A/N This is literally the song from the show turned into a story, at least that's my take on it if you see Jaskier as the 'I/Narrator', Geralt as the 'You/My Love/Garrotter' and Yennefer as the 'Her' in the song.

As always, many thanks to my beta reader! Remaining errors, typos and holes in the plot are all mine.

See end for more notes.

CHAPTER 1

"Oh, just say it out right if you have something to say," Jaskier ranted at Geralt, glowering. "Because if you meant to hint that as of late my singing leaves a lot to be desired or that I'm too tired to do a performance after a day on the road, just speak up!"

"I said no such thing. It was only a suggestion but I'm just as happy to see you sing," Geralt replied softly, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. He wasn't even surprised about the bard's reaction to his proposal; he had observed Jaskier's odd behaviour for a while but couldn't make sense of it. If he had done something to insult him, Geralt was sure Jaskier would have outright hammered it home to him, so it was probably something Geralt had nothing to do with but just had to bear the brunt of.

"Fine!" Jaskier snapped. "And now you must excuse me, there's a crowd that wants to be entertained. Unlike you, there are people who actually like my singing." Jaskier grabbed his lute and stormed off.

Geralt watched closely as the bard made his way to the tavern, wondering what was wrong with him. He reached out to pat Roach's neck, glancing towards the water trough to check if it was full and unpolluted. "I've no idea what's wrong with our bard, Roach. Maybe it's a human thingy I know nothing of." Geralt sighed. "I just hope it will soon be over so he stops acting like a sulky child. It's starting to get on my nerves," Geralt added, stroking along her neck twice more before stepping away. "Good night, Roach."

He made sure bridle and saddle were stowed away properly and the manger was full of fresh hay, then he grabbed his saddlebags and the rest of their belongings and followed Jaskier to the tavern.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Jaskier was so angry at himself that the first few chords were out of tune and his singing sounded like a bad imitation of a young Valdo Marx. He stopped and breathed deeply, briefly closing his eyes to get back on track. He opened them again just in time to see Geralt enter the tavern, his searching gaze scanning the taproom until it finally landed on Jaskier. Geralt's eyes lingered on Jaskier for a moment and then the Witcher looked around once more and eventually made his way to an empty table in the corner. Jaskier felt his bad temper drain away at the sight of Geralt and he started again with a new tune before the crowd started booing him off the non-existent stage.

Jaskier knew he needed to stop being petulant and biting Geralt's head off whenever the Witcher said something Jaskier took the wrong way. He needed to stop weighing every word Geralt said, because as of late it seemed everything Geralt said caught him on the wrong foot and what Geralt meant and what Jaskier heard were two different things.

Alas, it was easier said than done.

It wasn't Geralt's fault that the Witcher looked not a day older than the first time Jaskier had met him in Posada. In the 30 years they had travelled together, the only thing about Geralt that seemed to change was the number of scars on his body. He was as agile and strong as he had always been, the years had left no marks on him, despite him being more than 60 years older than Jaskier.

Jaskier on the other side was nearing his 50th birthday, and with increasing frequency he felt it, and this fact nagged at him more than he wanted to admit.

While Geralt had not aged in the slightest, Jaskier sometimes felt every bone in his body ache in the morning and he heard his joints creak and found new crow's feet in his face every once in a while when he stayed at court and saw his reflection in one of the monumental mirrors lining the walls. All these perceptions made it all too clear that Jaskier's lifetime would soon have passed, while Geralt still had many, many years ahead of him, without Jaskier. This left Jaskier not only sad but also angry most of the time. It was just not fair, and he wondered how Geralt felt about these facts. Yet, he had never dared to address it, maybe out of fear Geralt would for the first time realise that he would outlive Jaskier anyway and straight away start looking for a new love in his life to spend his coming years with.

Another chord went wrong and Jaskier cursed inwardly, forcing himself to stop this self-pitying and focus on his performance. He glanced at Geralt and immediately knew from the look on the Witcher's face that, of course, Geralt had heard the dissonance in Jaskier's playing. Where was Geralt's disinterest in fine arts when he needed it?

Jaskier played two more ballads before he decided to take a break. His audience was not quite as attentive and willing as he wished, they would probably not even notice if he paused.

