Chapter Text
***
The bathtub filled with hot water stands in middle of the room while Jaskier moves a stool behind it and then places some towels on the bed, ready to be used.
The room is narrow, but they have had much worse. Besides, after weeks of travelling on the road and sleeping under the stars – as romantic as it can be – even an old, dirty mattress would be a luxury. This time, they have been luckier and managed to find a cosy inn with simple but nice and comfortable furniture. And a bed. A real bed which is also very soft to the touch, so it doesn’t matter that it’s meant to welcome only one person. It’s never been a problem for them, after all.
Turning her head towards the window, Jaskier’s blue gaze meets the darkness of the autumn night. It contrasts with the warm aura of the candles she lit as soon as she stepped into the room. She finished her performance at the tavern only half an hour ago but she has had all the time to prepare the bath and her oils. A proud smile spreads on her delicate lips. It’s going to be a lovely night.
She doesn’t hear the footsteps until the door creaks open. Her witcher comes in, allowing her to take in the sight of blood and dirt on his armour.
“Geralt. Are you hurt?”
He shakes his head slightly, while intense amber eyes scan the room.
She sighs in relief and gently reaches for his hand, drawing him closer. Then, she starts working his armour to take it off, while the witcher’s gaze is fixed on the tub, as if making sure it wasn’t just a mirage. Carefully, once she has put the armour aside, she also helps him out of the rest of his clothes. She’s pleased to see that there are, indeed, no fresh injuries.
“I take it the contract has gone well?”
Geralt gives her an affirmative grunt.
She pecks him on the cheek and murmurs, “Go on, my dear witcher. It’s still warm.”
Apparently, he doesn’t need to be told twice and soon steps into the bathtub. A long sigh leaves his mouth as his body sinks in the water.
He relaxes almost immediately. Closed eyes, head tilted slightly backwards, exposed throat and no frown or wrinkled brow. This is how Jaskier knows Geralt feels safe. It’s a rare and beautiful sight. Well, not so rare anymore for her, but that doesn’t make it any less special. Her gaze is momently drawn by the witcher’s large hands that are washing his biceps absentmindedly. She blinks to wake herself from her little reverie, remembering that she has one more task to complete.
She walks behind the bathtub and sits down on the stool, before running her fingers in the witcher’s moonlight hair. She washes it with skilled gestures, while humming a soft tune.
Geralt is silent for long moments, but then he slowly turns his head to the side, and Jaskier stops her own movements.
“Join me.”
His low, husky voice sends a shiver down Jaskier’s spine. But she won’t allow it to ruin her plans. Not tonight. “Next time, darling. Right now, I want you to relax and enjoy your well-deserved bath.” She lets her hands fall on Geralt’s broad shoulders and starts massaging his tensed muscles. As she presses her palms against the wet skin in the right spots, Jaskier leans a bit closer to whisper next to his ear. “Then, we will go to bed.”
“Hmm.”
The grunt sounds satisfied enough. She tries focusing on her job again, which is quite hard, knowing that the massive body she’s touching now will soon be holding her down, pressing her against the mattress and–
“I know what you’re doing.”
Jaskier can’t see his face, but she could bet that Geralt is smirking as he says those words. With her hands still on his shoulders, she replies with a fake innocent tone, “Taking care of my witcher, the love of my life?”
“You’re getting me ready for what will come after. I can smell it.”
Jaskier chuckles lightly. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that her witcher knows her so well, especially after spending a decade travelling together. Without thinking, she’s leaning closer again and her lips brush tenderly against the bare skin of Geralt’s neck. She wanted to take this slowly, enjoy every second of these peaceful moments in the intimacy of their room, but how could anyone think clearly in front of such a gorgeous work of art? “So, I have been caught.”
“You aren’t really subtle.”
Geralt’s words are barely above a whisper and Jaskier manages to draw a shaky breath from him as she kisses a sensitive spot under his ear.
