Chapter Text
Jaskier has always been destined for heartbreak. Ever since he was little, and his fascination for the mortal realm manifested, he knew he was setting his soul up for pain. Fae live long lives – longer than most sentient creatures could ever hope for. To fall in love with humanity would mean for Jaskier to experience loss time and time again. Longing for those who are shorter lived has always been – and always will be – a recipe for disaster.
His parents had tried to dissuade him, of course. Jaskier acknowledged that their efforts were made with his wellbeing in mind, even if it ultimately caused a rift to form between them. The queen and king of the Summer Court had argued with one another frequently, torn on how to rid their first child of his desire to explore the mortal realm. A hundred years passed like honey poured down a drain, and then another hundred passed with no solution being found.
In the end, it was Jaskier’s mother who finally gave in. Her reasonings, despite how they had made her husband scoff in disdain, were fair. If they allowed Jaskier to descend into the realm of man, he would eventually tire himself out and come home. Fae live differently to humans, and it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume that once Jaskier had a taste for it, he would beg to return at the first chance he got.
Jaskier’s mother couldn’t have anticipated how thoroughly wrong she would be.
Taking to the land of humans and monsters like a bee to pollen, Prince Jaskier – now Dandelion in his human disguise – delved into this new and wonderful world with no shortage of excitement. Instead of bringing his beloved lute with him, Dandelion bartered for an old, human made one. Now that he was pretending to be human, he must act the part. Of course, Dandelion didn’t mind one bit. He took enjoyment from being mistaken for the objects of his fascination.
However, there were rules.
Dandelion was not allowed to use magic. He figured this would be the case and while he mourned the loss of some of his abilities, Dandelion believed it to be a fair trade. In the same vein, Dandelion wasn’t allowed to reveal his true nature to anyone not native to Tír na nÓg. It’s a good thing Dandelion had no intentions of revealing that he is fae to anyone. It would take half the enjoyment out of the journey.
If Dandelion breaks either of those rules, he must return home to be the prince that is expected of him.
Over the course of Dandelion’s very short life – two hundred and some years is still considered a teenager in some circles – he had done extensive research on humans. He knew of their wars, their inferior magic, and their countries. He understood their facial expressions, their mood swings, and their lies. He was prepared to take the plunge into a society he has spent decades learning about.
However, nothing could have prepared Dandelion for witchers – or rather, one witcher in particular. He had learned of them, of course. Dandelion knew they were monster slayers and, despite this, humans didn’t think favorably of them. He had thought that they were nothing special in the grand scheme of things, but Dandelion quickly realized after his first encounter with one that he couldn’t be more wrong.
Dandelion, above all else, was a lover. He fell in love with humans every day and left them behind just as quickly so that they could not learn his secret. This is what his had mother always fretted about – Dandelion’s desire for love conflicting with the mortality of mankind. It was difficult, of course, but Dandelion had resigned himself to short lived nights of passion, for he would never risk his newfound freedom away from Court for a single human.
That was, until he met Geralt.
Dandelion made the decision to follow Geralt in under ten minutes. Having seen him from across the tavern with his golden eyes and unimpressed frown was enough to make Dandelion’s poor heart swoon. Granted, being punched in the gut wasn’t a part of the plan, but Dandelion could make do. He was made of tougher things than mere human flesh, even if he cannot reveal such a thing. A mere punch wouldn’t be enough to deter him.
The elves, though?
No, not even then. Dandelion didn’t even consider using his powers to escape. He would not return home – not so soon after finding someone like Geralt. Dandelion could sense the Destiny clinging off of him and he wanted to see what this witcher would become. He wanted to witness what the world had in mind for Geralt, even if that meant being beaten to a pulp by elves in the meantime.
Cintra was, of course, a little unfortunate. Pissing Geralt off was not the goal. Yes, Dandelion knew that they weren’t exactly friends – not for a lack of trying, mind you – but being left behind to deal with Geralt’s mess wasn’t ideal. A child of surprise felt just like something Destiny would cook up, but Geralt seemed allergic to doing what Destiny wanted. It was a tad bit annoying, but still not enough of a deterrent for Dandelion.