"Thank you so much for lending me your willing ear, I'll take a short break and be back in a few minutes with more entertainment. If you have a spare coin, I wouldn't mind at all if you showed your appreciation for my performance by sending it my way," Jaskier said with a sweeping bow. "Thank you!"

The response of his audience was thrifty, but Jaskier was content. At least he had not been pelted with food or booed back to his room, though he was never sure if this wasn't simply owed to the fact that Geralt usually sat in a corner of the taproom during his performance.

Jaskier accepted a few coins on his way to the table where Geralt waited for him with an amused expression on his face.

"You're much too polite with your audience," Geralt said as soon as Jaskier had plonked down on the chair opposite the Witcher. "You really should consider demanding payment before you start your performance. I've told you often enough."

Before Jaskier could reply, a maid came and served them two bowls of a tasty smelling stew and bread, and a cup of beer for Jaskier.

"Thank you." Jaskier grabbed the tankard and immediately gulped down half of its content. His throat felt parched and he only now realised how thirsty he was. And hungry. He was grateful for the fact that Geralt seemed to have ordered a meal for them during his performance, with the obvious instruction to serve it as soon as Jaskier took a break.

Jaskier dug in heartily. The stew tasted surprisingly delicious and even the bread was not dry and stale but a freshly baked dark rye bread.

"The fine arts are nothing like the monster killing services you offer," Jaskier said eventually, pointing his index finger at Geralt to stress his next words. "You can ask for payment in advance, and not an insignificant amount either, because people need you to get rid of a menace they can't or don't dare to fight themselves. My singing is a service only courts and nobility are willing to commission and pay accordingly, sometimes, if at all. And it's not as easy to get such a commission as it is to find a monster you must kill. As for the rest of my troubadour life, I'm depending on the goodwill of people who share the same love and devotion to poetry and enchanting singing as I do. Or are too drunk to care. Sadly, that's not nearly enough to make a good living, but it reassures me that I have with my stunning and extraordinary performance at least reached every single one of those patrons who spare a coin."

"Hm," Geralt grunted, spooning his stew. "That's one way of putting it. I would have used less words, though." He grinned.

Again, Jaskier felt bad about how he had snapped at Geralt earlier, but he couldn't bring himself to apologise for it. Besides, he was sure Geralt had already forgotten about the harsh words. The Witcher had a way of letting insults and rude remarks bounce off of him without giving a toss about it. Usually Geralt was above these kind of things.

They ate in silence and once Jaskier had finished his stew and cup of beer, he decided to offer another performance to the crowd which had grown in the meantime.

Geralt ordered another beer and leaned back.

"You don't have to stay for my sake, Geralt. You can ask for a room and retire to bed, I'll follow when I'm finished here."

"I'm not tired," Geralt replied.

Jaskier waited for further explanations, but Geralt didn't make a move to speak on. "Oh, okay. Fine, then I'll, er, perform now and you can, ah, wait until I'm finished."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

During Jaskier's second round of entertaining the patrons, Geralt approached the innkeeper and asked for a room for the night. By the way the man looked at him Geralt could tell that he was suspicious of the fact that a bard and a witcher shared a room, but finally the innkeeper seemed to find it justifiable and handed Geralt a key in exchange for a few marks.

Geralt returned to the table in the corner and waited until Jaskier had collected and stowed away the reward for his singing. Then they made their way up to the room.

While Geralt just doffed his jacket, boots and breeches, carelessly dropping them on the floor before crawling into to bed, Jaskier took his time to undress himself, neatly pile his clothing on a stool and wash his face and upper body with the provided cold water.

"Do you want me to stoke the fire?" Geralt yawned, all the while thoroughly watching Jaskier's delicate back and the drops of water running down into the waistband of his underpants.

"No, thanks," Jaskier replied, grabbing a cloth beside the washing bowl to towel himself down. "I'm finished anyway."

Geralt watched Jaskier towel himself and then grab the tallow candle and make his way to the bed. He put the candle on the nightstand and blew it out before crawling into bed next to Geralt.

Geralt put his arm around the bard's waist and pulled him closer. To his surprise, Jaskier snuggled up to him and rested his head on Geralt's shoulder, between the crook of his arm and his chest.

"I'm tired," Jaskier murmured.

Geralt let his right hand, which had already been on its way to move further down, slide back up to Jaskier's waist.

