Jaskier had been feeling antsy for almost the entire day now. He didn't exactly know when it started, but as he looked at the apple Geralt had handed him in lieu of lunch, he suddenly realised that his insides were shaking and he was not at all hungry.

"There's a town three hours north." Geralt announced as Jaskier was contemplating the implications of his ever-growing anxiety.

"Ah! Lovely! An actual bed to sleep in tonight!" He tried to measure his voice, but he knew Geralt could hear the artificiality of it. He had never been a very good actor.

"Hm."

As they travelled in uncharacteristic silence, Jaskier's antsy feelings only grew and grew. Instead of becoming louder, as he usually did when he was nervous, he turned almost as quiet as the stoic Witcher himself.

"You okay bard?"

"What? Oh! Just looking at these beautiful trees, and all those-" Jaskier's voice broke as he suddenly realised that alongside the path grew "buttercups." Fuck.

"You sure you're okay?"

"I'm sure!" Jaskier was sure he was not okay, and he did not know who he was trying to get to believe otherwise.

/ / /

"Fae." Geralt grumbled before the bard could even ask what the new contract was. "Been stealing the grain. Poisoning the cattle. The mayor's wife is about to give birth, they're fearing a changeling."

"Aha." Jaskier just replied. "Are you waiting till tomorrow?"

"Sun's still up for another few hours. Might as well try to find them now."

"Yes. Right. Well. I'll just. Wait here for you to come back. Don't step in any circles, okay?"

And off the bard went, waving his lute questioningly at the innkeeper. Geralt rose an eyebrow, surprised that Jaskier hadn't insisted on coming along, as he usually did. Not that he minded. When the little town's mayor had told him about the village's problems, Geralt had dreaded the prospect convincing Jaskier to stay behind almost as much as he was dreading fulfilling the contract. Not that he was going to complain, dealing with those damned Fae would be enough of a bother without the ever-blabbering Jaskier digging himself into holes he would not be able to climb out of. Still, weird. The sharp smell of anxiety hadn't left the bard since early that morning, and Geralt made a mental note to keep a closer eye on him. Just to make sure he stayed okay. Not because they were friends , but, well, Geralt couldn't imagine that an anxious bard could earn a lot of coin. And winter was coming up, and Geralt wasn't so heartless as to leave Jaskier for the winter without any sort of security that the man would be okay. Not that he spent his time in Kaer Morhen worrying about the bard. No, they weren't even friends.

/ / /

The Fae were not hard to find. Geralt had stumbled upon the first circle less than half an hour after leaving the village, meaning they had been living there for longer than the mayor had insinuated. Which also, Geralt realised, meant it would be more difficult to make them leave. He grunted and grabbed one of the sugar cubes he usually reserved for Roach, tossing it into the grass in the middle of the circle of blooming dandelions. A voice like the softest bells immediately replied.

"Witcher! Our Queen has been expecting you!"

Their Queen. That explained the proximity to the village. If the Court was big enough that it was ruled by a Queen rather than a Lady, it was properly able to defend itself against angry, overconfident villagers.

"What an honour," Geralt grunted sarcastically.

"She's straight ahead," the little fairy, a tiny green thing, pointed. "Take a right at the Oak, she's waiting near the buttercups."

The creature said the final word as if they were supposed to mean something to him. He supposed they did. The bard's clothes always had a buttercup pattern. Not that he had been staring at the bard, no. He had just noticed it whilst repairing one of Jaskier's doubles. Just to stop his whining, not because he cared. He was just a nuisance, making his life more difficult every step of the way.

Ignoring the fairy's pointed look and carefully manoeuvring around the circle, Geralt made his way to the promised Queen.

/ / /

"You're back early! I don't suppose the Fae were incredibly forthcoming and ready to move immediately?" There almost seemed to be hope in the bard's voice.

"No." He sighed. "They want payment."

"Of course they do. And surely they weren't as forthcoming as to actually tell you what they want?"

"They were."

"Wait what?" the surprise in Jaskier's voice was genuine. "Since when does m- a Fae Queen clearly state what she wants? That makes it suspiciously easy."

"How did you know there was a Queen?"

"What did she want? Honey? Fish? Coin?" Jaskier pointedly ignored the question.

"True love's kiss."

"What." Geralt almost wished he could have a painting made of the stunned look on the bard's face. Just because it looked so funny, not because it made the bright blue eyes stand out gorgeously, not because it emphasised the beautiful curve of the young man's eyebrows, not because- Geralt quickly shook his head.

"She wants me to kiss my true love. Or, alternatively, she wants me to deliver her son home."

"Ah. So. Great, I'll- I'll go get my stuff. Leave you to- to find Yennefer."

"Why would I try to find Yennefer?"

"You just said 'true love'?"

The Witcher rolled his eyes. "Yennefer is not my true anything. Now, did you see any suspicious adult men here during your performance?"

"Did I what now ?"

Geralt started humming.

"Geralt! Are you singing?! And not even one of my songs?"

