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“If you walk in there,” the tree next to the tavern rustles, “Jask’s tossing you out.”
Yennefer of Vengerberg stops and looks up. The creature up the said tree doesn’t look dangerous at all, a mere kid, could be the tavern keeper’s wild daughter for what it’s worth. And yet Yen narrows her eyes and waits, she watches the girl’s every move.
Because Yen has just stepped out from a portal, and the little devil doesn’t seem to mind at all. No, village girls would’ve run for the hills screaming long ago. The most curious ones might’ve stayed, then saw her outfit, and Yen glanced down, then they’d have no doubt she’s a sorceress. A very powerful sorceress.
And this little girl – the tree keeps rustling as she tosses somewhere inside, hits branches, tumbles a few branches down and hangs on the last one pathetically wiggling her legs in the air… Her light flowery dress billows up and reveals tanned freckled calves. Long dark-brown hair. Her face is freckled too if Yen looks closely enough.
Yen does. There’s something to the weak-looking girl. A power, Yen feels it radiating and the oddly familiar features keep her attention as well.
“Ouch!” The girl slips of the branch and hits the ground. “Fu-u-ck…” comes from the bush, which cushions her fall.
Yennefer walks over instead of entering the tavern. Whatever Geralt’s found himself in can wait. They parted, no hard feelings, then she felt the link between them no more, and when she searched for him… she found him yet not the link. The connection was just no longer there, but the person – probably – still was. It was a mystery Yen wanted to know, same as this odd girl who fell out from a tree.
Yen flexes her fingers and stays two steps away from the bush.
“Are you–“
“Fine!” exclaims the girl and pops her head out. Her long hair was a mess before. Well, now it’s a total mess and tangles on every branch of that bush. Some streams down her eyes, the girl blows on it comically, which isn’t helping at all. The rest she fights, pulls on strands or tucks them behind. Which isn’t working as well.
Yen twists her eyebrow. The power’s no longer there, perhaps an aftermath of the portal she took. Just a girl. A clumsy village girl who climbs trees.
Yen turns around on her heels.
Jask. Jaskier…? Yen stops and turns back to face the girl. They do look alike, huh, that's why her general features looked so familiar to Yen.
“Did you say Jaskier?” she asks and tilts her head a little. “As in Jaskier the bard?”
“Dunno what he calls himself among humans,” huffs the girl and pants heavily. “Ugh.” She yanks another strand of hair, and it snaps free but with a branch piece attached to it which smacks her on the forehead. “Argh!” she cries out and jumps to her feet.
The girl shoves her bare arms up into the air, Yen thinks the light dress is odd and reveals too much skin to be local before… Before Yen watches the bush and the tree move. The tree, though, mostly rustles above and sheds a few leaves. The girl’s hands shine, and the throne bush branches climb out of her hair on their own. They let go of her dress and even pluck out some snapped thorns.
“Fuf.” The girl smirks smugly and puffs her chest, steps– tumbles out from the bush because she trips the last moment…
Yen calls on her magic and takes one step back, her eyes locked on the girl, she can take her out–
The girl doesn’t seem to share Yen’s sudden grim mood and grins right at her. One leaf is still left tangled in her messy hair.
“Don’t tell mom,” she says. “We aren’t supposed to magic before humans, but then you’re a witch, so.”
Yen raises the other eyebrow.
“Right-right.” The girl smooths her dress. “Jaskier. My brother Jaskier…?” She gestures without meaning anything in particular. “Brown hair, carries a lute, follows the witcher? That Jaskier. His real name is Julian, though, but mom and sisters call him that, he doesn’t like it, I call him the one he chose instead,” blurts out the girl. “Which is Jaskier, and yeah, think we’re talking about the same one because my brother is also the Jaskier that you know.”
That you know.
Yen jerks her arm and lights up a sphere on her palm. She aims it at the creature. Apparently, dangerous if clumsy-looking creature.
“Nah.” Which doesn’t mind at all and just shrugs. “Drop that, you can’t hurt me anyway.”
Yen clenches her fingers, and the purple fire goes out.
“Who are you–“
“And how do I know that?” She rocks back and forth on her heels. Bare feet, Yen notices it only now. “I spy on my brother, it’s fun,” she says like the most simple thing in the world. “He’s been pinning after the witcher for decades…”
That Jaskier did. Yen rolls her eyes but never loses focus. The creature could be dangerous, even if she doubts it once more.
“… then they make up, and this’ll be the third tavern they’re getting thrown out for the noise.” She pats her dress, whirls her head around, “Aha!” goes back for the bush and rampages through that along with the branches. She flicks some and they start helping.
