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It’s a stupid curse.
Like, a really, really brain-dead nonsense pointless curse. Seriously, what is even the point?
Jaskier is a horse.
Jaskier is a horse and Geralt finds out about it by waking up in camp with a horse asleep on Jaskier’s bedroll. Very asleep, in fact, laid out on its (...his, Geralt realizes after a quick glance) side, velvety nose twitching with whatever kind of dreams a Bard-turned-horse has. Geralt doesn’t want to think too hard about it.
Geralt considers. This could go several ways, and whether or not Jaskier is aware inside the horse brain is going to determine a lot. Then again, Geralt thinks, maybe not. A random horse would be pretty spooked waking up in the woods with an unknown predator (because that’s what a Witcher, or even a human, is to a horse at the end of the day), but also Jaskier would be pretty spooked to be waking up as a horse if he can tell what’s going on. Either way, the big issue is going to be keeping injuries to a minimum and not letting him bolt.
“Jask,” he murmurs, crouching a safe distance from the horse’s face. It’s a nice face, he thinks. Jaskier will be pleased, if he is aware, to find out that he’s quite a nice equine specimen. He’s a lovely medium bay, shading to black toward his knees with four white socks and pale hooves. His face has a large white mask, which is commonly called bald-face but Geralt privately thinks is a terrible name for a very sharp-looking pattern. It means his nose is a soft pink, with white whiskers that seem to sparkle in the early morning light.
“Jask,” he shuffles a little closer and extends a hand toward the whiskery muzzle. “Have a sniff, boy?” What he really wants to do is bury a hand in the thick, wavy black mane, but that’s a bad idea until he knows what he’s dealing with.
He has just enough time to think that, and then Jaskier jerks awake with a piercing squeal and heaves his enormous head up so fast it would have smacked right into anyone with slower reflexes than a witcher. Geralt steps back, but Jaskier doesn’t notice at all because, as Geralt feared, he’s busy losing his mind. It looks like he’s trying to stand up, but he obviously has no idea how many legs he has, nor does he seem to really grasp which way “up” actually is. Shit. He’s going to hurt himself. At least he’s not bolting.
Braying and grunting hideously, Jaskier manages to churn dirt halfway across the camp without ever actually getting a foot truly under himself and after about half a minute, actually flips himself fully over onto his back. Geralt is scrambling to keep up with him without actually getting too close, all the while trying to sound soothing as he half-shouts “Whoa, Jaskier, easy–hey, easy–Jask!”
Horses have a unique capacity for little-c chaos, and so does Jaskier. He should have known this was how it was going to go. And it’s getting worse by the second, of course. The world’s newest horse is now stuck and starting to scream, completely unaware of Geralt’s attempts to calm him and it’ll just be a matter of time before every predator in the area shows up to fucking eat him.
Geralt groans through his teeth in frustration and trepidation, forming his fingers into Axii–he doesn’t want to use mind control on his friend, but if horse-Jaskier breaks a leg or calls a wolf pack down on their heads they’re going to be in quite a bit of hot water–but a trumpeting whinny from behind him stops him, and miraculously Jaskier, in their tracks.
Roach whinnies again and then tapers into throaty nickers, tugging at her picket line and tossing her head. Geralt freezes, turning so that he can see both horses on either side of him. Roach is dancing at the end of her lead, but Jaskier has also frozen, arching his neck in possibly the most awkward angle Geralt has ever seen, to stare at Roach upside down. Acting on instinct and hoping he’s not going to regret his entire life, Geralt sidles over to Roach, keeping one eye on the worst horse he’s ever met there on the ground, and unties her lead. She immediately tosses her head at him as if to say “Well, come on then,” and hustles them both directly over to Jaskier.
Jaskier, for all that he paid Geralt no mind, seems to recognize Roach, or at least realizes that she is a friend. He nickers weakly at her, flops onto his side, and pokes his nose forward. She meets him with a touch of her own muzzle and they spend a few minutes blowing at each other.
“Roach?” Geralt stands at the end of her lead, not wanting to interfere but wide-eyed at the situation playing out in front of him. Her ears are pricked, all her attention fully on Jaskier and she begins to nuzzle and…and lick?
