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The man standing in Jaskier’s cell is covered in blood.
“Hey, there,” Jaskier greets him, and notices yellow eyes and white hair in the dim light. A witcher.
“Do you know me, Jaskier?”
There’s something hopeful in the way this stranger whispers his name, something gentle.
“How do you know my name?” Jaskier asks in return, eyeing at this man with suspicion. The witcher takes a step forward, and Jaskier retreats into the corner, his shackles rubbing the tender skin around his wrists.
The stranger stops immediately. He sets down the iron sword, a menacing thing that is also dripping blood. Jaskier pities anyone who brought on this witcher’s wrath, for whatever reason.
“I mean you no harm.” The timbre of his voice is like honey, coating Jaskier’s tongue with warmth. Or Jaskier has just been alone here for too long. “My name is Geralt. I’m your…friend.”
“Friend?” Jaskier hesitates at the word because the witcher did too. “I don’t have a friend like you.”
“You’ve been hit with a curse. One that causes amnesia,” the witcher—Geralt explains. “And the cure is simple, if you just let me show you.”
Jaskier doesn’t remember a friend who is a witcher, but again, he doesn’t remember much. Only his names, and songs. There were songs in his life, that much he is sure.
“What is the cure?”
Trusting a stranger should fill Jaskier with dread, but looking at Geralt only makes his heart settle, those golden eyes acting as a balm to his nerves.
“True love’s kiss.” Geralt holds his gaze, unwavering. “Like in the fairy tales. If you would let me kiss you, you can find out for yourself.”
Jaskier only stares at Geralt, a man he’s only known for a few minutes, and answers with silence.
“Alright, then.” The smile on Geralt’s lips is still reassuring, if not a little broken. It’s a subtle thing, this man’s heartbreak, but Jaskier finds all the telltale signs of it by instinct. “One step at a time,” he says. “Let’s get you out of these chains.”
☆
Geralt has given Jaskier his cloak and scarf, and then, his rations and horse.
The mare is such a gentle thing, guided by Geralt’s steady hand on her reins. She let Jaskier onto her back without a fuss, and has since slowed her pace after he jostled his injuries on the uneven terrain. It’s like she knows him too.
Now that Jaskier is warm and free with his belly full, his mind swirls with questions.
“So,” he starts, looking down to catch Geralt’s eyes and trying to not let his gaze drift down to his lips. “You love me?”
Those lips part slightly before closing. Geralt pauses before answering, his words equal parts reverent and remorseful.
“More than you know.”
Jaskier forgets to breathe for a second.
He pulls the cloak tighter to fend off a chill, letting the scent of leather and pine on the thick fabric anchor him. Anything relating to Geralt has a calming effect on him, so Jaskier grows braver.
“And I love you?” he asks and looks away when his cheeks heat up. “I meant, if what you claimed about this curse is true, I’d need to love you for the cure to work. You must believe it, um, that I am in love with you too, if you suggested it.”
His words feel clumsy, but the gold in Geralt’s eyes melts with fondness.
“It took me a long time to see it, but yes, Jaskier, you did. Perhaps too much and to your own detriment, and yet…”
“And yet, I loved you,” Jaskier muses, tasting the words on his tongue. They are as easy as breathing.
The wind picks up, and Geralt removes his gloves and puts them in Jaskier’s cold hands.
As Jaskier slips into those gloves and flexes his numb fingers, he wonders how easy it was for his past self to fall in love with Geralt in the first place.
☆
The campfire burns bright, and all the bruises on Jaskier’s arms are blooming with purple and green. After a day’s journey, he’s finally sitting on a soft bedroll and now has time to inspect himself.
“Let me see?” Geralt touches Jaskier’s wrist briefly, but it’s enough for Jaskier to flinch like he’s been burned. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
The flames are lining Geralt’s hair with gold, and Jaskier shakes his head.
“I’m not scared.”
It’s just that no one has touched him in a long time, let alone this gently. He fears and longs for it at the same time, his body not knowing how to react.
“Okay.” Geralt nods, and places himself a few more feet away from Jaskier. He’s now sitting on the ground. “You should get some rest. I will keep you safe.”