“Brought them oil,” grins the girl and shows the little bottle in her hand off to Yen. “You know. I’m very helpful and all, and Jask just tossed me out!” She stomps her barefoot, and, suddenly, the tree behind her rustles.
Yen tenses at the movement but nothing about her expression changes. She crosses her arms over her chest and looks the grinning girl down. She’s kinda amusing. Yen tries to imagine Geralt’s face when the girl climbed into their room with that particular suggestion… Well-well, Yen might even like the girl if it wasn’t for the radiating volatile power coming from her. Who is she? Can she even control that much power…?
“What happened to the witcher?” Yen ask because she knows too well that something must have triggered those too off. Otherwise, they would still pathetically pin after each other. And not think it shows. Obviously.
“Ah.” The girl smacks herself over the head. “Forgot to tell you the important part,” she rambles on, “The witcher got himself killed, but don’t worry, mom brought him back, our sis-es were there too, but brother has to give up his immortality as the price, and he now has his life linked to the witcher’s.”
Geralt died. Yen thinks it over for but a few seconds because everything makes sense as it is. Geralt died, and that means the connection they shared between them must’ve been broken, that’s what she’s felt. Then, Geralt got revived, that’s why her spell found his location. Because he’s alive and there.
The girl gasps for breath and grins as she holds out her hand. “I’m Amaryllis, by the way. Jaskier’s sister. Nature goddess.”
Yen looks at the tanned hand for a moment. Goddess, huh. She smelled something was wrong with the bard, only Geralt was obtuse enough to ignore how that one doesn’t age for decades.
“Yennefer of Vengerberg.” Yen takes the hand with a bare hint of a smile.
***
One morning starts with shouting. A loud scream comes from the bathroom, Geralt jumps out of bed, grabs the swords, runs out–
And freezes. Jaskier stands there alone. Geralt forces his heartbeat down, quietens his own emotions, and yet... All he hears is Jaskier’s rasp breathing.
“Jask?” he tries cautiously.
“H-hey,” he smiles back. Sheepishly. “Did I wake you up?”
He did.
“No,” Geralt says instead. “What’s the matter?”
Jaskier steps from one foot to the other. Geralt doesn’t like it, damn, he doesn’t like it at all.
“Er, remember my sister Amaryllis?” Jaskier starts and bites his lip.
Geralt frowns but nods. His eyes dart from the flushed lips yet end up on the bright marks on Jaskier’s neck instead. Which isn’t better, they remind–
Geralt shakes his head and snaps back to whatever Jaskier is saying. Isn’t saying, more so, and that worries Geralt.
Jaskier lets out a soft noise. “Who she said her gift is that she’s fixed you?”
Geralt nods. Jaskier hesitates, his palm is plastered to his stomach. Could it be he hurt him the night before? Geralt steps close – Jaskier smiles weakly and jumps back.
“Well, she did fix you. Like, fix-fix you...?”
Jaskier looks at the floor.
“Jaskier.”
Geralt can’t take it.
“Okay.” Jaskier takes a deep breath. “You’re fertile, not sterile anymore, Geralt.” Jaskier chews on his lower lip some more before he raises his eyes.
Not sterile. Geralt fails to grasp wherever this comes from, his thoughts race, fuck, the only–
“I haven’t been with anyone but you,” Geralt blurts out and cuts the distance between them. He grabs Jaskier by the shoulders and holds him in place. Holds his gaze, the deep blues locked on him. “Only you, Jask.”
“Yeah.”
Geralt blinks and loosens his grip. If not jealousy because of some ridiculous rumour Jaskier might have overheard, then... what possibly?
“Me,” Jaskier breathes out and glances down. One palm he still holds flat against his stomach.
Geralt’s eyes widen. Jaskier slips his other hand between their bodies and lays it on his stomach too.
“Me,” Jaskier repeats a little louder.
“You’re a man.” Geralt draws in a sharp breath. He can’t. He just can’t.
“I’m a god,” corrects Jaskier and catches his eyes again. “We go both ways, some even indulge in animals, remember?”
Geralt can’t remember. Well, he heard stories. Ballads of gods and– fuck. That means...
Jaskier nods.
***
Jaskier panics. No, wait, Jaskier freaks out, should he? can he? No, no-no, think of the baby, he needs to breath, he needs to calm down, Geralt keeps staring at him, holds him by the shoulders and stares. And stares. Jaskier takes sharp, broken breaths. Just keep breathing. Keep going.
“Are you...” Geralt barely chokes out. “... sure?”
Jaskier gulps. But. Yeah.
“I’m still a god,“ Jaskier whispers. “Even without my immortality. Our lives are bound, but my body,” he gestures, “is still that of a god. In human-like form.”
Geralt watches him. He doesn’t breathe.