Then, he shifts his position in the tub and turns around just enough to face her. The candlelight caresses the witcher’s strong jaw and she can’t look away from those bright golden eyes while Geralt lifts his hand to cup her cheek and brings them closer. Their noses touch before their lips do. She tilts her head, following his mouth, and slowly the kiss deepens.
It takes a lot of willpower, but before they can go too far, Jaskier pulls away and the slightest hint of a pout appears on Geralt’s face. She gives him one of her sweetest smiles as an apology and stands up. She hasn’t given up her plans for tonight, as she walks towards the bed and sways her hips suggestively.
The splash of water coming from the bathtub tells her that it’s working. Turning around, her gaze inevitably falls on the huge gift the gods themselves must have granted her witcher. No one can blame her if she starts blushing while Geralt smirks and steps closer, stark naked and beautiful.
“Oh, no, no, no, no. Don’t come any closer without drying yourself off first. You’ll get the bed all soaked.” She shakes her finger in front of him and Geralt frowns but stops obediently. Quickly, Jaskier grabs the towels she has prepared and throws them at his face.
While he’s busy and not looking, she takes her boots off and then begins to unbutton her trousers.
When Geralt catches her eye again, she’s only wearing her aquamarine chemise and nothing else. The towel he’s holding falls on the floor and his lips part slightly, without making any sound.
If she didn’t before, she definitely has her witcher’s attention now. As Jaskier sits on the bed, Geralt’s predatory gaze follows her every move as if planning an attack. When his patience runs out, Geralt crosses the space between the two of them and bends over to capture her lips in a passionate kiss.
She doesn’t waste time to wrap her arms around her witcher’s neck and pulls him down with her.
“Your hair… still wet.” Jaskier pants, once the kiss is over.
“You should’ve thought about it before tempting me like this.”
“A tiny price to pay… for a wonderful night in a real bed.”
To show his own enthusiasm, Geralt kisses her again. His warm lips meet her soft skin, her mouth, her cheek, her neck. He supports his weight on one hand, while the other wanders on her body, down her side, her hip, and then settles on her thigh. His fingers curl around the hem of Jaskier’s chemise, lifting it to touch more of her bare skin.
“You aren’t wearing…”
“No.”
Her witcher smiles against her neck and lets his large hand travel upwards until he reaches her chest fondles it gently. She moans and tightens her grip on his hair.
“Take it off.”
Geralt growls as he pulls away to help Jaskier pull the chemise over her head and toss it on the floor.
They press against each other again, every inch of skin, until it’s impossible to say where one starts and the other ends.
He bites her ear softly, her neck, her collarbone and then moves downwards, kissing her breast. She gasps when she feels his hot breath near her nipple. His tongue soon follows, drawing more sounds of pleasure from her.
“Geralt… please.”
“What do you want, bard?”
“I want you.” She cups his cheek to make him look up at her. “And your cock.”
They share a knowing smile, and Geralt starts leaving a trail of kisses down her torso, on the stomach, and then moves to her inner thigh. He leaves a few bites there as well and buries his nose near her pubic hair.
“This scent.” He hums appreciatively.
When his tongue meets the very sensitive skin between her thighs, Jaskier throws her head back on the pillow with a loud moan.
Although she’d likely get wet without his help, he licks her dutifully without rushing. They have been sleeping together since spring and all those months have taught them how to pleasure each other in the best ways. Geralt – with his talented tongue – uses this knowledge perfectly well. Very rarely her past lovers have managed to satisfy her like this.
“I’m– oh, fuck, Geralt–”
When her witcher pulls away, she whines at the loss but fortunately it doesn’t last long. His tongue is soon replaced by one of his fingers, which stretches her until he can add a second finger. But it’s not enough.
“Please, darling, please. I’m ready.”
“Patience, Jaskier.”
Geralt chuckles and bends down to taste her neck again. Hungry teeth and warm lips mark her skin as one more finger fills her cunt and it’s too much and yet not enough at all.
