quicksilverfox3 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
quicksilverfox3) wrote2020-01-27 10:18 pm
quicksilverfox3) wrote2020-01-27 10:18 pm
Entry tags:
[fanfic] Notice the Cracks (in my flawed heart)
Fandom: The Witcher
Word Count: 962
Summary: The Fool means infinite potential, new beginnings, new love. For Geralt, it means Jaskier.
On Ao3 Here!
“Draw a card Butcher?”
Geralt sighed, the noise rumbling through his chest, trying to dissuade whatever soothsayer or hedge witch was peddling their wares. He was bone-tired, but the remnants of the elixir still pulsed through his system. Everything was too loud, the sickening stench of old ale and unwashed bodies turning his stomach more than the blood and viscera that clung to his skin ever did. He wanted to fight, he wanted to fuck, anything to get rid of the relentless itch coiling through his skin.
He couldn’t do either. The monster, a myling - so small, poor thing, just looking for it’s mother as all children did - lay in its grave, at peace at last. Geralt could see it behind his eyes, curled up as if sleeping as the dirt rained down on it’s skeletal form.
He drained the last of his ale, honey tart on his tongue like remnants of summer sun and turned to look at the presence hovering next to his elbow. It was the embroidery on her headscarf that caught his eye first, threads so dark they would be barely distinguishable to the normal eye. Geralt sighed. There was no getting away from this.
The girl grinned, her teeth carefully square and white, eyes slightly too wide to be truly normal as she fanned out the cards, their backs indistinguishable from each other.
“Just one?” Geralt confirmed, pain pulsing behind his eyes, staring at the cards rather than at her. It was easier that way. He caught the movement of her nod and plucked a card, feeling his fingers burn.
“Geralt! Fancy seeing you here!”
Jaskier slipped into the seat opposite Geralt, cheeks tinged pink and hair plastered to his head, droplets spattering onto the wood with every movement.
“Jaskier,” Geralt greeted reflexively, turning just enough to mark the exits one more time, searching for a face that seemed angrier than the rest. Jaskier turning up suddenly like he did tended to be accompanied by an angry spouse or a jilted lover, sometimes both.
“I do enjoy your company Geralt,” Jaskier said, pouting slightly, “Not all my visits mean I need protecting.”
“And yet,” Geralt answered, turning to face his friend, ignoring the way warmth seemed to coil around his heart at the sight of his face, a grin like the sun splayed across unmarked features.
Jaskier slipped the tarot card from Geralt’s unresisting grip, having learnt it was easier to give in, and inspected it closely, gold edges flashing in the torchlight.
“The Fool,” he said, handing it back with a flourish, “Means new journeys. Speaking of which, where shall we go next? I can hear the open road calling me.”
“Nothing to do with that angry man who just walked in?”
Jaskier’s grin froze, turning a fraction of an inch to peer nervously at the empty door. Geralt’s chuckle was low and deep, Jaskier’s laughter a pleasing contrast when he realised the witcher had been teasing him.
They set off the next morning with the card tucked into the strings of Jaskier’s lute, a song on the bard’s lips and Geralt’s hands warm on his hips as they rode away on Roach.
⁂
Geralt didn’t trust destiny, didn’t fully believe that people could tell the future. It was a twisting nebulous thing, influenced by a million choices every second of every day, as turbulent as the sea and twice as uncaring.
But he couldn’t deny that ever since that first meeting in a tavern, in a tiny village on the edge of a killing field, Jaskier’s life had become irrevocably intertwined with his. The bard was light in a world of darkness, slipping past Geralt’s defenses before he realised what was happening, and somehow Geralt couldn’t picture his life without this loud, sometimes annoying, beautiful man in it.
The Fool card burnt his fingers when he dipped his hand into his bag, and Geralt smiled to himself, knowing that Jaskier would soon be returning into his life, preparing to rescue the bard and secure one of his brilliant smiles for himself.
⁂
“Draw a card?”
Jaskier started, almost knocking his cup over in his haste to wipe at his reddened eyes. There were times when he thought the tears would never stop falling, drowning in a sea of his own making. He couldn’t eat, food turning to ash in his mouth, and couldn’t sleep, the vision of Geralt’s face twisted in anger and pain haunting him like a spectre.
“Draw a card. It will help.”
Jaskier sniffed, turning to face the young girl in confusion. It was strange. Her voice held an almost musical tone, but not with song, reminding him of bells pealing though in war or peacetime he couldn’t say.
Wordlessly he plucked a card from the deck, heart breaking anew as he looked into the worn face of the Fool, the gold edges flaked away and the white surface flecked with blood from the many monsters Geralt had killed. Geralt always handed him the card upright, Fool’s face turned towards the sun, but now he was gazing into the depths.
“Caution,” Jaskier murmured, turning to question the young girl, and found himself staring into a face older than the hills. Her eyes were black pools, grin slightly too wide.
“Be careful,” she said, tone flat, “There will be trials ahead.”
Jaskier nodded, unable to do anything but, mind racing. Words began to slot together, those notes here, maybe that sequence he came up with last week there. The girl curtseyed, and slipped away back into the crowd, disappearing between one step and the next and Jaskier was alone. He had to wait, he’d run back into Geralt eventually, and then maybe Jaskier could tell him everything.