Besides, Dandelion did get something out of that night. He visited Cintra a year after Pavetta’s and Duny’s wedding and held baby Ciri in his arms. Instantly, Dandelion was enamored. There was more than one kind of love and Dandelion discovered that he contained each one within himself. He fell in love with Ciri as if she were his little sister and that night, Dandelion vowed that he would do everything in his power to keep her safe.
There was also the matter of the Djinn. Admittedly, Dandelion almost used his powers then. He was afraid, and he was hurt, and he didn’t want to die. Suffocating on his own air is something that Dandelion could go his entire lifetime through without feeling again. Though… he would gladly feel that fear and pain a thousand times over if it meant he didn’t have to see Geralt with Yennefer.
In hindsight, Dandelion had been a fool. He loved humans, and he loved his nights of passion, and yet somehow, he had been blind to the love he felt for Geralt. It wasn’t until Dandelion saw Geralt’s Destiny intertwine with that witch that Dandelion realized that he’d made a grave error. Somehow, someway over the years, Dandelion had fallen in love with Geralt without meaning to. He had just wanted… Well, Dandelion supposed that it didn’t matter what he wanted.
The next several years were a series of absolute horse shit. With the realization of his feelings, Dandelion also realized just how obvious it must be. Geralt surely knew – he surely knew well before Dandelion did. The witcher had simply been kind enough to not say anything, because it was obvious that his feelings weren't returned. This was okay. Or rather, it would have been okay if Yennefer would have stopped showing up to make Dandelion’s life worse.
For some reason, seeing Geralt with others – whores, creatures, even Triss – didn’t elicit the same negative emotions. Perhaps it was because Dandelion knew that those trysts meant nothing. The truth of the matter is that Dandelion now had to witness what Geralt acted like when he actually cared about someone. These acts, over all of their years together, had never been directed at Dandelion.
Denial is a funny thing.
Dandelion had always been good at playing pretend. For twenty years, he gave everything he had to Geralt and pretended that his feelings were returned. Granted, twenty years wasn’t long for a fae, but it was a long time for humans. He had traveled with Geralt for over a fourth of the man’s life, only to receive nothing for it. Dandelion wasn’t looking for praise or for love. All he wanted was an iota of care.
Instead, he received the Mountain and his first real heartbreak.
Learning to live with such an immense pain was difficult. For the second time since leaving Tír na nÓg, Dandelion considered going home. It was only the fear of not being able to return that kept him from doing so. Dandelion, despite everything, still had hope in his heart. When he slept, he dreamt of Geralt. When he drank, it was thoughts of his witcher that plagued him. Heartbreak was a wound that lived deeply within fae, and Dandelion knew that it would be almost impossible to move on from this.
Still, he needed to try. Dandelion needed to try, because he knew what would happen if he didn't. Within his heartbreak, Dandelion was dancing on the edge of a knife. One wrong move could very well kill him and a part of Dandelion welcomed this. Thirty years Dandelion had traversed amongst mortals – twenty of them with Geralt – and nothing he had experienced had ever hurt worse than that fucking Mountain.
Perhaps this is why, months and months later, Dandelion is singing his heart out on top of a shitty table that threatens to topple under his weight. He is pretending to live life to its fullest, wasted on cheap beer that causes his vision to swim. This doesn’t stop Dandelion though, and the crowd seems delighted as he goes into another round of Fishmonger’s Daughter. The alcohol and coin have been flowing freely tonight and Dandelion is grateful that no one can tell how truly miserable he feels right now.
More often than not, the nights end with Dandelion alone in his rented room, sobbing himself to sleep. The alcohol and singing helps, but there is no escape from the witcher shaped demon in Dandelion’s heart. He has lost track of time since the Mountain, but Dandelion knows that it’s been less than a year. The sting of betrayal had happened sometime in mid spring, and autumn is rapidly approaching now.
As Dandelion sings, he sees a tall man enter the tavern. Almost on instinct, he ends Fishmonger’s Daughter and starts up Toss a Coin. Geralt’s name has long since been stricken from the lyrics, but the tune is still familiar. He has had twenty years of practice with it, after all. The man who prowls through the crowd and sits down at the bar practically screams witcher – everything from his posture to the way the barkeep grimaces giving it away.
Despite himself, Dandelion is curious.