“Geralt.”
She receives a dangerous growl in response and shivers when her witcher pulls his fingers out. Grabbing his cock, he lines himself up with her hole and finally, finally starts to push in.
“Fuck. You’re always so tight for me.”
When he’s halfway inside, Geralt pulls back slightly and gives an experimental thrust. “No more rich lords or pretty ladies, no more husbands or wives. Just me.”
Then, he gives another but stronger one, and Jaskier gasps.
“Only you– fuck, yes, Geralt. There’s only you. No one else.”
She rolls her hips to encourage his movements and her hands reach around his shoulders to pull him down. And Geralt goes. His mouth immediately searches for hers while he buries himself as deep as he can. He swallows her obscene moans as they begin to move together against each other. A familiar, intimate, sinful dance.
Jaskier scratches the skin of Geralt’s back with her nails, leaving marks of her own, and her witcher groans in pleasure. As they pick up the pace, she can feel herself getting closer to her orgasm.
“Yes, yes, yes– please, don’t stop.”
Geralt doesn’t. He has learnt where to find her sweet spot and when he starts hitting it, Jaskier sees the stars.
The way she screams her witcher’s name might wake the whole inn, but it’s not like Jaskier cares to spare a single thought for that right now.
Geralt soon follows her with his own climax, spilling all of it inside her. It leaves both of them breathless and sweaty like always, but they will never complain. Instead, they share a chaste kiss on the lips before Geralt rolls off Jaskier’s body.
Once she has caught her breath, Jaskier shifts her position to lie on her side and look at her witcher. Half-closed amber eyes, swollen lips parted slightly and messy white hair. She could write infinite songs and poems about the blissful expression on his handsome face in the afterglow. She wouldn’t let anyone read them, though.
Geralt lifts the blanket to cover their bodies and reaches behind Jaskier with his arm, enveloping her with warmth. His golden gaze reflects her blue as they look into each other’s eyes while resting their heads on one shared pillow.
“Come with me to Kaer Morhen.”
Jaskier blinks a few times before her mind registers the words. When it does, an excited grin spreads across her face.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
***
A light veil of snow covers the path on the mountain. The last couple of days have been exhausting, but finally the keep comes into view.
Jaskier can see her breath in the cold air, as she huffs. Geralt squeezes her hand with one of his, while holding Roach’s reins with the other.
Almost there. For more than ten years the place has been an ancient and mysterious secret, but also the only home Geralt has ever known. Jaskier has tried to imagine it many times, wondering what it could be like, but she has never dared ask. Her witcher used to be always reserved about his life, especially the first few years they travelled together. His trust didn’t come easily. He ignored her, tried to leave her behind, shot her suspicious glances when she kept following. He was always alert, but little by little he began to open up with her. Now, as they stand together outside the gate, that feels like an eternity ago.
Two large figures walk towards them and when Jaskier’s gaze shifts to Geralt’s face, her witcher is smiling.
“About time.”
The red-headed witcher grumbles, while the dark-haired one steps closer with a wide grin on his scarred face.
Geralt lets go of Jaskier’s hand to pull his brothers in a tight hug. When they step back, her witcher turns to her and announces proudly, “Eskel, Lambert. This is my bard, Jaskier.”
“Fucking finally.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jaskier. We’ve heard a lot about you.” Eskel – who she recognises from Geralt’s descriptions – holds out his hand and smirks at her.
“The pleasure is all mine, Eskel.” Jaskier shakes his large hand and returns the smile. “I think it would be even more pleasurable if we got inside before I can freeze to death.”
Lambert snorts, while Eskel nods and steps towards Roach. “Well, we can’t have that, can we? You have just arrived. Go on. I’ll take the mare to the stable.”
“Thank you.” Geralt and Jaskier say at the same time and chuckle.
He leads her inside the keep, in the great hall, where firewood is burning and warming the room from the hearth.