Wait. Wait…Geralt recognizes this. It wasn’t this Roach, but his last Roach had spent a season off the path as a broodmare, and this is looking a lot like how she had greeted her newborn foal in its first few moments of life.
Well, at least Jaskier-horse isn’t covered in…birthing goo. That’s a small favor. Moving carefully, Geralt moves to untether Roach so she can do what she needs to do.
***
It must be said, waking up as an animal is not something Jaskier ever expected to deal with. Life on the path is never dull, though, so here he is, at least five times his usual size, with two extra legs, terrible vision, and no idea what’s happening. Unfortunately, he also seems to have some wild instincts to go with the body, because his first reaction is to absolutely panic. Not that he thinks that’s an abnormal response when one finds oneself in the body of another species, but the animal brain seems to have added some life-or-death spice to the mix of his emotions.
For a minute, he’s pretty sure it’s going to be death. He’s stuck on the ground and his brand new instincts scream Vulnerable! Danger! about it very loudly. Oh look, he has a voice.
“Geralt!” he shrieks, “Geralt, help me! Oh gods oh gods why are there legs there are so many legs, Geralt! Pick me up! Help!”
Of course his creature mouth is completely useless, so no help arrives. He flails about, panic and indignation stealing every sense, until suddenly a voice slices through the terror.
Be still! There aren’t really words, but somehow he understands anyway.
“Hello?” he groans, and a sliver of sense has returned. Enough that he knows that the noises he’s making aren’t actually words. Fuck. He flops down as if his strings have been cut and hacks out a rough sigh.
Hello, the voice is right there, and he feels like he’s been punched right in the diaphragm. It’s Roach!
Roach? He reaches for her and she gently bonks his nose with her own.
Be easy, she soothes. You know me. I know you. See?
And somehow, improbably, he does. It doesn’t make any sense, but the way she huffs near his face is soothing. As he settles, he becomes aware of so much more than he is used to. His ears and his whiskers and the weird vision feed him information that makes no sense, instantly overwhelming his short-lived calm and the panic begins to rise again. But, Roach is still there, and her voice cuts through once more. Hush now, she breathes. We are here. We have you. Calm.
When he relaxes, with much effort and he would like credit for that, thank you very much, being able to relax at the instruction of his best friend’s horse after waking up as…apparently, another horse, anyway–what was he…oh, right, when he relaxes, the information flooding his mind begins to make a strange sort of sense. Oh, and will you look at that, Geralt’s here too.
***
Of the three of them, Roach is the only one who wakes up when Jaskier becomes a horse. She’s dozing upright at her picket line in the pre-dawn hours when, with no warning or fanfare, there is another horse in the campsite. She starts and snorts a little, because there is no way a whole-ass stallion wandered in and bedded down without her noticing. But, the colorful loud man is gone and in his place there is most definitely a sleeping colt.
Well, being a Witcher’s partner does mean that her life is full of some confusing magical shenanigans, so she flicks an ear and settles back into a doze. Her Witcher will deal with things in the morning.
It’s fully light out by the time her Witcher wakes, and he immediately clocks the new member of their herd. She sees him notice, blink, shake his head, breathe in deeply, and frown at the colt. He’s a good, steady sort, her Witcher, not nervous or flighty like a lot of humans, so he doesn’t panic and she’s proud of him.
Unfortunately, the colt is much like his human counterpart and immediately creates his own disaster upon waking. Essentially he startles awake and immediately starts screaming; Roach tuts to herself. His survival skills are worse as a horse than as a human! But he’s very frightened, poor thing, and she supposes she ought to step in before anything goes truly wrong. Her Witcher knows how to keep them safe from monsters, but she knows how to deal with silly foals and younglings.
***
Geralt watches in confusion and awe as Roach coaxes a very clumsy Jaskier to his feet. He is fully grown, not a foal, but he wobbles just like a newborn and by the gods it might be the funniest thing Geralt has ever seen. Jaskier as a human is a bit clumsy, but with two extra limbs and a head the size of …well, a horse’s head, he’s absolutely comical.
This is how he discovers that Jaskier is at least a little bit aware in there, because when he starts laughing, Jaskier horse snorts, stomps his foot, tosses his head, and then almost falls right back down to the dirt again. This does absolutely nothing to help with Geralt’s amusement, obviously, and soon he is helpless with tears of laughter (and maybe a bit of overwhelm), hands braced on his knees where he’s bent over.
