Archive of Our Own ^beta

Witcher’s were not able to reproduce, a tale as old as time and for very good reason. The life of a Witcher was not for a child to live, no child deserved to be on the road; raised amongst beasts and hateful spittle of men whom curse hatred and fear at Witchers.

Geralt had made his peace with this long ago, he may have wished for a child centuries ago, but Geralt knew better now.

At least, he did.

Then Jaskier had forced his way into Geralt’s life; at first as nothing more than a nuisance. Then a companion, then a lover.

Jaskier was indeed special, not fearful nor using Geralt for personal gain.

Neither were quite sure just how special.

It starts as nothing. A small bout of illness Jaskier cannot quite shake, of course he brushes it aside and hides it as though Geralt cannot see the ailment that plagues Jaskier. “Nothing but a bad bout of food” he dismisses, when he gets caught vomiting by Geralt one morning.

The fatigue hits much too soon after that, dizzy spells that Jaskier blames on alcohol after not allowing a drop to touch his tongue.

When they’re collecting their pay one evening and Geralt turns to Jaskier, only to find the man hunched over panting, Geralt’s stomach drops.

When Jaskier’s head lifts to reveal the steady stream of blood trickling down his face and rouging Jaskier’s lips, Geralt cuts the bullshit and calls to the woman whom he knows can reveal the truth.

“A silly little nosebleed, and so the Witcher crumples” Yennefer has Jaskier sat in a chair, between his legs so she can reach his face. She keeps a firm grip upon the bards chin to keep his head aloft and he wriggles uncomfortably. “You’d do well to sit still, my hands are only so kind”

“I’m trying” Jaskier bites, muffled by the cloth against his nose.

Geralt himself is leaned against a wall, watching the two intently as Yennefer steps back to fiddle on the table. The room is spacious though rather cluttered, Yennefer seems to have settled here for the time being. Geralt is glad, she is slowly finding her place in this world which he could not, Yennefer deserves nothing less.

“So give me more details on your illness” whilst Yennefer does not look up from her table, it is obvious who she is speaking to. Jaskier looks extremely put out, shifting once again in discomfort. Blue eyes shift down to glance at Geralt. Jaskier is hesitating. “Oh come on, your boy toy already knows something is wrong, tell me and I’ll do what I can to fix it”

Geralt doesn’t let his eyes leave Jaskier and, eventually, he caves beneath it.

“...blast, fine, I may perhaps have a few bouts of nausea throughout the mornings, maybe a little bit of dizziness here and there nothing too concerning”

“What else?”

Jaskier’s nose scrunches up “It’s hardly worth mentioning, but some minor headaches I’m sure you’ve experienced a few yourselves”

“Just the one” both Yennefer and Geralt chime in almost synchronicity and Jaskier let’s his head drop back down to glare at the two.

“I rather resent that, and on that note! Since when are you two so buddy buddy?!” Yennefer raises her gaze to look up at Geralt through thick lashes, a teasing grin upon her features and Geralt bites back on his own.

“What else?”

Jaskier makes an audible noise of confusion “Pardon?”

“What else are you experiencing?”

“I’ve told you everything-“

“Not everything” Yennefer presses “You’re holding back something, you’d do best not to lie to me”

Jaskier’s jaw clatters shut with an audible rattle, tensing up under the scrutiny and Geralt himself responds to the gesture by righting his posture.

“Jaskier”

“It’s hardly anything” Jaskier admits timidly, pulling the cloth away from his face and luckily the blood does not flow again. His chin still stained pink. “Honestly, I’ve told you all the main problems”

“I need all of them, not just the big ones”

There’s a sudden tenseness in the air, stifling. Between Jaskier’s hesitation, Geralt’s anxiousness and Yennefer’s growing impatience the room is thick of it. There is nothing but silence from the bard and the sorceress and Geralt is in his right mind to shatter it, when Jaskier relents beneath it.

“I...I’ve gained some weight the last few weeks”

“Weight” Geralt repeats rather dumbly. Of all of the things Jaskier does not want to confess to, weight gain is one of them? Geralt can only scoff, a low rumble in his throat.