“Sit there. I’ll take the bags to our room.”
Our room.
Jaskier beams at him, nodding without question, and rushes in front of the fire, before sitting down on soft furs.
“Be nice.”
She hears Geralt say to Lambert, in way which reminds her of him talking to Roach. The red-haired witcher grumbles something, but then Geralt pats him on the back and they share a genuine grin.
That is the most she has seen Geralt smile in company of anyone else, except her. It warms her heart even more than the fire that warms her body.
This is going to be the best winter of her life.
In the evening, Geralt introduces Jaskier to Vesemir, his old mentor and the last occupant of the keep. The conversation the five of them have at dinner shifts from embarrassing stories of a young and eager Geralt to other funny memories and dangerous adventures, until the oldest witcher and Jaskier find out about a shared interest in the history of the Continent. He promises to show her the library tomorrow and tells her she can do as much research as she desires. Lambert is curious to hear her play and sing, which is flattering, and Jaskier would happily indulge in such a request, but she is too exhausted tonight.
When she starts yawning, Geralt insists they retire to their room so they can rest. They say their goodnights and go up the stairs.
There’s enough space for both of them in the room, a lovely wardrobe where she can put all her clothes and most importantly, a rather large bed. Jaskier throws herself on it and nuzzles against the soft furs. They won’t be cold tonight. Quickly, she changes into her nightdress while Geralt strips down to his smallclothes.
Together, they settle under the blankets and immediately Jaskier presses close to her witcher. Ah, yes, her personal heat source.
“I love it here. And I’m so happy I could finally meet your family.”
Geralt wraps his strong arm around her and places a tender kiss on her chestnut hair. “I’m happy you’re here.”
Jaskier closes her eyes. Lulled by the sound of her witcher’s gentle heartbeat, she quietly falls asleep with a smile on her face and one last thought on her mind.
This is home.
***
The large door opens before her and as soon as she steps into the room, Jaskier knows this is going to be her favourite place in Kaer Morhen.
The library is even huger than the one in Oxenfurt, with infinite shelves full of ancient books and forgotten stories. A humble bard can do nothing but gape in front of so much sacred knowledge.
“You can come here every time you want.” The old witcher says, behind her.
“Thank you, Vesemir. This means a lot for me.”
“I should be the one thanking you for what you have done with my pup.”
They lock eyes for a moment, understanding without speaking, while his words awake a warm feeling in Jaskier’s chest.
After Vesemir leaves, she starts her exploration of the magnificent library. The section of poetry attracts her first. She picks up a book which has a title written in Elder and runs her fingers on the dark red cover, embellished with golden borders.
Law of the Heart.
Or is it Law of Love? Hard to say. The choice of that specific word makes the meaning unclear. It could be translated in both ways. She’ll have to do more research on this.
As soon as Jaskier begins to flick through the pages, she raises dust from it which causes her nose to twitch and makes her sneeze. She places the book on the table at the centre of the room and takes a piece of cloth to clean it before trying to read again. The handkerchief slips from her hand and falls on the floor, so she crouches down to pick it up, but the quick movement makes her stomach churn unpleasantly.
Before she can even understand what’s going on, she sprints towards the window and flings it open. The breakfast she had that morning goes up in her throat and she has to cough it up.
She’s gasping for breath when a blast of winter breeze blows her hair in front of her face. She quickly closes the window to return to the warmth of the room.
Then, taking a seat, she furrows her brows and clicks her tongue in hope to get rid of the disgusting taste that’s left in her mouth.
She hasn’t had anything strange for breakfast that might cause such a reaction. Perhaps, she has just eaten too much or too fast. Geralt has always provided them both with as much food as he could hunt during the path up the mountain, but it’s nothing compared to a warm meal in a cosy place. Jaskier may have indulged herself a bit more than the usual since they arrived at the keep. She’ll just have to be more careful from now on.
With that thought in mind, she returns to the book, eager to start reading ancient poems and maybe take inspiration for her new compositions.