“It’s not funny, Geralt!” Jaskier groans, or at least that’s how Geralt interprets the ridiculous noise he lets out. He’s standing with all four legs splayed wide and his head hung low, ice-blue eyes squinted in a very human expression. Horses don’t really squint in normal conditions, so that face is all Jaskier.
Unfortunately for Jaskier, it is funny. “Jask, you with me?” Geralt clears his throat, attempting to school his face into a semblance of his normal solemnity. Jaskier’s ears instantly pin back and he grunts emphatically. Of course I’m with you; where else would I be, Witcher?
Roach is still nuzzling Jaskier’s neck so Geralt reels the lead in and approaches both horses. “Hey,” he greets, extending a hand toward Jaskier. Roach is used to him and pays him no mind. “You should give it a sniff. I bet you smell things much stronger in that body, right?”
Jaskier is apparently figuring out his new eye placement pretty quickly and gives Geralt an extremely baleful glance…but he does snuffle at Geralt’s hand, wiggling his big upper lip around it for good measure. It’s absolutely endearing and in that moment, Geralt knows he is fucked five ways from niedziela. Jaskier’s ears perk back up and he starts snuffling other parts of Geralt and Geralt decides he doesn’t care that he’s fucked, this is maybe the cutest thing that’s ever happened to him.
*****
Horse senses are a revelation and Jaskier wonders how close they are to what Geralt experiences. Well, the eyesight is still weird, so probably that’s not very close, but he can smell everything and hear Geralt’s heartbeat and Roach is so comforting right up beside him and it’s amazing!
Also, even more amazing, is that suddenly Geralt can’t seem to stop talking to him! Geralt never talks this much to Jaskier when he’s human. Wait, hang on, what is that thing in his– “I need to put this on you,” he’s saying, and ohhh no thank you, that’s a face cage, isn’t it?
No thank you! Jaskier scrambles backward, shooting his head up as far as it will go. With the new neck, it’s gratifyingly far. And those four feet are pretty good for getting away from a Witcher holding a halter in a hurry.
“Jask, come on. We have to figure out what’s going on with you, and I can’t just wander around with a random horse following me around. Someone might try to steal you.” He’s holding the halter out at the end of his arm, turning to keep his eyes on Jaskier but not approaching him otherwise. “We have to make it look like you belong to someone.”
Jaskier cocks an ear toward him begrudgingly. He has a point. I do NOT belong to you, Geralt! He shakes his mane emphatically, snorting and pawing with a front foot. Although if he were human, he’d probably be falling over himself to hear Geralt lay a claim like that. But these are extenuating circumstances!
“I know it’s weird,” Geralt sympathizes, taking a step forward. He’s moving slowly, telegraphing his moves in a way he doesn’t normally. Jaskier appreciates it on both a human and horse level, since there’s a wild animal still panicking in the back of his mind a bit, as well as a human panicking in the front of his mind about being a horse. It’s just generally a pretty emotional moment for him. “I’m sorry,” Geralt soothes. “You’re doing really well. Let’s just put this on and I’ll pack up camp while you get used to it.”
Jaskier heaves a big sigh, helped by the welcome pressure of Geralt’s hand on his horsey neck. It feels surprisingly nice and he gets a good pat with a few gentle scritches before Geralt loops the halter gently around his nose and slips a strap over his ears. “Good,” he murmurs, which is also very nice and Jaskier feels well taken care of between Geralt’s soft words and Roach’s supportive presence. She has moved to keep close to him as if supervising the proceedings, but she lets Geralt work, clearly trusting him with her new foal.
Honestly, Geralt telling him he’s doing well and that he’s good is enough to make the situation feel kind of worth it. He doesn’t doubt for a moment that they’ll figure out how to turn him back to a human, so in the meantime if this is what it takes for Geralt to be sweet to him, well, might as well make the most of it, right?
*****
On one level, Geralt knows he’s talking to Jaskier, the chatty bard that has traveled with him and been his friend for over a decade. Usually, Geralt doesn’t talk overmuch on the Path with Jaskier, not because he has anything against it, but because Jaskier talks enough for any three people at any given moment, and it’s easier to let him. They’ll discuss things when Geralt pitches in on the conversation, but he doesn’t feel the need to narrate his life like Jaskier does.
