all this?"

"For real?"

"For real."

A shy smile bloomed in the wake of his answer and Jaskier stepped closer, pecking Geralts lips before drawing back to look him in the eyes again. "I’d like that. Gods I’d love that."

Geralt couldn’t help but return the smile using the grip he had on Jaskiers hands to pull him back in and devour his lips properly. "Good."

"Perfect."

"Hm."

Jaskier giggled, resting his forehead against Geralts, hands coming up to comb through silver strands of moonlight.

"I’m glad. You know I loved our shenanigans, but the sexual tension was killing me."

"Oh? Well let’s remedy that then."

Jaskier was proud that he only let out a little squeak at being lifted even if the tiny sound was just prevented from turning into an outright squeal by Geralts mouth descending onto his with a vengeance.
The laugh that followed when Geralt flopped onto the bed and they both bounced, losing their balance and ending up laying sprawled all over each other was full and long, though.

"Witchers. Master of coordination."

"It’s the good alcohol and your weird bouncy beds."

Jaskier pecked Geralts nose. "Of course love. Now where were we?"

Geralt grinned up at his travel companion, his friend, his bard and rolled his hips, delighting in the way Jaskiers cheeks gained a bit more colour. Hesitancy and doubts thrown out the window he let his hands wander, made dizzy by the heady scent of Jaskiers arousal.

"I think you wanted everyone out there to hear just how much we love each other."

"That’s quite the number of people. And it’s very loud out there. I think you’ll have to give me the right incentive- Ahhh okay yeah good start."

Geralt continued nibbling at Jaskiers neck leaving marks like so many others before. He was thankful to them now, because of their shamelessness he now knew at least one of Jaskiers more sensitive spots. As for the others? Well he had time now. Tonight and the night after that and all winter. He couldn’t wait.

Valdo and Lotta stood under the window encased in shadows, the light from the courtyard only reaching the edges of their sanctuary. They had their arms slung around each other, Lottas head on Valdos shoulder. Together they peered up at the softly glowing windows of Jaskiers room.

"Come on now? What are they doing up there? One simple confession can’t possibly take this long." Lotta mumbled, shifting from one foot to the other and pressing a bit more firmly into Valdos side.

He rubbed her arm in return and hummed. "I didn’t take him for a talker, but it seems I was wrong."

A long, drawn out moan echoed through the night making both of them grin.

"Finally!" Lotta quietly whooped.

"I do hope they are not just fucking it out."

"That would be typical of my brother, wouldn’t it?"

"I love you!" Jaskier screamed, clearly in the throes of ecstasy if the following moans, squeals and groans were anything to go by.

"Well that answers our question." Lotta laughed, tugging at Valdos collar to bring him down for a small celebratory kiss.

"A musician through and through even in the midst of passion. What do you think would they be up for a foursome someday?"

"Ewww!" That was followed by a light slap on his cheek, which he rubbed to show that she had really gotten him, even if she didn’t. "I never want to have to see my brother that way, thanks. If you want to have a threesome be my guest, but then I call dibs on Essi and Priscilla."

"Hm I’d like to join there too."

"No it’ll be a closed party you slut." She kissed him again, for good measure. Jaskiers moans in the meanwhile were joined by low grunts and growls that sounded suspiciously wolf-like.

She blushed as his brother hit a particularly high note. "How about we leave now?"