As Dandelion sings the chorus, the witcher turns in his stool to watch. The attention causes Dandelion to flush unpleasantly, and it’s only sheer willpower that forces him not to miss a note. Green reflective eyes pierce through him and Dandelion looks away, distracting himself with other patrons. Despite the call of his heart, he ought not to get involved in any new witcher business. He feels the heat of the witcher’s gaze on him, but Dandelion tries to pay him no mind.
Unfortunately, Dandelion is predictable.
He performs three more songs before calling it quits, winking at a few of the patrons before making a beeline for the bar. Dandelion slides in next to the witcher, surprised when a drink is handed to him before he can order one. The barkeep gestures vaguely toward the witcher, indicating that the man bought Dandelion’s drink. It seems that Dandelion’s choice has been made for him.
Turning his head slightly, he finds the witcher already staring him down.
“What is it that you want, witcher?”
“It’s not often that a bard is bold enough to sing Toss a Coin in these parts.”
“Yeah, well. Maybe I have a death wish.”
“You certainly smell like you do.”
Dandelion can only imagine that he reeks of alcohol and depression. Still, he can’t find it within himself to be embarrassed. The witcher is still watching him, nostrils flaring, and Dandelion feels the need to fuck with him. He looks the witcher up and down and decidedly, the man is very attractive. Black hair falls in waves to curl around the man’s ears and while he is slim, Dandelion can see the muscles he must sport underneath his leather. His nails are sharpened and briefly, Dandelion imagines having them scrape along his sides in the throes of passion.
The brief spike of lust is enough to have his witcher companion raising his eyebrows and Dandelion smirks, turning away to drink deeply from his tankard.
Swallowing, Dandelion speaks up when it seems that his new friend isn’t going to.
“It’s rude to scent someone so blatantly, I’m pretty sure.”
Side eyeing the witcher, Dandelion watches him stifle a cough in embarrassment.
“I would apologize, but I don’t think that’ll get me anywhere.”
“Well that depends, witcher, on where you’re trying to go.”
Flirting is as easy as breathing. Dandelion knows that he’s being self destructive, but he doesn’t care. Fucking a witcher while hating himself over losing Geralt is leagues better than yet another night lost in his cups. Dandelion will make his bed and lie in it. This witcher is attractive and perhaps Dandelion is tired of moping. It’s been months, after all. If Geralt was going to find him, he would have done so by now.
Dandelion’s new witcher seems surprised for a moment before he scents the air once more.
“You’re not afraid of me.”
“Would you prefer it if I was?”
To emphasize his question, Jaskier makes a show of cocking his head to the side, intent on teasing his new witcher friend.
“Melitele’s tits, no. I’m just surprised, is all.”
“Hmm, I suppose you would be. Most people are idiots who fear what they don’t understand.”
The witcher looks at Dandelion curiously, his eyes gleaming in the tavern’s low light.
“And what do you know of witchers, bard?”
The words come easily, a half truth that won’t set the witcher off.
“Enough to know that you aren’t the monsters you hunt for coin.”
“Heh, fair enough.”
The answer seems to satisfy the witcher, and Dandelion leans slightly into his space, garnering his full attention.
“Tell me, what’s your name?”
“Aiden. And you?”
Something in Dandelion relaxes when he realizes he doesn’t recognize that name. Geralt has spoken of other wolves over the years, but Aiden wasn’t among the scarce few that were mentioned. Still, Aiden’s question gives Dandelion pause. While he doesn’t recognize Aiden’s name, the witcher may very well recognize his. If Dandelion gives out the name he’s been using for the past thirty years, it could lead to more trouble than he’s willing to deal with. However, Dandelion also cannot lie.
“It’s… Julian.”
Another half truth – one that will hopefully placate Aiden. He’s gone by Julian before in places where Dandelion could not go. When visiting Ciri, for one, he is always Julian the noble bard and not Dandelion, the witcher’s companion. The thought sours his mood somewhat, though Aiden’s response breaks Julian from his threatening memories.
“A pretty name for an even prettier face.”
The line is cheap and has been used on Julian countless times, but it works. Heat settles in Julian’s gut and he gives Aiden an appreciative look. This is a distraction, a bad one at that, but Julian has never been known for making good decisions. He finishes what’s in his tankard and sets it down, waving off the barkeep who tries to offer him some more. Julian is on a mission now and he won’t allow himself to be distracted.