Except now that Jaskier is a horse, Geralt finds himself saying everything out loud. Which, to be fair, is what he does when he’s working with a strange horse, but it’s like a compulsion and he can’t stop, even though he knows–kind of–that this is also Jaskier and not just a new horse that needs to get used to him. Honestly it’s doing his head in a bit.
“All right, look,” he finds himself saying. “I won’t put a lead rope on you but you have to promise me you’ll stick with Roach if anything happens. If we run into danger, follow her. Got it?”
Horse-Jaskier stares at him with one blue eye and blinks.
“I mean it, Jask. I don’t know how much of you versus horse we’re working with here, and if your horse instincts panic you could hurt yourself. Roach will take care of you. Do you understand?”
Jaskier nods his head up and down, which unfortunately doesn’t actually signal to Geralt that he’s been heard and understood because that’s also something horses do when irritated. “That’s not going to work,” he muses. “Tap your offside front foot twice for yes.”
Another horse-stare.
“Your right side,” he tries, and Jaskier’s ears prick forward and he gives two quick hoof-taps. Thank fuck.
“Good boy, thank you,” he praises and internally cringes even as the words leave his mouth. That is not how he usually talks to Jaskier. “Fuck, I mean, from now on, two taps for yes on the right side. One tap for no on the left side. Got it?”
Thankfully, Jaskier can’t talk back, so he taps his right hoof twice and isn’t physically able to express how he feels about being called “good boy.” But he also doesn’t stand on Geralt’s boot, so that’s probably positive. Deciding discretion is the better part of valor, Geralt mounts up and steers Roach toward the road.
***
Look, Jaskier thinks he has so far handled being turned into a horse with pretty admirable aplomb. And thank the gods he doesn’t have his full range of emotional expression available to him, because when Geralt says “good boy” to him, he wants to fall face first into Geralt’s…crotch? Mouth? Honestly he’s not picky. If he were human it’d make him weak at the knees, but since he is a horse he now has extra knees and manages to stay upright. But gods damn, that sonorous growl saying good boy does something to the human part of his hindbrain that he would really like to explore in the near future.
Good thing Witchers are professional curse-breakers, right?
If Jaskier had had a minute to think about it, which he hasn’t because he has been very occupied with being a horse, thank you, he would have maybe been concerned that the road would be boring without the ability to sing or play as he walked. Thankfully the overwhelming sensory smorgasbord he now has access to is incredibly fascinating and he simply must explore it. There must be so many ways to turn all this into a song!
Visually things are a little more dull, and greener than usual. But the smells! The sounds! The way he is aware of everything–well, okay, that’s a little unsettling. No wonder Geralt is so on edge a lot of the time. If he’s constantly aware somewhere in his brain looking for danger like this, Jaskier can see why he’s grumpy fairly often, actually. Everywhere he looks, Jaskier’s instincts go, what's that? There’s a thing in the shadows alongside the road! Can it eat him? It needs a sniff. Jaskier meanders over to huff at it, only to leap back because for a second it could be a bear. Or–oh, it’s a log. Well, it was a very suspicious looking log and he’s glad he checked it over. Just in case. What’s down there? He needs to go investigate.
Shit! Where’s Roach? Geralt told him to stay close to Roach! Fuck, Geralt’s going to have a fit if–oh, she’s there. How’d she get so far ahead? Wait for me! He calls out and it comes out as a high, nervous whinny. He has to catch up!
“Come on, Jask, keep up,” he hears, and Roach calls back, Get up here, Colt. Her whinny is much lower and calmer than his own, which soothes something in Jaskier even as he tries to muster his too-many legs into a faster gait.
***
Jaskier, for all he appears to be a full-grown horse, is evidently experiencing the world with the same curious wonder as a new foal. Geralt is relieved he didn’t try ponying Jaskier because he would have been a nightmare on a lead. He trails behind Roach, zig-zagging across the empty road to crop grass on one side, then sniffs and spooks at a log on the other, crossing again to stomp down into a little gully and then heave himself up out of it again gracelessly.