Jaskier on the other hand looks as though it’s the end of the world, continuing on “Not...it’s different than that of fat - not that I would know I have the body many have swooned for”

“Of course” Yennefer mutters, but makes no move to interrupt Jaskier.

“It’s harder, like...like...”

“A tumour” Is finished for Jaskier, Geralt no longer exasperated by his lover and now tense once more. Yennefer has also turned to face Jaskier, abandoning her book on the table to move closer once more. “Let me feel”

“Rather bold of you to say in front of my lover, however I must decline”

Ignoring Jaskier, Yennefer grabs the hem of Jaskier’s undershirt - having discarded his jacket and shirt once the blood had sullied them - and yanks it up.

A muffled squeak is all Jaskier gets out, and from his position behind Yennefer, Geralt cannot make out anything she is seeing.

The lack of visuals is unnerving, only made worse by the next words from Yennefer’s mouth “No” it’s a whisper in the quiet, barely audible even to Geralt “It can’t be”

“What is it?” He moves forward towards the two, a lump in his throat he can’t quite swallow.

“Of all the things” Yennefer is muttering again.

He rounds the table “Yennefer” of course she doesn’t respond to Geralt, no her eyes never even so much as faulter from Jaskier.

“Jaskier what you’re speaking of is no tumour...” Geralt finally gets close enough to see both Yennefer and Jaskier and he stops short. Yennefer is stood with a hand fanned across Jaskier’s abdomen.

Geralt himself can’t see any weight gain, but the slight curve to the palm of Yennefer’s hand says otherwise. It’s barely noticeable but has no give under her grip.

Violet eyes flicker towards to Jaskier, then Geralt who isnt sure what exactly Yennefer is seeing. “What is it then?” Jaskier squirms under the foreign touch, looking every bit like he regrets being here.

Yennefer, slowly as though reluctant to, pulls her hand back to herself and straightens, both conflicted and bewildered “Congratulations, Witcher” her smile is tense and thin, but surprisingly soft “Your broodmare’s carrying”

“Impossible”

“Say that to your spawn roiling around in Jaskier’s innards”

Jaskier lurches forward and vomits.

—————

Whether it’s the reveal, or the weakened state his body is in, Jaskier promptly collapses into unconsciousness after emptying his stomach of its contents all over Yennefer’s shoes.

Geralt settles his lover in the bed upstairs whilst Yennefer disgustingly discards of the mess.

Jaskier stirs in the sheets, but does not wake even as Geralt leans back away from him. The rise and fall of his lovers chest is steady, the beat of his heart a slow; comforting thump.

And all Geralt can do is merely watch as his mind reels amongst the thunderstorm brewing.

It’s impossible, a child - his - growing inside of Jaskier. It was impossible, no one could just create life even with magic. And yet Yennefer was not one to tease about such sensitive subjects.

Almost subconsciously, Geralt’s hand finds its was down Jaskier’s torso; stopping shy of his stomach where the smallest of curves lay.

He pulls away and leaves his lover in peace.

When Geralt returns to Yennefer, she has cleaned the mess but her shoes are discarded as she pads around barefoot. The woman is slouched by the fireplace, staring into the crackling embers like they will reveal something to her.

Geralt finds his place beside her, joining the sorceress who does not bat an eyelash to Geralt’s presence.

“A baby” is hushed through painted lips and Geralt hums in response “How bewildering, that the first Witcher to ever conceive, ends up doing so with a no named bard”

There’s a tone of bitterness to Yennefer’s voice, a quiver she can’t quite suppress and Geralt feels an overwhelming sense of sympathy, of guilt. “Yen-“

“I suppose congratulations are in order...a baby is quite the blessing for individuals of our caliber” she doesn’t let Geralt even get close to speaking, so he lets it drop.

“Hmm, for some”

“So what will you do now, Witcher?”

And quite honestly? Geralt is not too sure.

A child has never been part of his plan, then again neither had Jaskier. But Jaskier was capable - somewhat, in a few minor ways - a baby is defenceless; they need a home and a stable family to provide for them.

Geralt can not provide that.

But gods he wants to.

He dares not to speak of his wants, Geralt has no right to deserve them after all he has done - all he has become. But to have his bard carry proof of their love, raising a child of his own who looks at him not as a monster, but as a protector, as a father? A part of Geralt, locked away beneath years of built up walls, yearns for it.