He just had to be careful.
Word Count: 962
Summary: The Fool means infinite potential, new beginnings, new love. For Geralt, it means Jaskier.
On Ao3 Here!
“Draw a card Butcher?”
Geralt sighed, the noise rumbling through his chest, trying to dissuade whatever soothsayer or hedge witch was peddling their wares. He was bone-tired, but the remnants of the elixir still pulsed through his system. Everything was too loud, the sickening stench of old ale and unwashed bodies turning his stomach more than the blood and viscera that clung to his skin ever did. He wanted to fight, he wanted to fuck, anything to get rid of the relentless itch coiling through his skin.
He couldn’t do either. The monster, a myling - so small, poor thing, just looking for it’s mother as all children did - lay in its grave, at peace at last. Geralt could see it behind his eyes, curled up as if sleeping as the dirt rained down on it’s skeletal form.
He drained the last of his ale, honey tart on his tongue like remnants of summer sun and turned to look at the presence hovering next to his elbow. It was the embroidery on her headscarf that caught his eye first, threads so dark they would be barely distinguishable to the normal eye. Geralt sighed. There was no getting away from this.
The girl grinned, her teeth carefully square and white, eyes slightly too wide to be truly normal as she fanned out the cards, their backs indistinguishable from each other.
“Just one?” Geralt confirmed, pain pulsing behind his eyes, staring at the cards rather than at her. It was easier that way. He caught the movement of her nod and plucked a card, feeling his fingers burn.
“Geralt! Fancy seeing you here!”
Jaskier slipped into the seat opposite Geralt, cheeks tinged pink and hair plastered to his head, droplets spattering onto the wood with every movement.
“Jaskier,” Geralt greeted reflexively, turning just enough to mark the exits one more time, searching for a face that seemed angrier than the rest. Jaskier turning up suddenly like he did tended to be accompanied by an angry spouse or a jilted lover, sometimes both.
“I do enjoy your company Geralt,” Jaskier said, pouting slightly, “Not all my visits mean I need protecting.”
“And yet,” Geralt answered, turning to face his friend, ignoring the way warmth seemed to coil around his heart at the sight of his face, a grin like the sun splayed across unmarked features.
Jaskier slipped the tarot card from Geralt’s unresisting grip, having learnt it was easier to give in, and inspected it closely, gold edges flashing in the torchlight.
“The Fool,” he said, handing it back with a flourish, “Means new journeys. Speaking of which, where shall we go next? I can hear the open road calling me.”
“Nothing to do with that angry man who just walked in?”
Jaskier’s grin froze, turning a fraction of an inch to peer nervously at the empty door. Geralt’s chuckle was low and deep, Jaskier’s laughter a pleasing contrast when he realised the witcher had been teasing him.
They set off the next morning with the card tucked into the strings of Jaskier’s lute, a song on the bard’s lips and Geralt’s hands warm on his hips as they rode away on Roach.
⁂
Geralt didn’t trust destiny, didn’t fully believe that people could tell the future. It was a twisting nebulous thing, influenced by a million choices every second of every day, as turbulent as the sea and twice as uncaring.
But he couldn’t deny that ever since that first meeting in a tavern, in a tiny village on the edge of a killing field, Jaskier’s life had become irrevocably intertwined with his. The bard was light in a world of darkness, slipping past Geralt’s defenses before he realised what was happening, and somehow Geralt couldn’t picture his life without this loud, sometimes annoying, beautiful man in it.
The Fool card burnt his fingers when he dipped his hand into his bag, and Geralt smiled to himself, knowing that Jaskier would soon be returning into his life, preparing to rescue the bard and secure one of his brilliant smiles for himself.
⁂
“Draw a card?”
Jaskier started, almost knocking his cup over in his haste to wipe at his reddened eyes. There were times when he thought the tears would never stop falling, drowning in a sea of his own making. He couldn’t eat, food turning to ash in his mouth, and couldn’t sleep, the vision of Geralt’s face twisted in anger and pain haunting him like a spectre.
“Draw a card. It will help.”
Jaskier sniffed, turning to face the young girl in confusion. It was strange. Her voice held an almost musical tone, but not with song, reminding him of bells pealing though in war or peacetime he couldn’t say.
Wordlessly he plucked a card from the deck, heart breaking anew as he looked into the worn face of the Fool, the gold edges flaked away and the white surface flecked with blood from the many monsters Geralt had killed. Geralt always handed him the card upright, Fool’s face turned towards the sun, but now he was gazing into the depths.
“Caution,” Jaskier murmured, turning to question the young girl, and found himself staring into a face older than the hills. Her eyes were black pools, grin slightly too wide.
“Be careful,” she said, tone flat, “There will be trials ahead.”
Jaskier nodded, unable to do anything but, mind racing. Words began to slot together, those notes here, maybe that sequence he came up with last week there. The girl curtseyed, and slipped away back into the crowd, disappearing between one step and the next and Jaskier was alone. He had to wait, he’d run back into Geralt eventually, and then maybe Jaskier could tell him everything.
He just had to be careful.
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