When Jaskier feels Roach has gotten too far ahead, Geralt hears him grunt and then whinny, high and edgy. “Come on, Jask, keep up,” he calls, and Roach whinnies back as well, jiggling under Geralt a little with the noise. Jaskier grunts back and his footfalls break into an uneven trot rhythm. Geralt turns to look and can’t help but laugh; the Bard is doubtlessly trying his best, but having two extra feet has stymied him. He manages a few steps, stumbles, snorts, hops a couple times, and tries again. “Come on, Jask, you can do it.” Geralt encourages him.
Jaskier’s got his head straight up in the air, eyes rolling, so his gait is choppy and awkward. But he maintains the rhythm this time and draws even with Roach shortly. She keeps walking but reaches her head over to nuzzle him, and Jaskier huffs back at her, no doubt pleased with himself.
“Knew you could do it.” Geralt smiles. “Good boy.” Fuck he did it again.
***
By the time they reach a city big enough to deserve the moniker, Jaskier is exhausted and very tired of being a horse. It’s like he can’t relax. He’s got amazing panoramic vision like this, but everything he sees screams danger! It screams it very loudly, in fact. Jaskier feels quite overwrought.
Horses don’t cry but when Geralt sits Roach back into a halt and springs down, Jaskier finds himself bulling forward to push his big head right into Geralt’s chest. Please help, he thinks. I feel like everything is going to eat me and I’m so tired.
“Hey,” Geralt croons. Bless him, his hands go immediately to Jaskier’s cheeks, where he rubs and scratches gently. It feels so good. “You’re all right, boy,” Geralt murmurs, lips against his forehead. Jaskier’s not a small horse but Geralt is tall and Jaskier is trying to get as close as he can. “You’re doing so well. I know, it must be really scary.” Geralt’s hands move down Jaskier’s neck, fingers combing through his mane and finding some really excellent places to deliver scratches and pats. “Horses are prey animals and it’s really pretty amazing they put up with us so much. You’ve done really well, you’re such a good boy.”
Jaskier could weep for it, the way Geralt’s voice melts over him, knowing it’s only because he’s a stupid horse that he’s getting such tender treatment and sweet words. But at the same time he really needs it right now, so he soaks it up pathetically and only spares a little energy to wish that he could have this as a human, too.
“I have to put the lead rope on you and tether you to Roach,” Geralt continues apologetically. “Once we get into the city it’ll be too easy to get separated, or for someone to grab you. This way they’ll know you’re mine.”
Fuck, mine, he says. That’s all Jaskier has ever wanted. How is he jealous of himself and of a horse at the same time?
So, he wiggles his lip into Geralt’s hands in acquiescence and lets the Witcher tie him to Roach’s saddle.
*****
If Jaskier on the road was a bit twitchy, Jaskier in town is a complete mess. Geralt feels for him, really, but he’s relieved Jaskier let him use the lead rope because it’ll give him something to grab for if Jaskier breaks and makes a run for it through the milling throng of people around them. The streets are full and churning like a river in spring thaw and even Geralt, usually given a wide berth, is jostled in the scrum. When he glances behind him, Jaskier’s eyes are rolling with white almost completely around them and his mouth is tense and unhappy in the way he recognizes as horsey misery. If he’d been transformed into a wolf, his hackles would be all the way up, but the way a horse’s mind works he’s probably terrified.
Roach, bless her, uses the slack in her reins to keep her head turned so one eye is constantly on Jaskier and every so often she nickers at him quietly. He prances beside her in agitation, but will sniff her and nuzzle close when she encourages him. It’s truly a marvel; if Geralt weren’t so dependent on having Roach on the path with him, he thinks she’d make a phenomenal mother.
Of course, while he’s distracted thinking so softly of his mare is when it all goes to shit.
The thing is, despite Jaskier’s efforts, there are still very much anti-Witcher sentiments at large around the continent. Geralt generally gets paid fairly these days, and hasn’t been stoned out of a town in years, but people are loath to let go of their superstitions. So when he hears mutters around him, people making hand signs and spitting, he thinks nothing of it beyond a sort of vague resignation. He has not accounted for Jaskier’s enhanced hearing, however, so almost as soon as he’s dismissed the incident, he hears an enraged horse squeal and turns to find Jaskier at the end of his lead, snapping at a man in merchant’s clothes.