But Geralt does not voice this, instead his gruff grunt of “Can’t do it” will suffice.

Yennefer stiffens; fingers curling into the plush arms of the chair as she watches Geralt. “Why not? A child is a blessing”

“And the life of a Witcher is not”

She scoffs, leaning into her hand towards Geralt “Then find a way, don’t let this pass you by” Geralt hums “Well it’s up to your bard in the end, I won’t do anything without his permission...I won’t take Jaskier’s choice”

It is up to Jaskier, Geralt only has so much say in his choices and he too would not put Jaskier in such a situation. “He’ll make the right choice”

And that’s enough for Yennefer, she hoists herself from her chair and adjusts her dress, violet eyes glaring down at Geralt with enough fury to scorch the earth he settles upon. “You are a fool, Geralt of Rivia” and thus she is gone with a flutter of green silk.

———-

It is of the early morning hours when Jaskier awakes, groggy and wrapped in a blanket which he’s stolen from the bed before making his descent.

Geralt has yet to move from the fireplace, nor has Yennefer returned. So when Jaskier enters the room and flops down into the chair which Yennefer once occupied, Geralt focuses golden eyes onto his lover.

Jaskier is pale, still not fully over his sudden bout of nausea, but for the most part he is in one piece. At first, Jaskier sits in silence - which isn’t a good sign in itself, the bard has never been completely silent; even when suffering under a curse. But then he speaks “I know we’ve both said things whilst in the throes of passion...but I didn’t quite expect them to come into fruition”

Which is true, whilst Geralt had no chance of reproduction - at least so he’d believed - it didn’t mean that he did not humour the fantasies that took them. Teased groans of pleasure promising to breed Jaskier full, the bards pleading whines for Geralt to fill Jaskier with more than just his seed.

Now look where it has got them.

Jaskier bundles the blankets at his waist; keeping a hand on his stomach “Well, I suppose I’ll have to find somewhere to settle, writing your tales from afar or what you recount afterwards”

“What?” Geralt’s sudden question jolts Jaskier from his aloud musing, loud in the quiet save for the crackle of flames. “What nonsense are you spouting?”

“It’s not nonsense” Jaskier pushes “I can’t travel with you Geralt, you already have enough keeping both I and yourself from certain death, a baby won’t help things for you” it takes barely a second for the words to sink in, but once they do, they hit Geralt like a sword hilt to the gut. Jaskier intends to go through with it. “It’s a shame really” Settling back into the plush cushioning with a sigh, Jaskier picks at stray threads on the blanket. “I thought I’d get a good decade more travelling at your side”

“You’re keeping it?”

His response bubbles forth before Geralt can push the words down, unable to stop them. Jaskier stares back, baffled at Geralt’s sudden questioning, but answers back “Of course, why wouldn’t I?” as though it is the most obvious answer on this earth.

“There has never been a tale of a Witcher whom has bred an heir, much less into a male” It’s on instinct that Geralt moves, leaving the comfort of the chair he sits in to kneel at Jaskier’s feet.

Had it been so long ago, once upon at time when the Witcher and Bard had first crossed paths, Geralt would have bowed for no one. Now, Geralt would walk burning coals upon the skin of his feet to make sure Jaskier is safe and content. His hands cup each of Jaskier’s calves, pulling himself into the bards space.

His actions reward him with a small, soft smile from Jaskier. It’s sincere and makes warmth glow from within Geralt. “Well Geralt, you have always been a rare one” Jaskier cards nimble fingers through Geralt’s locks, soothing the Witcher who grumbles into the touch.

“What if it’s a monster, born to wander the earth in bloodlust and fear?”

“Then I will love them still, and I will continue to do so till my last breath”

Yennefer had called Geralt a fool, and the fact could hardly be disputed, but Geralt thought Jaskier to be the fool in this moment.

A love struck fool who thought with his heart and told tales with his lute, of a Witcher who loved more than anyone could know.

Perhaps that was what they were, a fates pair of fools.

————-

“Ohhhhh lord above Geralt I’m going to remove your extremities from your body for this!” Jaskier clenches down on his tongue as his body urges him through another contraction; hands tightening on the edges of the bath.

