Chapter Text
They’d been hunting a noonwraith in the marshes, Jaskier reluctantly in tow, cursing under his breath as his boots sank into the mud, Geralt ignoring him, and a local mage advising on containment wards and bonding spells.
It was supposed to be straightforward: the mage would reinforce the sigils around the haunted ruins, Geralt would handle the wraith, and Jaskier… well, he would gather new inspirational material for future ballads.
-
The wraith shrieked and shattered the protective circle. The mage flailed, trying to redirect the energy, but a bolt of raw, unstable magic shot outward. Geralt felt it brush against his spine, cold and electric.
Jaskier swore behind him.
The wraith dissipated under Geralt’s silver blade and the mage’s corrected wards, leaving only scorched earth, shattered stone, and a lingering smell of burned bones.
“Everyone alive?” the mage called, dusting soot from his robes.
Geralt nodded.
Jaskier coughed. “Define ‘alive,’” he muttered.
The mage muttered something about misaligned energies and magical feedback before retreating, clearly embarrassed.
Geralt didn’t think much of it afterward. Magical interference happened all the time.
-
At the end of the day, they settled to make their camp in a hollow in the woods, surrounded by the contrast of white birch trees in front of the slowly darkening sky above them.
Geralt moved through the camp with the ease of routine, adjusting the fire, checking the perimeter, listening. The forest had settled into a familiar rhythm: insects chirring, branches creaking softly, nothing worth worrying about.
Jaskier was already winding down.
He shed his boots with a sigh of theatrical relief and flopped onto his bedroll, tugging his blanket up around his shoulders. The tension that clung to him during the day seemed to melt away the moment Geralt finished his rounds.
“Wake me if something tries to kill us,” Jaskier said, voice already heavy with sleep. “Preferably before it succeeds.”
Geralt let out a short huff through his nose. “Go to sleep, bard.”
Jaskier didn’t argue. He trusted Geralt to keep watch, always had. Even the darkest corner of the woods would feel safe with the Witcher and his two big swords nearby, steel and vigilance standing between him and the dark.
Geralt lingered by the fire a moment longer, gaze sweeping the empty treeline. Satisfied, he moved to the edge of their camp and sat beneath a tree, back straight, posture alert even as he closed his eyes.
“I’ll meditate.” he said quietly.
Jaskier hummed in response, already half gone. Within moments, Geralt heard his companions breathing evening out, his heartrate slow and unguarded while he himself stayed awake, sword ready across his lap.
-
At first, there was only warmth.
Not the heavy kind, just enough to take the edge off the air, to settle gently against his skin. A breeze brushed past him, slow and unhurried, carrying the clean scent of water and pine and something faintly sweet he couldn’t place.
Jaskier breathed it in.
The ground beneath his bare feet felt cool and smooth, grains of sand shifting when he moved his toes. Somewhere nearby, water lapped quietly against the shore, each sound soft and rhythmic.
There were other noises, too. Insects humming, leaves whispering overhead, reeds brushing against each other in the wind. None of it felt threatening. None of it asked anything of him.
He tilted his head, letting the breeze tangle his hair, feeling the warmth of it brush along his throat and shoulders. The air tasted clean. Real.
Only then did he open his eyes.
In front of him was a lake, the surface rippling in tiny waves with each passing breeze, but still calm enough to reflect the soft blue, cloudless sky. Pines stood along the shore, framing the scene like a painter himself would compose.
“Well this is… nice.”, he spun around once, eyes up to watch a single bird fly by. The bard's voice sounded oddly distant in the open air, as if it had never been able to travel so effortlessly before. Singing here must feel like heaven, he thought.
Between the trees he saw a small cabin at the water’s edge. There was a pier in front of it, reaching into the lake. The front door stood open, like a silent invitation.
Jaskier wandered toward it, fingers trailing along the carvings in the doorframe as he stepped inside. The space was simple and warm. A neatly made bed made up most of the room, there was a small table and single chair in the corner, and a single window with linen drapes, drawn closed. When Jaskier opened it, the soft yellow sunlight seeped into the room and spilled across the wooden floor. Outside, the lake stretched out in its full beauty, light catching in the ripples and leaving the surface glittering as if it was threaded with gold.
Jaskier leaned against the windowsill, content to simply watch.
That was when he noticed the movement in between the trees.
-
Geralt walked through the forest with no sense of urgency.
The trees parted easily, the path opening beneath his feet as if he had walked it a million times before. As if it welcomed him back. The scent of water, pine and warm summer air played by his nose, and the witcher noticed an unfamiliar, but not unpleasant lightness in his step. He was not wearing any armour or weapons, yet he felt a deep calmness in his chest.
Even his medallion was silent.
He reached the lake and stopped at the shore, studying the tiniest movements of fish beneath the water. Geralt bent down and let his fingers play through the cool ripples. The fish scattered slowly, unhurried, not startled by the sudden break of the surface above them. As if they had never known the concept of caution.
Without thinking, the witcher took off his boots and placed them on the sand. His tunic followed soon as he smoothly pulled it over his head while taking the first steps into the lake.
The water was cool, bracing, and welcome. It went evenly deeper with every step until it reached just above his hips and Geralt could transition into a swim. He let the tension bleed from his muscles with every stroke as he glided through the lake, the water carrying him effortlessly. He took a deep breath, feeling the clean air filling his lungs before he dipped beneath the surface, moving quietly through the cool depths. For a heartbeat, the world above disappeared. All that remained was the rhythm of his own breathing and the gentle pull of the water around him.
He surfaced again, shaking water off his face in tiny, glimmering droplets before tilting his head back and pushing the wet hair from his face.
Geralt's eyes landed on the cabin at the edge of the lake. Warm, quiet, windows catching the sun just right when he saw movement behind the glass. There was the faint outline of a person, shifting by the window. Something about the way they tilted their head, the soft curve of their shoulders, immediately felt familiar.
“Jaskier?”, he muttered quietly, a soft whisper into the sounds of the lake.
He blinked, and when he looked again, the figure had vanished, leaving the cabin silent and still. Only the curtain was left swinging lightly back and forth.
-
Jaskier woke up with a start.
Their camp was quiet, the fire burned low, the night silent except for the small crackling of the last embers. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath his palm as he tried to make sense of the images his mind had concocted for him. The lake, the cabin, the way the sunlight had caught in the droplets of water on Geralt's chest…
His stomach twisted in a mix of disbelief and something warmer he refused to name. He knew Geralt was good-looking, hell, everyone did, but apparently it had been long enough since he’d been… close to someone that his brain decided a private, shirtless performance in his dream was appropriate. And of course it cast the most annoyingly perfect man he knew.
With a turn of his head he could see said man still sitting at the tree on the edge of the camp. His posture straight, yet relaxed. In the dark, his breathing seemed so low Jaskier wasn’t so sure if his friend was still meditating or had slipped into sleep himself.
The image of Geralt taking off his shirt in one smooth motion flashed through the bard's mind.
Flushing, he rolled onto his side, trying to tell himself it had been just a dream. A very, very strange dream. A dream that would make sure to keep his mind occupied for the rest of the coming day.