Meeting Aiden’s gaze, Julian does his best to look enticing.
“I have a bedroom upstairs, if you’d like to join me.”
“I think I’d be stupid not to.”
It takes less than a minute to get up to Julian’s room and the moment the door closes, he’s being pushed against the hardwood as Aiden kisses him insistently. There is passion in the action that surprises Julian, but he responds in kind. Aiden possesses a witcher’s strength and Julian moans appreciatively at how he’s manhandled. With alcohol pumping through his veins, it’s easy for Julian to forget where he is and who he’s with.
So long as there is pleasure, it shouldn’t matter. Right?
The kiss is broken and Aiden kisses down Julian’s neck instead. The sharpness to Aiden’s teeth has Julian shivering, and when he feels a hickey being formed, the skin is nicked. Aiden tries to whisper an apology, but Julian merely moans and cranes his neck further, fisting his hands in dark locks to keep the witcher in place. It’s hot, and apparently Aiden gets the memo because he bites down lightly, marking Julian up.
After what surely must have been only mere moments, they finally separate for air. Julian is quick to get out of his doublet, tossing it carelessly to the floor while Aiden works on his breeches. Boots get in the way and Aiden lets out a feral sound that goes right to Julian’s cock. He ends up getting maneuvered to the bed and pushed down onto it while Aiden removes Julian’s boots and breeches in one go.
Now down to his braies and chemise, Julian reaches for Aiden, who crawls onto the bed like a predator. They maneuver backwards until they’re in the center, Aiden over Julian and bracketing him with his arms. The fact that Aiden is still fully clothed, armor and all, causes a laugh to bubble up within Julian. Aiden kisses him, which only causes Julian to laugh harder.
“Take your armor off, you loaf.”
“I’m a bit busy at the moment.”
“You can kiss me again once you show some skin.”
“Demanding, are we?”
Julian grins, turning his head to the side when Aiden attempts to kiss him again.
“Armor off, dear.”
Aiden makes a surprised sound, but Julian’s words seem to be enough for him to finally listen. He rolls off of the bed, skillfully undoing his leathers and boots until he’s in a simple breeches and tunic ensemble. Julian lets out an appreciative sound and makes a grabbing motion, inviting Aiden back to bed. In a show of strength, Aiden jumps forward with a startling speed, repositioning himself over Julian in seconds.
It causes Julian to gasp, and he’s certain that his scent of lust increases tenfold at the action if Aiden’s smirk is anything to go by.
“Shall I continue?”
“Please–“
Aiden kisses Julian again, their tongues pressing together filthily. While Julian is no virgin, something about Aiden has him breathless with want. He allows himself to get lost in how he’s gripped and kissed and ground against. Both of their clothed lengths press against each other and Julian moans, arching upwards in need. He hasn’t laid with anyone since before Geralt threw him away like garbage, and Julian knows he won’t be able to last.
As if knowing this, Aiden sits up abruptly and throws his tunic off. A great expanse of muscle is shown and normally, Julian would be admiring his bedmate’s physique. However, a flash of metal has distracted him. Aiden’s silver medallion shines in the candlelight, a snarling cat staring down at him. Julian stills, his heart rate increasing as reality slams back into him tenfold.
Suddenly, Julian is back on the Mountain. He hears Geralt’s words, spat at him like a curse. A witcher broke Julian’s heart – Dandelion’s heart – and here he is, trying to bed another one to ease the ache. It’s selfish, and wrong, and suddenly Julian feels disgusting. It doesn’t matter that Aiden wants him. It doesn’t matter that Julian wants this too – or at least he did, before seeing that damn medallion. Everything seems to stop, and it takes Julian several moments to realize that Aiden has separated from him and is calling his name.
“..ulian? Julian, fuck–“
Aiden’s voice sounds panicked and Julian realizes that his limbs have locked up. He’s hyperventilating too, struggling to get air into himself for whatever reason. Aiden is off of the bed, looking stricken, and it’s as if a bucket of cold water has splashed on Julian. He takes in a deep, shuddering breath and forces himself to relax. This is not Geralt. This is not the Mountain. He is fine.
“…Aiden?”
Julian croaks weakly and Aiden looks even more panicked, taking a step back.