"Sh! I'm trying to remember..." And, to Jaskier's flabbergasted surprise, the Witcher started to softly sing.

"Twenty years he's come and gone, in winters lies he here.

But now, my child, the time is come, for him he holds so dear

to say the truth, or lose his love, the lute will let you see

my son, at last, should travel home with him he loves or me,

to him he loves or me."

Jaskier stared at him, eyes and mouth wide open. "You can sing. "

"That's not the point, Jask-"

"You. Can. Sing!" The bard now truly sounded offended. "And you say that's not the point? Geralt, How many times have I tried to get you to sing along with my songs? My ballads? And not even just in public! You refused to sing when we were sitting next to a campfire gods knows where-"

"Jaskier!"

"I have to say Geralt, if I knew it took a meeting with m- with a Fae to get you to sing I would have-"

"Your lute," Geralt interrupted. "The lute should reveal the fairy prince. Did you see anyone strange whilst I was gone?"

"You can sing."

"Anyone in the audience? Jaskier, please."

"Nobody in the audience looked out of the ordinary, Geralt. And I doubt that the fairy prince would calmly stop to listen to music so near to his mother's court."

"The Queen said that she knew her son was in the village. We have to ask around, see if anyone here disappears during winters. That must be something people notice."

"You'd be surprised," Jaskier laughed, and Geralt couldn't help but detect a bit of bitterness in the bard's voice. "But if you're so insistent, I've been asked to perform again when everyone has put their children to bed. So you can sit there and endlessly wait till your medallion starts vibrating or whatever, but I am pretty sure it won't. There will be no fairy princes in the audience tonight."

/ / /

There were no fairy princes in the audience that night. Instead of staying hidden in the shadows, Geralt had wandered through the inn during Jaskier's performance, carefully observing the guests. He had spoken with the innkeeper, the mayor, a few women who were all too willing to gossip about the ins and outs of everyone in the village, but he had heard nothing that could help. He kept thinking about the words the Queen had sung. The time had come for someone to say the truth? Who? The person the prince held dear? The prince himself? And why would the prince lose that person if the truth wasn't spoken? He stared blankly as Jaskier carefully wiped the lute down, inspecting it for any potential damages. The lute will let you see.

"Jaskier."

"Oh, are you done brooding?"

"I need to borrow your lute."

"Wait, are you telling me you cannot only sing, but also play? Twenty years we have been travelling together, twenty long years and-"

"Not to play. To see. "

"Listen Geralt, if you don't know the difference between glasses and an instrument I don't know what to-"

"The song, Jaskier. It says the lute will let me see the prince, so maybe I have to hold the lute."

The bard looked at him doubtfully.

"I won't let any harm befall it. I know how important it is for you, Jaskier. I promise I won't damage it. I will protect it like- Like I protect Roach."

"Fine. But if you-"

"If something happens to it, I will do everything in my power to repair or replace it. I swear."

"Good." Jaskier bit his lip. "And make sure you return it before dinner. This is a well-paying crowd."

/ / /

Geralt felt like a fool, wandering through the village holding Jaskier's lute. It didn't help that the lute wasn't helping. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, nobody knew of anyone disappearing during winters, and, as far as he could track, there were no secret lovers either. So he did the only thing he could think of, and, lute in hand, walked back into the forest.

This time it took even less to find the fairy Queen. She seemed to be waiting for him, unsurprised that he came alone.

"You brought the lute."

Geralt nodded. "I am sorry, your highness, but I have been unable to find your son. If you could but tell me how he looks li-"

"Give it to me."

"What?"

"The lute. Give it to me."

"It is not mine to give."

The Queen smiled and waved her hand. "Don't worry, Witcher, I know how much it means to the one it belongs to. He will get it back." Geralt just looked at her. "He will get it back, whole, undamaged, in the exact state as it is now, before sunset." the Queen specified. "I mean no harm to your bard."

"He's not my-"

"The lute, Witcher."

Geralt sighed and, carefully not to enter the circle, handed the lute to the brown-haired lady.

/ / /

She did not break it. She did not enchant it, or cut its strings, or anything else. Instead, she played. One of Jaskier's songs, Geralt recognised it. Not that he listened to the bard when he played, he tried to tune it out most of the time, but it wasn't like he was completely able to avoid hearing the endless stream of music that joined him every place he went. After that song was done she played another, and another, and another. All of them written by Jaskier. She did not sing, though some of her servants would hum the occasional line or dance along.

It was getting late when Geralt spoke again. "You are a talented player, Lady, but I promised I would return this instrument to its owner before dinnertime. I could fetch you another lute from the village, if you want?" He knew from experience that even slightly antagonising a Fae court would make his task of getting them to leave exponentially more difficult.

"Ah, no, I think I like this lute better. It carries memories, you know," she replied, continuing to play. Geralt was surprised at how suspiciously amiable this entire contract had gone. Any other Fae would have deviously tried to trick him by now, or forcibly dragged him into the circle. "Besides, the lute is not yours. I will return it to him who owns it."