***
Lunchtime arrives sooner than predicted. Geralt comes searching for her after he finished his morning training and they head to the main hall.
The others are already waiting there.
“Hurry up, you two! The soup is getting cold.”
“Sorry, it’s my fault. I got too caught up in a book.” Jaskier’s stomach begins to rumble as soon as she sits at the long table, with Geralt next to her. “This looks delicious.”
“Eskel cooked it. It’s his turn today.”
She smiles at the man in question and without wasting any more time, she grabs the spoon and starts eating. As simple as it might seem, the soup is actually full of nutritious food, mainly vegetables and meat. She can taste everything.
Lambert laughs. “Someone has been starving lately.”
“What?” Jaskier asks before even swallowing the piece of meat she is chewing. If she could, she would frown at herself. This isn’t the first time she has behaved like this since they came here. Where the fuck are her manners? Her gaze falls on the bowl in front of her. It’s already almost empty. Warmth spreads across her cheeks and she tries to hide it while wiping her mouth with a napkin.
“I didn’t know you were so hungry.”
Jaskier lifts her head and meets Geralt’s slightly concerned eyes. “Oh, no, it’s… the soup was just really good, is all.”
“At least someone appreciates it.”
Eskel’s comment draws a few chuckles from the other witchers. They continue to eat in silence until towards the end Lambert suggests they play a round of Gwent.
Geralt agrees, of course, and they quickly fetch their cards. While they’re busy, Jaskier goes to her and Geralt’s room to take her lute. If there’s something this place lacks, that is music. But that’s also why Jaskier is here and she did promise yesterday that she’d play for them. When she returns to the main hall, the three younger witchers are still playing their game, while Vesemir is reading a book on a chair near the fire.
The old witcher looks up as soon as she takes the last step on the stairs and he gestures her to sit next to him.
Jaskier smiles and complies happily before placing the lute in her lap. She begins strumming the strings gently and silence falls again in the huge room. Four pairs of golden eyes turn to her as she sings the first note of simple yet enjoyable song that matches the peaceful atmosphere of the afternoon.
When the song comes to an end, both Lambert and Eskel starts clapping their hands. Vesemir joins as well.
“Now I see what all the fuss is about.” The red-haired witcher teases, turning to Geralt.
“Hmm.”
Jaskier grins widely and stands up to bow in front of her special audience. In that precise moment, something twists inside her between her stomach and her sternum, and then it goes up in her throat.
“Jaskier!”
Geralt is at her side in an instant, but he can’t do much more than watch as she throws up everything she has just eaten. Her witcher takes the lute from her hand and gently rubs circles on her back.
Someone hands her a piece of cloth, which she’s grateful for. She coughs in her fist and then wipes her mouth, grimacing at the terrible waste of food on the carpet.
“So much for good soup.” Lambert mumbles behind them.
Geralt glares at him but quickly turns his attention to Jaskier.
“Are you alright?” He asks while leading her to sit down again.
“Yes, I think so.” She tries to reassure him. “I just feel a bit weird.”
Geralt doesn’t seem convinced, if the scowl on his face is anything to go by. He turns to Eskel. “What did you put in the soup?”
“The usual.” The dark-haired witcher shrugs but looks down at Jaskier with concern. “Nothing that might cause this reaction.”
“It’s not Eskel’s fault.” Jaskier blurts out before she can think.
Geralt’s gaze shifts to her again. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not… it’s not the soup.” She stares down at her own lap while fidgeting with the handkerchief that she’s still holding. “It happened this morning, as well. While I was in the library.”
Golden eyes widen at the revelation and her witcher slowly crouches down in front of her, placing his hands on her knees. “Jaskier. Why didn’t you say anything?”
She shrugs and mentally scolds herself for not following her own advice. “It’s nothing, I’m sure. I’ve just been a little too eager with food lately. It’ll stop as soon as I start eating normally again.”