“Jask!” He drops Roach’s reins, trusting her to ground tie, and reaches for Jaskier’s lead rope. In that instant, however, the man strikes out with the walking stick that Geralt didn’t see, for it was on his far side. He wallops Jaskier across his far shoulder and Jaskier half-rears with an agonized cry. Geralt reaches again, ignoring the man’s shouts to “get that nag under control,” but he is bowled nearly off his feet by an enraged chestnut juggernaut bullying her way between him and Jaskier.
Roach, his steady, levelheaded companion, is furious. Geralt realizes as he regains his footing that this man has just attacked her baby.
Well, fuck.
Geralt’s reflexes are fast, faster than a human, and he’s stronger than any three men, but apparently all of that is no match for a mother’s protective instincts. He gets a hand on Roach’s reins again, but by that time she has the merchant hanging by one shoulder from her jaws and is shaking him violently. It’s honestly impressive; she’s not actually that large of a horse but she’s got a solid hold on him and his feet are just scrabbling as he shouts and turns progressively redder by the second.
“Roach!” He wraps a hand around her bridle and casts Axii with his free hand, since he doesn’t fancy finding out if being stronger than several humans makes him stronger than an angry mother horse, nor sticking a hand in her mouth. She drops the merchant, ears still pinned under the calming sign and he drops it as soon as he is sure he can move her feet away from the downed man. After all, saving him from her teeth would be for naught if she were to immediately trample him.
The crowd has cleared the area around them in the impressively short few moments that it has taken for Roach to vanquish her foe, and Geralt knows it’ll only be a few more seconds before a city guard shows up. He doesn’t even re-mount, just takes Roach’s reins in one hand and Jaskier’s lead in the other and takes off for the nearest gate out of the city. He can jog fast enough to keep both of them at a trot, and the faster they get out of the public eye, the better.
*****
Roach generally trusts her Witcher, but sometimes things need to be taken care of the old-fashioned way. Which is to say, sometimes a mother just needs to eliminate a threat to her child. Oh, she didn’t birth and nurture this colt from her own body, but he is part of her herd, even if most of the time he walks on two legs.
He is sweet to her, in different ways than her Witcher. Her Witcher cares for her, feeds her, picks her feet and brushes her coat until all the itchy dust is gone and it shines like a bright, new coin. The boy, her colt, he sings to her and shares his sweet fruit with her, braids her mane so it isn’t heavy and hot on her neck when it is summer, and brings her the secrets of his heart when he is sad. The Witcher does that too, although his sadness is quieter. In the end, though, the result is the same. She loves them, and no one will hurt her herd.
The colt hates it when people are unkind to their Witcher so it’s not a surprise when he snaps at the cruel man who spits. But then, the man strikes her colt and that man is going to die.
His shoulder is in her jaws before even her Witcher, fast and strong, can stop her, and she thrashes and shakes the vile man with all the strength in her. If he tries to get up once she spits him out, she will trample him into a paste and delight in it. How dare he? How dare he spit at her Witcher and hurt her colt?
Luckily for the man, her Witcher is more merciful than she is. She feels a calm descend upon her, the same as when he asks her to go through magic holes in the air. Her jaw relaxes and the man drops like a bag of grain, shouting but no threat any longer. She can tell the colt is in pain as they trot away behind their Witcher, so she watches the colt out of one eye and their path with the other. She will tend to him once they are somewhere quiet. It will be all right. The herd is safe now.
*****
By the time they make it out of the city and back into the surrounding wild, Jaskier is feeling very sorry for himself. It has been a very strange and difficult day, and his shoulder is paining him immensely. As soon as Geralt pulls them to a halt he bends back to try and see his shoulder, but Roach is there immediately with her soft nuzzle and quiet, comforting noises. Geralt is right there with her, pushing her gently aside so he can lay a warm, soothing hand on Jaskier’s withers and examine the welt rising across the meat of his shoulder. He frowns fiercely, prodding the swelling as gently as his big hands can manage. (It’s very gentle; Jaskier knows his Witcher is a kind man and his hands are capable of great tenderness.) Jaskier hangs his head, lower lip loose with discomfort, and wishes horses could cry.
“Jask,” Geralt’s voice is devastated. He pets down Jaskier’s side. “You shouldn’t get hurt for me,” he admonishes. “I’ve got salve for this but please, don’t do this again. Please, especially as a horse. What if he broke your leg? I couldn’t bear it,” he murmurs, looping his arms around Jaskier’s neck and turning his face into his mane. “I can never bear it when you’re hurt, do you know that? Humans are so fragile and I just, I can’t.”