“And I know.” Jaskier hangs his head. This isn’t the reaction he... hoped for? Thought of? Damn, he hasn’t considered it! Not even a single time, not even in his dreams! “Yeah...”
And here it is. Here they are.
“You carry a baby,” Geralt breathes out.
Jaskier nods. He probably should crack a joke, or ramble longer, usually, he finds no difficulty with that, but, but...
“My baby... We are... having a baby.”
Geralt’s eyes are wider than Jaskier ever remembered. And he looks at him like, er, like what, exactly? Jaskier can’t place that expression anywhere on the witcher’s range.
Geralt lets his hands drop. Jaskier watches and, well, waits. He can’t do much. He doesn’t want to and wonders how his legs hold him.
Geralt reaches out, fuck, his hands tremble?! They certainly do, Jaskier feels it when Geralt, very carefully, places them on his stomach, right over his own hands.
“Our baby.” Jaskier sniffs. “A few months, Geralt, I don’t know why I didn’t hear it before–“ Tears run down his cheeks before he notices. Before he realises what’s going on and what he feels.
Because Geralt, his usually tough on the outside Geralt, gently moves his hands away, drops to his knees and presses his ear to Jaskier’s stomach. And his eyes glister close enough to what might be tears.
***
Geralt is scared. This time Jaskier's scared the life out of him.
Geralt sits there, on his knees and afraid to breathe. He stops his own heart to hear better. Jaskier’s panicked breaths cut into his mind. Jaskier’s sniffs. And muffled crying.
Geralt hears it.
Heartbeat.
***
“… and then brother just tossed me out!” rambles Amaryllis. “Can you imagine that?! His sister!”
Ciri snorts, and Yennefer nudges the little goddess.
“You basically offered him sex advice,” Yen points out and sips from her glass.
The tavern roars somewhere away from them. That’s one nice spell, nobody hears them, and they hardly hear anyone but for the distant rumble.
“Yeah, nobody likes that,” drawls Ciri and looks inside her already empty glass. “It’s too awkward.”
Amaryllis grins slyly. “Why do you think I cared?”
And all three laugh. Amaryllis chortles and rocks in her chair. Yennefer chuckles. Ciri laughs.
“Another round?” Amaryllis drowns hers and raises the glass.
“You’re little,” notices Ciri.
“I’m decades old, thank you,” retorts the goddess and holds her chin up.
“No, you’re little in size,” explains Yennefer and gestures about. “That’s too much ale for somebody your size.”
Amaryllis snorts again. “Wanna see me try?”
***
“Babies.”
“Hm?”
It takes a month more for the beat to become louder and steadier. They lie in bed, Jaskier threads his fingers through Geralt’s hair, as Geralt presses his cheek against Jaskier’s side. He never rests his head on top, no matter how many times Jaskier assures him that wouldn’t be dangerously heavy.
“Babies,” repeats Geralt. “Two heartbeats.”
Jaskier’s shriek might awake half the boarding house. Not that either of them cared but then Geralt had to throw the curious keeper and his gossiping wife out.
***
Jaskier takes to wearing a dress in the later months and introduces himself as Geralt’s wife on their way North. Many raise their eyebrows. Many don’t dare to ask when Geralt glares at them.
The twins are born in Kaer Morhen. Vesemir nearly loses his cool but composes himself at the last moment. Eskel, grinning, and Lambert, with a bunch of child things, arrive later.
The twins are born half-gods. With magic that kicks in later. At first, what their family sees is only the odd-coloured eyes. One deep blue and one pure amber.
***
Jarrell sings from an early age. Gina can but will sing only when forced to. Which is, frankly, never, because no one is fearless enough to challenge the fast and furious white ball of pure anger. Jarrell can fight but won’t unless really provoked. Both grow white fur and sharp teeth when triggered because half-a-god’s blood runs in their veins. The other half holds a mutated wolf genome so... Jaskier isn't even surprised when they turn. Amaryllis giggles. Yen laughs and smirks smugly. Ciri thinks the cubs are the most adorable thing she's ever seen.
Geralt is terrified. More often for the twins.
They travel a lot, and the villagers don’t ask questions. Mostly. About why the little kids have hair white as snow just like the witcher who brought them. Or why they have one eye as him and the other as the bard who accompanies him. Or why the girl howls and picks up fights with anyone she sees. Or why the boy chews on the chair leg…
“Jarrell, no,” hushes the bard and rushes over across the room. “Don’t do that, cub, that’s no food.”
He grabs the child, babbles something and smiles sheepishly. The bard blurts out too fast for them to catch anything that would make sense. Besides, the witcher deals with a monster in the well, so the villagers don’t bother to question the kids.
The white wolf cubs. The bard calls them his cubs. The witcher calls them his.