"Sleep well," he said, breathing a light kiss on Jaskier's tousled hair. Geralt turned onto his back, cradling Jaskier with the arm the bard was lying on. It wasn't before long that Geralt felt Jaskier's calm breathing and steady heartbeat, indicating that the bard had fallen asleep.

Geralt, on the other hand, lay wide awake, pondering. As of late, he had seen Jaskier behave oddly when there was no reason and talk back to Geralt in a way the bard had never done before, especially without reason. At first, Geralt had thought nothing of it, but then it had happened again and again, and Geralt racked his brains if he was the reason for it, and why. Had he maybe forgotten something that was very important to Jaskier? Or was this the way humans became with age, crotchety and cantankerous? Or had something happened to the bard while they had been apart, something so painful or shameful that whenever Jaskier was reminded of it, he turned snappish to hide his embarrassment?

For a long time Geralt lay awake, fondly stroking the bard's back and trying to make sense of Jaskier's behaviour, but he found no answer.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Two weeks later

While Geralt was away to kill a Leshen in the forest between Dravograd and Hawkesburn, Jaskier took the opportunity to wash his spare clothes, tune the lute, replace a few strings, and work on a new melody. His mind, however, continuously drifted back to a remark Geralt had made a few days ago.

The weather had been good and warm and they had set up camp in the forest instead of riding on to find a shelter in the next hamlet. After a frugal dinner they had sat around the fireplace in silence and for a while each of them had stared into the flames, lost in thought. Geralt's soft voice had startled him and it had taken a moment until Jaskier's mind had grasped the meaning. Geralt had remarked on the glow of his skin and the colour of his hair and the shimmer in his eyes the changing light of the flicking flames painted. And how stunningly beautiful it looked. It had been a compliment, or rather a declaration of love. There was no mistaking what Geralt had wanted to express with his words, and Jaskier had temporarily been at a loss for words and stuttered nonsense in reply. However, as lovely and heart-warming these words were, it had hit the mark of Jaskier's greatest fear and only fuelled his doubts.

Ever since that night, Jaskier's thoughts continuously revolved around the fact that one day he would be too old and ugly and senile to be even considered if not handsome then at least passable. The beauty of his skin and hair and eyes that Geralt so admired and loved if Jaskier had read the Witcher's reaction right that evening, would soon be wrinkled, grey and lustreless. Would Geralt still consider him gorgeous and loveable? Certainly not, Jaskier thought bitterly. Maybe he was doing an injustice to Geralt, the Witcher had never remarked anything in that regard, but even if not, it could still be true. Either way, before long he would be dead anyway, and did he really expect Geralt would drag an old crock along on his travels, or even worse, nurse him in Kaer Morhen? He would not only be an obstacle but a millstone around Geralt's neck, and love was fugitive anyway.

Maybe, Jaskier debated with himself, it would be best if they didn't meet again next year after Geralt had spent winter in Kaer Morhen. Jaskier would dearly miss overwintering with Geralt in the witcher keep as he had done previously, but he could say he wanted to return to Oxenfurt for some time, for a reason he needed to think of later, and then not show up to their meeting point. The Continent, after wall, was huge, and there'd be enough space for both of them to travel and earn their keep and never meet again. The question, however, was whether Geralt would accept this easily without trying to find him.

Jaskier crossed out two lines he had written, they made no sense and didn't even rhyme.

He could send a note, telling Geralt that he had met someone. Or that he had returned to the Countess de Stael who desperately wanted him back and couldn't live without him at her side and who offered riches and lifelong support, and that he had accepted her offer. Geralt could remember Jaskier the way he used to know him, the way he had been on their decades-long travels, and then look for someone else. Someone with an equally long life expectancy who would not wither and die before the Witcher's eyes. That was probably the best for both of them.

The door to the taproom opened and Geralt walked in. It was barely noticeable that he had been in a fight with a monster, he was neither covered in blood and guts from head to toe nor did he show obvious wounds. Jaskier breathed a sigh of relief and closed his note pad, beckoning Geralt to his table. Immediately afterwards, he signalled to the innkeeper to bring them beer.

"Any problems?" Jaskier asked, closely looking Geralt up and down to check if he was really uninjured.

"No," Geralt grunted, unstrapping his swords from his back. He took a seat opposite Jaskier and as soon as the innkeeper had brought the beer, Geralt downed it in one.