Fuck.

"You want me to fetch Jaskier."

"Oh, there is no need for that. He is already on his way. He is pretty pissed, Witcher."

/ / /

The moment the words left the Queen's mouth, Geralt heard the distant footsteps of the bard. He indeed sounded angry, but, as Jaskier came closer, Geralt noticed he smelled more of fear than of fury. Geralt frowned. Jaskier was never afraid. Sure, he would be scared of husbands he cuckolded, or the monsters Geralt fought, but never scared like this.

"What the fuck, Geralt. I lend you my lute, you promised you would keep it safe, and you hand it over to someone else? A Fae Queen? Are you mad? Are you short of a few marbles? A few thousand marbles, perhaps?"

"Hello, Julian." The Queen said, before Geralt could say anything in defence of his actions. "You know I won't ever let any harm come to your instrument."

"I know m- I know. But he didn't!"

"I promised him I would not harm the instrument, and I promised that you would have it back by sunset. He had no reason not to give the lute to me."

"He still should not have. Give it back."

"Come and get it."

"Why now? Why like this?"

"It's been twenty years, Julian. It's time. And since you refuse to do it, I am forcing your hand. He has to know. You're being unfair to him by keeping silent. He will discover someday, anyway. You have to make a choice, either reveal it now, voluntarily, or I will force you."

"Fine." And before Geralt could say anything, before he could step forward, grab Jaskier and drag him away, Jaskier stepped headfirst into the fairy circle and grabbed his lute from the Queen's outstretched hand.

/ / /

He didn't die. Or faint. Or grow old rapidly. Jaskier just stood there, next to the Fae Queen, cradling his lute, and nothing changed. Geralt blinked. That was not true. Something did change. He became a little taller. His ears were a little bit more pointy. His smile a little wider, and everything about him became more regal than any king Geralt had ever seen.

"What. The. Fuck, Jaskier."

"Geralt," the bard said, with a mocking bow, "meet my mum. Mum, Geralt. Though you already knew that." He stepped out of the circle, still firmly clutching his lute, and Jaskier became, well, Jaskier again. Not that he had ever not been Jaskier, but still.

Geralt just stared.

"I am sorry Geralt, I wanted to tell you, I really did, but I didn't know you, and then Filavandrel gave me this lute, and- and I just sort of started following you, and- You never even admitted I was your friend! The only time we ever talked about Fae you just told me you thought all of them were cheating bastards!" Geralt winced. "Yennefer never told you? I am sure she knew. And- I mean, I never aged! We have been travelling for two decades and I still look as young as when we first met! Do you mean to tell me you never noticed?"

"I thought- Your salves and-"

"Those can't completely stop someone from ageing! I-" Jaskier's voice suddenly went from exasperated to really quiet. "I'm sorry. I'll go grab my stuff from the inn. Don't worry, I'll make sure no Fae will ever harm you. I- I'll see you in a bit, mum." And with those words, Jaskier turned away and left.

/ / /

"He did want to tell you, you know." The Queen's voice sounded from behind him. "He was just afraid of losing you. I hoped this would give you two a push in the right direction, but it seemed like I was wrong."

"Jaskier's a faery?"

"Jaskier is my son. He is High Prince of the Summer Court, and will inherit my throne in a couple of centuries."

"Centuries? He is immortal?"

"As long as he doesn't get himself into too much trouble, yes, he is."

"Jaskier's immortal. He won't die." Geralt stared in the direction the bard had disappeared in as his brain and heart rapidly embraced feelings had refused to acknowledge for the past twenty years.

"He has lived for over six hundred years, and he will live at least another ten times that."

Geralt ran.

/ / /

By the time he arrived at the inn, Jaskier had already packed his belongings and was saying goodbye to Roach. "Jaskier!"

"I'm sorry Geralt."

"I love you."

There was a loud twang as Jaskier's prized lute hit the ground.

"I love you. And I didn't tell you, and I didn't tell myself, and- I thought you would die, Jaskier! I thought you would die, and leave me here, and it was easier just to pretend I didn't like you than to admit it and see you grow old and leave-" Geralt's words were cut off as the bard's, his bard's, lips hit his. The smell of flowers, the taste of honey, the soft touch of Jaskier's hand on his cheek- It was beautiful and gorgeous and real.

"You don't hate me? For keeping this secret so long?"

Geralt just shook his head and kissed.

/ / /

The village's cattle were safe, in the end. So was the harvest, and the mayor's child, or any other baby born, for that matter. The Witcher had fulfilled his contract and received his coin, and by the time a young Oxenfurt graduate passed through the village singing a song of a white-haired Witcher and his Faery love, the people had long forgotten about their own encounter with the White Wolf of Rivia. It was not like they could know that every winter, Kaer Morhen bloomed wild with tiny, yellow flowers. Or that, every summer solstice, the Fae Queen's celebrations were attended by a witcher. Or that, for many, many, many years to come, a humble bard and a friend to humanity, with rings on their fingers, would travel the Continent, never leaving the other's side.