With that, Geralt crosses his legs and seems content enough to keep guard. The ground must be uncomfortable compared to Jaskier’s bedroll and the warm cloak wrapped around him, making him feel safer than he ever remembers.
“Why—” Jaskier resists a yawn, finding the lull of sleep deep in his bones. “Why didn’t you just…do it?”
“Hmm?” Geralt frowns in confusion.
“If a kiss could restore all my memories, you can just, I don’t know, grab me and kiss me already. So, why aren’t you doing that?”
The thought makes Jaskier’s face flush hotly once again. If the witcher does that now, maybe he wouldn’t be as scared as he’d imagine.
“Oh.” But it looks like the thought never even crossed Geralt’s mind. “I don’t—you, um, you didn’t say I could, so I… Jaskier, I don’t know. You’ve been hurt, and I don’t want to cause you any more harm.”
“According to you, we love each other.” Jaskier pauses. “Deeply.”
It’s not hard to infer from all the careful ways Geralt has handled him in the past day. It’s strange, to be treasured by someone without a reason.
“When you looked at me,” Geralt starts, “there’s no recognition, and I—I didn’t know what to do. I haven’t felt unsure towards you for a long time.”
“You felt safe with me too.”
Geralt answers with a thoughtful smile.
“Sleep, Jaskier. Don’t worry a thing. Just sleep, and we’ll be alright.”
By some miracle, Jaskier does, and there are no nightmares.
☆
The morning light casts a shadow on Geralt’s face. It’s hard for Jaskier to tell if the witcher has fallen asleep while meditating.
“Morning,” Geralt says, eyes still closed, and Jaskier lets out a surprised gasp.
“Were you peeking?”
“Don’t need to peek. You are thinking too loud.”
“Have a lot to think about.”
“Hmm.”
Jaskier’s gaze falls on Geralt’s lips again, and he leans forward. Their knees are nearly touching.
“True love’s kiss, right?” He lets Geralt’s coat pool on his lap and swallows hard. “There’s no harm in trying.”
With that, Geralt’s eyes flutter open. His body remains still and patiently waiting for Jaskier to make the first move, so Jaskier does. He rests a hand on Geralt’s forearm, and the other on his chin. Geralt nuzzles his cheek in Jaskier’s palm, the stubble on his chin scratching Jaskier’s skin, tickling him a little.
“It’ll be okay,” Geralt promises softly.
Jaskier believes it with all his heart as their bodies fit into each other and he ends up between Geralt’s arms. He is held gently by hands on the small of his back, careful to avoid his injuries, and then, they are kissing.
Magic hums faintly in the air, but Jaskier pays no mind. Geralt’s lips are soft and exploring, guiding him with sweetness. They kiss until the magic disappears, and kiss more until they are both dizzy with foolish happiness.
Jaskier reluctantly breaks away, and opens his eyes to meet his husband’s smile. It is only when all of the memories of the same smile rush back that he realizes how much he has missed it.
“Hey,” Jaskier breathes, not being able to help the grin on his face.
“Hey,” Geralt answers. “There you are.”
“You didn’t need to wait for this long, you oaf.” Their foreheads rest together in that familiar way of theirs, Jaskier’s favorite. “Could have swooped into that cell and kissed me already. It’d make a nice fairy tale.”
“You’d have swooned with fear. Not sure what fairy tale has that.”
“Mine, perhaps. I’ll just change it in my songs. Swooning with gratitude right into my husband’s arms sounds much better.”
“Your husband…” Geralt is having that look on his face again, the one that says he’s overwhelmed with emotions and doesn’t know what to do with them, even after all these years, so Jaskier takes pity and lets Geralt hide in the crook of his neck as the shells of his ears turn red. “Sorry. I just…I felt like I lost it, somehow.”
“You couldn’t. No matter what I remember, you’ll always be my husband who is so unwilling to hurt me he’d rather abandon that title for a little while.”
“But only for a little while.”
Geralt breathes in Jaskier’s scent, a witcher’s heart slowing against a human's, and they stay there for a long time.