Valdo glanced up the window one last time with an impressed look. "Let’s."

~~~

Either they hadn’t been loud enough or everyone was just too polite to mention anything. It didn’t matter to Jaskier, who felt like he was floating through the day. He was sore all over, from the exertion of his performances on stage and in bed and he was sure the limp he tried to hide was quite prominent. It had been a tight fit after all, but nothing a little bit of exercise couldn’t fix.

He proudly displayed the hickeys, wearing his doublet and chemise unbuttoned at the top. The best thing was that Geralt rarely left his side, standing proud and tall beside his lover and looking all too smug.

They got even more looks than the day before, surprisingly not many nasty ones, just quick glances and hidden smiles. It was nice, especially because Jaskier could feel Geralt relaxing at his side at the lack of negativity.

After packing up all their belongings and some of Osvalds presents he wanted to get rid of they wandered down into the parlor room finding it already occupied by the usual guests. Tamara was already done with her food, sitting in a chair closer to the window and engrossed in her stitching.

Ferrant, Lotta and Valdo were discussing the best routes to take from Kerack to various points of the continent. And Jaskiers father was the only one really still invested in his breakfast.

"Ahh good morning lovebirds! Had a beautiful night?" Lotta greeted them, drawing everyones attention to them.

"We did."

"Liked the party, too?" Osvald asked with a sly smile. He looked ragged, clearly having gotten no sleep celebrating all night. But he was in a good mood.

Jaskier debated if he should answer with a quib, but decided against it. He liked the peacefulness of this morning too much to spoil it with petty banter. "Very much so. Mother you outdid yourself."

There came a hum and a smile from her corner, other than that Tamara stayed quiet. She too looked more sleepy than awake so Jaskier didn’t begrudge her her silence. The platter with bread and cheese was handed to them just as a servant wandered in to fill their goblets with watered down wine.

"I’m glad. See visiting us isn’t that bad. Maybe you could come around a bit more regularly now. Bring Geralt with you whenever you need a break. And you Geralt, your family is welcome here as long as they don’t break anything."

"No promises." Geralt answered before he could stop himself, thinking of Lamberts tendency to touch everything.

"If you promise not to talk about inheritance and honour and all that." Jaskier waved his hand in the air, encircling that metaphorical everything.

"We’ve thought of a solution to that, I believe." Tamara mused giving her husband a meaningful look.

Osvald nodded. "Ah yes I believe we did. You shan’t have to hear about it again."

"Oh really? What’s your solution?"

"Oh you know." came the muttered reply, Osvald shovelling some more bread into his mouth to be even more unintelligible. "Politic stuff. Rewriting wills, forging alliances all that. The details’ll bore you to death."

Hm Jaskier could live with that. "I’ll try and visit more then." Who knew, maybe Geralts family would appreciate a week at the coast. He definitely wouldn’t mind seeing his sister more often again.

The conversation drifted between various topics for a while, neither willing to move just yet. Only when the last bit of food was consumed or waved back into the kitchen did they stand to leave. This time everyone got a hug from him. Even his father, who reciprocated in a slightly stiff manner.

He wouldn’t have touched Valdo with a ten foot pole, but the scoundrel was faster than him and obviously didn’t know how to read the room. So before he knew it he found himself in a firm embrace, nose uncomfortably squashed against Valdos sharp shoulder.

"See you at the annual bardic festival. Try to get some practice in before that."

Jaskier shoved him away with a scowl. "And you start looking for a cure to your tone deafness. Or else there will be no competition at all."

Lotta got a kiss on both cheeks and a mumbled "Take care. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do."

And then they were off, down the road and back on the Path. The rest of the year stretched before them, beckoning to them with a thousand adventures that were still to be had. They rode out as they had ridden in. Side by side, Geralts hand loosely hanging to the side, ever ready to catch his chirping songbird.

"I was wondering. After meeting your family. Would you like to meet mine?"

The lyrics cut off, but the melody stayed. "Really?! They wouldn’t mind me up there with you? In Kaer Morhen?"

"No. They’ll love you. Well." Geralt tilted his head in mock thought. "Ciri at the very least."

Jaskier groaned. "You’re horrible at pep talks. Why do I love you?"

Geralt grinned, warmth spreading from his fluttering heart. "You love me."

"Yes you fool." Jaskier bent over and snatched Geralt by the front, dragging him into a short, sweet kiss that nearly got them both kicked off their horses. "Although Melitele knows why."

"Hm. I love you too."

Glittering blue pools lit up at the words and Geralt wished they could make camp already so he could drown in them like he wanted to.

The months passed, time a kind mistress for once. They were riding up from Temaria and crossing over into Kaedwen when they heard the song in one of the taverns they had decided to rest in. The melody was simple, a call back to Toss a Coin, but changed in a way that made it different enough for it not to be seen as stealing. It was the first thing that caught Geralts attention, but then came the songtext and Geralt had to blink a few times to make sure he was still in the right reality.

Once a songbird hitched a ride on the white wolfs back
to ease his burden on the long long track
filled the silence with chatter, chirps and verse
and got on the great white wolves frayed nerves

Off they went, to roam the continent
From mountains high to the wide, wide sea
Chasing each others tail too blind to see
That the companionship formed long ago
Had turned to love which was straining to show

The song went on and on, with a truly ridiculous amount of verses recalling all the adventures Jaskier had sung about in his own songs, but giving all of them a romantic spin. There was a lot of pining that was frankly hard to listen to, a totally made up conflict that was made to be the climax of the story and then the great make up and love confession. The last verse was the dirtiest, hinting at them having sex, which had descriptions that were innocent enough but sounded far too accurate for Geralts liking.

He had wanted to stand up and leave on numerous occasions throughout the song, but had been prevented by a gentle hand and Jaskiers amused laughs. At the end all he could do was hide his face in his tankard, hoping for the ground to swallow him up.

There were cheers all around and catcalls. Some even threw coins at their table and of course Jaskier had to take the opportunity to sing Toss a Coin, jumping up to join the other bard in their performance.

"You seemed awfully okay with the song." Geralt breached the subject later, when they were both getting ready for bed.

Jaskier shrugged, unlacing his chemise. "It wasn’t bad."

"Even though it clearly came from Valdo?"

"Hmhm. He has his good moments from time to time."

Geralt stared at the ceiling, contemplating. "You know, I’m a bit shocked that you're so okay with Lotta and him, given how much you complain about the man. You do know that your sister is married to Valdo, right? Probably has been for a few years given how they acted around each other."

Jaskier froze, slowly turning towards his lover. "You’re joking."

"Afraid not."

"Geralt." Their eyes met, Geralt humming in acknowledgement. "We need to find another Djinn."

Smiling Geralt reached out to pull Jaskier into the bed with him. "Next year. First you’ll meet my family."

Jaskier nuzzled into Geralts chest, sighing in delight when rough hands started to comb through his hair. "Without pretending this time?"

"Without pretending this time."

And well that was a compromise Jaskier was willing to make.