Jaskier bends his head around so he’s embracing Geralt, because as sore as his shoulder might be, he knows that Geralt would never tell him this under regular circumstances. And really, Jaskier’d had no idea. He always thinks Geralt’s just annoyed with him when he gets injured or puts himself at risk. This stupid, soft Witcher is going to be the death of him.
Geralt smooths a concoction over the bruise that cools and tingles and then spends quite a while fussing over Jaskier. Jaskier basks in it, mildly heartbroken the whole time and wishing that he could get this level of affection as a human. And the worst part! Geralt keeps murmuring sweet things to him, calling him a good boy and telling him he’s handsome and if Jaskier weren’t so sore and tired he would throw a hell of a temper tantrum about it.
*****
That night, Geralt helps Jaskier bed down, and let it be known that teaching a full-grown horse how to lie down is not something he ever thought he’d have to do. But, after a confusing few minutes of pointing at Jaskier’s legs and going “no, now the front one–on your knees. Your knees are the same as when you’re human. Yeah, there you go, now fold–no, not that one–” the silly horse–man?--horse is lying down and falling asleep as deeply as a prey animal can in the woods. Roach looks like she is happy to stand guard for him, and Geralt has told him he will meditate only so that the hunted beast in Jaskier’s mind can relax for the night.
Meditation isn’t coming, though, as Geralt kneels beside Jaskier in the dark. It’s too quiet, he realizes. Not in an ominous way, but usually their evenings are full of banter and song, sharing food and companionship around a cooking fire until Jaskier tires out enough to sleep. Even then, Jaskier sometimes talks or even sings snippets of nonsense in his sleep. Without his voice, the evening has been dull and lonely.
Failing to find peace in meditation, Geralt heaves himself to his feet and decides to spend some time fussing over Roach. She was a good, brave girl today and he was so worried about Jaskier that he hardly spent time with her at all. He’ll fix that now.
“Hey girl,” he ruffles her forelock and she presses her head into his chest happily. “Thank you.” He sinks his fingers into her mane and scratches at the roots, which she loves. Her head drops, her nose points forward, and her lips wiggle in enjoyment. “Yeah, good, huh? You were so amazing,” he tells her, full of grief and gratitude. “I miss him, you know? He’s right here but…you know.”
Roach just shifts so his scratches land in the exact right spot and Geralt sighs. “Why can’t I tell him things like this when he’s a person?” he asks her. She doesn’t reply, but sighs happily under his ministrations. “I don’t want him to stay a horse, obviously,” he reasons, “but it’s easier, I think. Like writing things down is easier than saying them. You keep my secrets, don’t you, girl?” He smiles at her. “Good girl. You take good care of us.” Roach sighs again, nostrils fluttering, and bumps him gently with her head. Of course she takes care of them. Mares lead herds, after all.
*****
Jaskier wakes up disoriented, but thankfully not panicked like he was when he first realized he was a horse. A good night’s sleep helped tremendously, and whatever ointment Geralt used on his shoulder worked wonders overnight. He feels like a new man! New horse. Man? Anyway, he blinks awake and snorts, craning his head up to see who is with him.
Geralt is a short ways off putting Roach’s feed bag on her and turns to Jaskier with a smile. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he says, which is unfairly endearing and definitely not something Jaskier has ever heard from him before. “Your shoulder looks a lot better. Think you can get up?” he asks, crouching next to Jaskier’s head. “Give it a go and I’ll help if you need.”
Why are you so sweet to me when I have four legs, Jaskier wonders mournfully. I love you no matter how many legs I have. Do you love me as a person or just a horse? Of course, he can’t speak, and if he could he’d never in a thousand years ask Geralt something like that, too afraid of a crushing denial. Which, he reflects as he tries to figure out what his feet are doing, is actually a bit silly. Geralt cares for him, clearly, even as a human. He’s never gone to sleep cold or hungry when he’s been with Geralt, which can’t be said even for his own blood relations.