Water sloshes with the jerk of his body, spilling over the sides and onto the floor, greeting with previous spills which have found home there. The man being cursed out by his lover keeps a hand in the wet locks atop Jaskier’s head; stroking them soothingly back out of Jaskier’s face and he glances up at Geralt through watery eye. “Really? You seem rather fond of it”

“Don’t you tease me now Geral- Fuckkkkkk!”

“Breathe through it, you’re doing well Jaskier” he soothes.

Jaskier takes Geralt’s advice, chest heaving with the need for oxygen. He tries to pay no heed to the water dyed rouge or Jaskier’s bitten back cries of genuine agony he tries to mask into threats. Instead Geralt leans in to kiss along Jaskier’s hairline; wishing that Yennefer was present. Unfortunately there is trouble brewing in the north, and Ciri came first especially for Yennefer, so Geralt understands.

They’ve been here for hours, the same push and pull, and the sun which had once rose in the sky, now has sunk to its slumber leaving the two guided by candlelight.

Jaskier is exhausted, the human body only being able to take so much, and yet he does not falter in the slightest. Despite his numerous complaints, Jaskier pushes through the pain.

“My brave pain in the ass”

There’s a snort from Jaskier as Geralt pulls back and there’s evidence of a teasing smile upon Jaskier’s rosy features “Oh that’s rich coming for you given our circumstances”

And so time ticks by, Jaskier huffing his way through each contraction. It seems never ending and, for a fraction of a moment, Geralt almost believes it will never end, that something is very wrong. Before finally, finally, Jaskier gasps breathlessly and reaches down into the water abruptly. “There! I - oh gods”

Jaskier barely gets out another small groan of pain before he is hauling up a squirming infant from the water and into his arms and suddenly it is all over.

Geralt helps Jaskier move back to settle against the side so the exhausted man does not just collapse into the water; manoeuvring Jaskier until his back meets Geralt’s chest.

There’s no outward cry of disdain, no whimpers or any semblance of noise for that matter from the child. The only sound in the room is Jaskier’s laboured breathing and thundering heartbeat.

“Are they...?” Jaskier doesn’t finish the sentence, tense against Geralt as he shifts the babe against his chest.

It’s a horrifying thought, instilling a fear inside of Geralt he’s never quite felt before. It settles low in Geralt’s gut, yet he doesn’t hesitate to adjust the infant in Jaskier’s arms so Geralt can get a good look at them.

When cornflower blues meet Geralt’s own it’s like a sudden breath of fresh air. The relief fills his lungs like a spring morning, burning but oh so perfect.

“Oh thank the gods” a shaky whimper escapes the bard as he reaches a free hand to brush against a pink stained cheek. “A girl! Geralt we have a daughter”

Something Geralt never expected to ever hear.

She’s everything Geralt has not dared to hope for. Jaskier’s blue eyes so full of wonder take in Jaskier and Geralt, the thick curls atop her head are as white as snow which is a surprise in itself. There’s the ever so subtle fleck of freckles atop her chubby cheeks.

She’s perfect, she’s beautiful and she’s his.

When the first drop falls to Jaskier’s shoulder, Geralt doesn’t initially realise just what it is. Or where it comes from.

But there’s a burn in his eyes and a lump in his throat, by the time the fifth tear falls Jaskier takes notice “Geralt?” He attempts to lean back to glance up towards Geralt, but the Witcher covers Jaskier’s eyes with a large pal and buries himself close to the crook of Jaskier’s neck; curling around Jaskier. “Oi!”

“Don’t ruin the moment, Jaskier”

Even as his words bite, the smile Jaskier no doubt feels gives away what Geralt truly feels.

Right beneath his gaze, nestled against Jaskier’s chest, their daughter stares up at Geralt beneath fair eyelashes, eyes catching the golden light as she watches. Her nose scrunches up at the sudden proximity of such a strange man. Whilst Geralt expects a cry, the first of many in this lifetime he is sure, the babe instead bursts out into a bubbling squeal filled with utter joy. It echoes in the room around them and blankets them in a soft embrace.

Geralt falls ever deeper in love.