“You could be sick.”
She scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, Geralt. I’m fine.”
“Hmm.” Geralt scrutinises her as if trying to decide whether she’s right or not. Then, he turns away. “Vesemir.”
The old mentor’s gaze shifts between him and Jaskier. “I can examine you, if you want.”
The word ‘no’ is on her lips, because this is absurd, she’s completely fine and they’re exaggerating. But when she turns towards Geralt, he’s looking at her with a pleading expression on his face, like a hurt puppy. Who could say ‘no’ to such a face? With a sigh, she gives in and nods. “Fine. If it makes you feel better.”
Without wasting time, Geralt stands up and in the process, he slides an arm behind Jaskier’s knees and the other around her waist.
“Geralt! What are you doing? I can walk, you brute. Put me down!”
That’s what she yells, but her arms wrap automatically around her witcher’s neck. He carries her to their room, followed by the other witchers, and carefully puts her down on the bed.
Then, Vesemir steps forwards.
“If you’re uncomfortable with something, just tell me and I’ll stop.”
Jaskier nods without hesitation. This is the man who raised Geralt, after all. One of the most important people in her witcher’s life. “I will. But don’t worry, I trust you.”
The old witcher turns around with his sharp gaze. “Well? Don’t you have anything else to do?”
Eskel and Lambert avert their eyes and mumble something that only a witcher’s ears can understand. After they leave, Jaskier notices that Geralt has crossed his arms over his chest as if trying to make himself smaller.
She meets his uncertain gaze and smiles. “You can stay, darling.”
“Hmm.”
“Now,” Vesemir’s voice draws the attention back to him. “I’m going to ask you some questions.”
Jaskier nods and shifts slightly on the bed to get more comfortable.
“Did you eat or drink anything unusual in the last few days? I mean even before coming here.”
She thinks for a moment. “No, nothing I haven’t tried before at least once.”
“Have you ever suffered from nausea?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Hm.” The old witcher frowns, apparently considering other options. “Would you allow me to touch you?”
Without hesitation, Jaskier nods again.
Vesemir sits in front of her and reaches out with his hand. He places it on her forehead and then closes his eyes.
Silence falls in the room until he reopens them. Briefly, Jaskier wonders if he’s listening to her heartbeat. Geralt probably is.
“I’m going to touch your abdomen now.”
He informs her before moving his hand and resting it gently there as said. A few moments after closing his eyes again, he lets out a grunt that Jaskier can’t decipher. Then, Vesemir pulls away and stands up. He shoots a glance at Geralt but doesn’t look at anyone in particular when he opens his mouth to speak.
“This isn’t my area of expertise.” He explains, with an unreadable expression on his face. “I might be wrong, but if we want to be sure, we have to call someone else to check.”
“Who?” Her witcher asks.
“A mage, perhaps.” His old mentor suggests.
A pause. Then, Geralt slowly turns towards Jaskier and she furrows her brows at the pleading look on his face. Why would he look at her like that? What is he going to say that might require such a fine strategy to convince her?
Unless…
Oh. No. He wouldn’t dare.
“Oh, no, no, no. Not her.”
“Jaskier.”
“This is beyond ridiculous.” She gestures wildly at herself. “I’m perfectly healthy.”
“It doesn’t have to be Yennefer.”
Another pause.
“Please.”
Jaskier sighs, because what else can she do? “Alright. What other sexy and insane witch do you know?”
***
“I am Triss Merigold.”
The curly-haired woman with dark chocolate eyes is wearing a rather beautiful emerald green dress that Jaskier wouldn’t mind stealing. Surprisingly, she doesn’t look mean or creepy at all.
“It’s a pleasure to meet Geralt’s famous bard.”
Jaskier raises her brows and turns to her witcher with a smirk. “I like her.”
“Hmm.”
Triss chuckles softly before addressing the two male occupants of the room. “Would you mind leaving us alone, gentlemen?”