“Good job!” Geralt praises when Jaskier scrambles to his feet with a minimum of flailing. “You’re really getting the hang of this, good boy,” he pats Jaskier’s neck and then loops one arm under his chin to bring his nose up. “I hope you don’t stay like this for long but you’re doing really well,” he confides, and then, wonder of wonders, presses his lips to Jaskier’s muzzle.
*****
Jaskier’s pink nose is just as soft and velvety as any horse’s can be, and Geralt doesn’t even think about it when he drops a little kiss right on the softest part. His brain catches up a moment later and he is mortified, but then Jaskier starts to glow and he doesn’t have time to be embarrassed because he’s stepping back and reaching for his trophy knife because his swords are too far away to grab quickly.
The light flashes blinding in half a second and Geralt shields his eyes. He blinks away the dazzle of stars in his vision for a long moment as the light fades.
“Holy shit,” Jaskier says, and Geralt drops his knife, dashing his hand over his eyes and squinting.
“Jask?” he calls, heart speeding wildly in his chest. Is he back?!
“Holy shit, you beautiful man, you did it!” Jaskier crows, and Geralt can see him patting himself all over as the spots in his eyes fade. “You broke the curse! Was it a curse? It has to be a curse, right? Geralt!” Jaskier yelps as Geralt nearly sweeps him off his feet, patting his arms and torso, spinning him to make sure there’s no tail sticking out of his trousers and patting down his hair to feel the silky human-soft strands of it.
“Jaskier,” Geralt breathes fervently, snatching his friend into a crushing hug.
“Hrk,” Jaskier says, arms stiffening and then coming to rest on Geralt’s back. “Too hard, please,” he pats one hand on Geralt’s shoulder blade. “Sorry,” Geralt murmurs, pushing his face into the sleek fall of Jaskier’s hair and relaxing his arms a fraction. “Missed you,” he blurts. The quiet grief and loneliness that his heart has been carrying unfurls in an instant and gives way to bubbling gladness and the need to let Jaskier know just how empty the world was without him.
Jaskier squeezes him back with what might be all his might. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing close and nuzzling his head into the bend of Geralt’s neck and shoulder. “You took such good care of me,” he whispers. “You always do.”
Geralt makes a noise of discontent, not letting go even slightly. “Not very. You got hurt. And I don’t know what the curse was.”
“Well the curse was that I became a horse, you silly man,” Jaskier chuckles, very happy to be held.
“Idiot,” Geralt says, and the utterance is intolerably soft because of the way he’s petting up and down Jaskier’s back.
Jaskier just laughs. “Mm, but your idiot?” he asks.
“My idiot,” Geralt confirms, finally stepping back enough to see Jaskier’s face. He hasn’t let go though. He’s not ready for that.
“How did you break it?” Jaskier asks, knowing full well exactly what Geralt did to break it but unable to form the thought as a statement.
Geralt gives him a baleful look. “What do you think?” he asks. “You were there.”
Jaskier rolls his eyes fondly. “Well, yes. But what does that mean?” he pushes.
Geralt feels his face go soft and knows he must be completely transparent. “What do you think?” he asks again, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He gets an exasperated look from Jaskier, who starts ticking off points on his fingers. “Well, I think that you took very good care of me as a horse,” he says, “and that you said some very sweet things to me while I couldn’t talk back to you, which we probably need to discuss at some point.” Geralt’s smile grows and Jaskier’s eyes twinkle up at him. “And I think you just said you missed me, and if I’m not mistaken, that little snoot smooch you dropped on me was the key to breaking the curse. Do I have it right?”
Geralt just pulls him back in for a hug. “You missed one thing.”
Jaskier scoffs over his shoulder. “Oh really, now? I, the teller of tales and singer of songs, missed an element to the fairy tale we just lived through?”
“Mm,” Geralt nods. “Kiss only works if it goes both ways,” he declares, awfully confident for someone who just found out that he had employed True Love’s Kiss to break a curse on his best friend.
Jaskier laughs, bright and joyful. “You brat,” he pats Geralt affectionately and pushes him back again to see his face. “Of course it goes both ways. You didn’t know?”
Geralt just shakes his head and Jaskier’s eyes go unbearably soft. “Now you know,” he murmurs, cupping Geralt’s face with one five-fingered human hand, soft and warm. “Kiss me, Witcher. It will be magical.”
So, Geralt does. And it is.