“I-I’m sorry, I–“
That, more than anything, snaps Julian back into the present.
“Did you… apologize?”
“..Y-yes? You started reeking of fear and I–“
Julian feels the need to interrupt again, fixating on those two simple words as if they hold all the answers he’s looking for.
“Did you just apologize to me?”
Aiden seems baffled for a moment, enough so that it stops his incessant stammering.
“Yes I.. I did. Apologize, I mean.”
Julian relaxes into the bed, closing his eyes for several moments. The man he mistook Aiden for, however briefly, would never apologize to him. Geralt would sooner eat his own boots than admit to Julian that he had wronged him. Julian feels his heartbeat flutter for a moment, realizing for the first time that perhaps he wasn’t the problem. If Aiden gives an apology so freely, then what’s Geralt’s excuse? Julian knows this clarity won’t last, but it feels nice to think about.
Opening his eyes to look back at Aiden once more, Julian allows his gaze to soften. He tries to control his scent, a skill he learned when helping Geralt come down from his potions. Julian emits something soft and soothing and he watches as Aiden goes from tense to relaxed in a matter of moments. It’s progress, though Julian feels as though he owes Aiden an explanation for why their night got interrupted.
“Come here, please.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Aiden. Sit on the bed with me.”
Julian struggles into an upward position, crossing his legs as he tries not to feel awkward about just being in his braies. He patiently waits for Aiden to sit on the edge of the bed, clearly skittish and afraid of hurting Julian further. Letting out a soft sigh, Julian knows that he’s going to have to do damage control. The only issue is that he doesn’t want to talk about the truth. It seems that skirting around what happened is a skill he’s going to have to keep using with Aiden.
“…It wasn’t you. It’s.. it’s been a long time since I’ve bedded anyone. I had an experience that hurt me in the past and I thought I could look past it. Turns out, I was wrong.”
Aiden, bless him, seems to understand. He hesitantly offers a hand to Julian, and it’s taken gently. Each joint is played with as Julian thinks of what to say next, though he isn’t quite sure where to go from here. Sleeping together seems off the table for now, but Julian is loath to let Aiden go. Still, Aiden came here for sex. Now that it’s not being offered, Julian won’t be able to blame him for leaving.
This is why it comes as a surprise when Aiden squeezes Julian’s hand, gaining his attention.
“We don’t have to do anything. You worried me there for a moment.”
When Julian doesn’t respond, at a loss for words, Aiden continues.
“What would you like, Julian? I could go get my own room, if you want. Or I can take the floor – I don’t mind.”
“You are not taking the floor.”
Aiden cocks his head to the side before nodding, moving to get up. However, he is abruptly stopped by Julian, who grips his hand harder, refusing to let go. It’s obvious that Aiden could easily dislodge him, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stays where he is, patiently waiting for Julian to speak up.
Flushing in slight embarrassment, Julian decides to be a little selfish.
“…You could um.. stay in bed with me, if you’d like. I’ll have you know, though, I’m a horrible cuddler. I also hog the blankets. I have terrible bed etiquette, but– o-oh..”
Aiden easily lies down, pulling Julian with him. The covers are brought up and, much to Julian’s surprise, Aiden initializes cuddling by wrapping a warm arm around him. Geralt never cuddled like this unless they were asleep, though Julian is quickly realizing that Aiden is nothing like his former witcher – not that Geralt was ever his. Dispelling that train of thought, Julian allows himself to relax. He emits more calming emotions, which causes Aiden to hum pleasantly.
“You smell a hell of a lot better like this, bard.”
“Oh? Is that so, witcher?”
“No fear, no sadness. That’s a rare gift for someone like me.”
Julian, heart clenching slightly at the thought, reaches up and runs a gentle hand through Aiden’s hair. A pleased hum rattles through Aiden, which causes Julian to smile. They both relax gradually against each other and this is almost better than the mind blowing sex Julian had been expecting. It’s less destructive and while Julian knows that he will be bereft tomorrow when he wakes up alone, having Aiden to hold right now is good. It’s more than good, it’s healing.
That’s an odd thing to think about, though Julian pushes it aside for another night – one where he is alone and not being warmed by a kind witcher who apologizes freely and seems to love just as much.
Julian drifts, and it is the first night in months that nightmares don’t take him.
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