Jaskier eyed Geralt closely and noticed a few beads of sweat that had gathered at the hairline and temple and a few strands of hair that had come loose from the small ponytail Geralt usually secured at the back of his head with a leather strap. The black leather clothing was covered with more dust than it had been before Geralt had left, and Jaskier also spotted a few spots of dirt on the silver sword. That was all the hints he could get that Geralt had just returned from killing a monster as Jaskier realised with relief. There were other times, not often but still, when Geralt returned with ripped clothes and gaping wounds and dark eyes, and every single time Jaskier worried greatly that Geralt would not recover.

"Are you hurt? I know it doesn't look like it, but just because there are no obvious wounds doesn't mean you didn't get stabbed with a poison sting or attacked with toxic spores or -"

"It was a Leshen," Geralt interrupted Jaskier's flow of speech, pointedly looking at him with a raised brow.

For Geralt, this statement apparently was enough of an explanation for why there was no reason to worry about possible injuries and Jaskier sighed audibly, resigning himself to his fate.

"Ah, a Leshen, that explains a lot. Not! I can't remember that you've ever fought or killed a Leshen before, at least not while we've been travelling together." Jaskier opened his notebook again, turning over to a new page. He dipped the quill into the inkpot. "What exactly is a Leshen? What species? Are they mean, dangerous, big, hideous, men-eating? How do you fight them? How long-"

Jaskier was silenced by Geralt with a quick gesture of the hand. "Stop it! I'll give a detailed account later, but now I'm hungry and then I'd like to take a bath." He turned to catch the innkeeper's attention and order a meal. "Have you eaten already?" Geralt asked, turning his head halfway back to Jaskier.

Jaskier opened his mouth to answer but then the words he had meant to utter got stuck in his throat. His eyes widened with shock when he recognised the person who was just now walking through the door, looking around searchingly.

Shit!

Apparently he had made some kind of gurgling noise or cry of astonishment or something, because Geralt turned back to Jaskier and eyed him suspiciously. "What's wrong?" he asked with an undertone of worry. "Is the food that bad or have you just seen a wraith?"

No, what Jaskier had seen strolling through the door was not a wraith, but a being far more terrible, if you asked him.

"Jaskier, what's wrong?" Geralt asked again impatiently and finally turned to follow the bard's gaze.

Jaskier tore his eyes away from Yennefer and even though he saw only the profile of the Witcher's face, he could pinpoint the exact moment Geralt's eyes caught sight of the sorceress. Everything in Geralt's face changed; the exhausted and absent-minded mien brightened up and he beamed at Yennefer, his whole posture changed and Jaskier wondered if his own appearance had ever caused a similar reaction with the Witcher.

Jaskier cursed the bad timing that of all towns and kingdoms on the Continent, Yennefer of Vengerberg had to turn up exactly here and now. If it were up to him, he would have been able to happily live without meeting Yenn ever again in his life, especially if he was in company of Geralt. Or, to be precise, he'd been perfectly able to live without Geralt ever seeing Yenn again. His age-old jealousy of the sorceress flared up in his guts, more intensely than ever before.

Yenn's searching eyes detected them and she sashayed over to their table, with a quick gesture ordering the two men in her company to stay behind.

"Geralt," Yenn purred once she stood immediately in front of the Witcher. "What a nice surprise to meet you here. Are you following me around?"

"Yenn," Geralt replied with a warm timbre in his voice, and with the single word he not only responded to her greeting and answered the rhetorical question, but made unmistakeably clear how delighted he was to see her.

The sting of jealousy dug itself deeper into Jaskier's guts.

"Yennefer, how nice, not to say unfortunate to meet you here," Jaskier said with dry sarcasm, his voice sounding hoarse and hollow.

Yennefer, who had not yet spared a single glance for the bard and was just beaming at Geralt, slowly turned her head. "Jaskier. Apparently you're still following Geralt like the good puppy you are. Aren't you getting too old for a life on the road?"

Jaskier snorted angrily, glowering at the sorceress. "Haha," he replied lamely. "Yeah, well, and your jokes are... not getting any younger, either."

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, bard. It only adds crow's feet to your eyes and worry lines to your brow. Someone who ages biologically should bear that in mind."

"That's-!" Jaskier stuttered, momentarily lost for words. "That's rude! Who should I be jealous of anyway?"

Yennefer just looked at him mockingly before turning back to Geralt without paying further attention to the bard.