Geralt and Vesemir exchanges a glance and then nod at the same time.
They exit and close door behind them, leaving Jaskier alone with the sorceress, who turns towards her with a polite smile on her face.
“How are you feeling?”
“Very well, actually.” Jaskier replies honestly. “Geralt is just overacting. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
Triss steps closer to the bed. “He cares about you a great deal.”
Jaskier’s cheeks warm up a little. She knows that’s true, of course, but it’s still nice to hear other people acknowledge it. “Yes, he does.”
The sorceress sits down before starting to explain what she’s going to do. After Jaskier gives her permission Triss lifts her own hand, which begins to glow with a peculiar green light. She passes it over Jaskier’s forehead and then lets it travel down her body slowly. When she reaches Jaskier’s lower abdomen, her hand stops. It lingers there for a few instants, but then Triss’s lips part, forming a small and silent ‘o’.
“What is it?”
“It’s… well…” Triss hesitates before finally looking up to meet her confused blue gaze. “Jaskier. You’re pregnant.”
Jaskier’s eyes widen and her jaw drops. Before she can even think of how to produce any coherent sound, the door of the bedroom bursts open and a handful of witchers falls on the floor with more than one loud thud.
“What the–”
“How could you?!” Lambert is the first who springs to his feet and points his accusing finger at Jaskier. “I thought you cared about Geralt!”
“Lambert.” Geralt warns, once he manages to get up as well, after pushing Eskel’s weight off him.
“No.” The younger witcher scowls and grits his teeth. “Shut up, unless you’re gonna tell me that you two had some sort of open relationship and you could fuck whoever you wanted. Because if not, she betrayed your trust, Geralt. That means she’s betrayed all of us.”
“Lambert, calm down.” Eskel moves forwards and grabs his brother’s arm to stop him.
“Jaskier hasn’t betrayed anyone.” Geralt declares suddenly.
Every head in the room turns to look at him. Even Jaskier, who is still too shocked to be able to do anything but watch.
Her witcher takes a deep breath and goes on. “We have spent together every single night for the past eight months.”
Lambert frowns, with more confusion than anger now. “But… that’s impossible.”
“I know it’s impossible.”
“Impossible” the sorceress steps in with a wise tone, “is a very strong word.”
“Triss.” Jaskier calls, finding her voice again. She tries to ignore the way it shakes as she asks, “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes.”
Silence falls again among all the people in the room. Jaskier doesn’t have witchers’ enhanced hearing, but her ears can pick up the sound of different heartbeats anyway.
Then, she hears Triss speaking again.
“Maybe we should leave them alone now.”
The sorceress turns towards the door, while Eskel and Lambert exchange a few glances before following quietly.
Vesemir, who has been standing on the threshold the whole time, steps aside to let everyone pass. Finally, he shuts the door.
Jaskier blinks a few times, trying to collect her thoughts. When her eyes search for Geralt, she finds him staring at the floor. Taking a deep breath, she slowly stands up and approaches him.
“Geralt?”
If she hadn’t spent all those years by his side she wouldn’t have noticed anything. But she had. So, now it’s not hard to see when Geralt’s jaw clenches and his shoulders tense ever so slightly.
“I… I don’t… I didn’t know this could happen.”
“Neither did I.” Jaskier almost laughs. Could anyone blame her? The world has just turned upside down and she doesn’t even know how or why, but that’s not important. Something has changed. Something deep inside her has awoken and it’s ready to grow.
No.
Not something. But someone.
She looks down at herself, a foolish smile tugging at her lips. “You can call it a miracle, I guess.” She says, as her hands begin to caress her own stomach with wonder. “A miracle of Love.”
“Jaskier.”
At Geralt’s firm tone, she jerks her head up only to meet the witcher’s stern gaze.
“We have to get rid of it.”
As if made of glass, Jaskier’s heart sinks and shatters into a million pieces. They start to cut her from the inside, like tiny but deadly blades.
***