Internally, Jaskier boiled with rage. For someone who was as linguistically talented as he was it was just outright ridiculous how much he lacked the appropriate words in Yennefer's presence. What was even more worrying, though, was how much she enjoyed having fun at the bard's expanses. Jaskier was convinced she knew exactly how much Geralt meant to him and how much her words and behaviour hurt him. She was beguiling Geralt probably only for that reason.

And Geralt allowed it to happen, which made it even worse.

Jaskier was torn between whether he should just get up and leave, or stay and watch the drama unfold at close range. Yennefer made herself comfortable beside Geralt, and Jaskier resigned himself to his fate and stayed. He was looking for an opportunity to drive a wedge between Yenn and Geralt. Or at least to upset Yennefer with a witty remark.

Alas, it didn't go as well as Jaskier had hoped.

Like a third wheel, Jaskier sat in front of his untouched stew, watching Geralt and Yenn. They both seemed to have completely forgotten that he was still there. From Yennefer he hadn't expected anything else, she always treated him like he wasn't there at all, but it hurt that Geralt only acknowledged his contribution to their conversation with an absent-minded Hmm, if at all. The Witcher couldn't take his eyes off the sorceress, and the growing sexual tension between them was palpable. Jaskier told himself it was due to the spell Yenn had cast on Geralt all those years ago, something to do with gooseberries and lilac, and even he could smell that typical scent belonging to Yennefer, though it had no effect on Jaskier at all. But it hurt nonetheless that Geralt had only eyes for Yennefer and was practically undressing her with his eyes while his stew and bread went unregarded despite the fact that Geralt had been very hungry before Yenn had appeared on the scene.

"Erm," Jaskier harrumphed at last, rising. "I guess I'll take a nap." He almost expected to receive no reaction at all and pondered if he should just slip away unnoticed or repeat his statement. But then Geralt actually turned his head and looked at him with an expression of surprise.

"Are you unwell? It's not even early evening yet."

Jaskier heard a hint of concern and astonishment in Geralt's voice, nearly making him reconsider his decision to leave. He had expected to be ignored like he had been for the past half hour and that his departure would go unnoticed anyway.

"Er, yeah, I- It seems I've developed a headache," Jaskier stuttered, pointedly staring at Yennefer. "I feel a sudden urge to throw up and, er, have a lie-down. Can't imagine what could've caused me an upset stomach."

Geralt frowned but then he got distracted by Yennefer's laugh, clear and sparkling like a mountain stream on a spring morning.

"He's not nearly half your age Geralt and yet he needs his afternoon nap. Bear with him, he's only human."

Jaskier growled in a way only the Witcher usually did, earning himself another concerned look from Geralt.

"Jaskier," the Witcher said but was interrupted when Yennefer leaned forward and whispered something into Geralt's ear.

Jaskier saw a display of warring emotions flashing over Geralt's face, and he could pinpoint the exact moment when he had lost the Witcher's attention, and Yennefer had won. He sighed and left the table.

No one looked after him when he crossed the taproom.

A/N

Based on an interesting analysis of "Her sweet kiss" I read on the internet and which you can find here post/611117366607216640/her-sweet-kiss-a-short-analysis I'd like to think that Jaskier is the "I" in the song. It has been established in songs such as 'Toss a Coin to Your Witcher' that Jaskier frequently writes from his own perspective and his songs frequently portray Geralt as their protagonist. It can plausibly be argued that 'Her Sweet Kiss' is both autobiographical and includes Geralt as a key character. - 'You/Garrotter' - the love interest of the narrator and also addressed as 'My Love' and 'Fool' - can be connected with Geralt e.g. through the scene featuring Marilka in the episode 'The End's Beginning' when she points out 'Geralt… like Garrotter?'. Also, 'Garrotter' is a term for a killer, symbolic of Geralt's employment. Jaskier himself points out that the 'metaphor' may be too 'cerebral', indicating the need to interpret the line figuratively rather than literally. - 'Her'- the rival for the narrators love interest – is a woman described as a destructive and unjust force, using wild, nature-based metaphors such as 'storms' and 'currents' to describe her 'love'. Sounds very much like Yennefer...

The Witcher/Wiedźmin is property of Andrzej Sapkowski (books) and Netflix (show). I only borrowed the characters of the show for this work of fan fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.