Mae govannen!

I hope whoever is taking the time to read this is enjoying it ;) I won't blab on too much- so without further ado:

again: WARNING: do not read if you don't ship Geralt and Jaskier! There will be plenty more Witcher fanfictions coming from my pen- this is just the way this one decided to go ;)

Disclaimer: i own nothing of this universe!

And please reveiw!

enjoy! ;)

Geralt wasn't quite sure why he had decided to become Jaskier's friend. It had sort of just...happened. As most things generally do; with no explanation as to why the new complication had come striding casually into his life- and had then remained there.

It had been a winter's night, near on a year ago now. The sky dusted with falling flakes of snow, the roads slick with black ice. People had been out doing what they normally did to pass the cold gloom of winter evenings- party and drink. Both done inside, where the fires were warm. Geralt had been out walking the streets, black, silver-studded leather coat flaring about his knees as his heavy steel-capped boots crunched through the thin crust of snow icing the sidewalk. The wind was a butcher's carving knife- digging into him with a vengeance he was unsure he deserved, golden eyes narrow against the drifting specks of white. Novigrad City had a certain majesty to it in the months of chill. Not that many saw it. Nor appreciated it. It was a raw, cool, cruel beauty- like the stillness of a new corpse- frozen in death.

Or perhaps Geralt was just being morbid.

On that evening, something made him stop. A slight sound perhaps. Or it could even have been a premonition. Witchers were known to get them from time to time...effects of the mutagens they were injected with. The twisting of their DNA. Or so Vesimir believed, anyway.

But be that as it may, that eve Geralt hesitated. And as he stood still, he became aware of the light tread of running feet speeding closer. Regretting leaving his blade behind, he turned, scowling, prepared to employ a more natural means of attack (his fists) and was just in time to behold a young man before said personage ran headlong into his chest. The force drew a grunt of surprise from him, driving him a step back, and his accidental attacker bounced off the larger man, gasping for breath. He had a boyish face, one that was flushed with fear and exertion. A long, maroon-colored peacoat clothed his narrow frame, paired with worn leather boots and long flaring pants the hue of dull gold. It was such a startling display, that Geralt blinked a few times before he finally growled, "What are you playing at?"

The young man ( he was probably the same age as Geralt... if perhaps a bit younger) quailed under the heat of the Witcher's golden eyes, backing away slightly from the imposing man. "I...i'm really sorry." Geralt frowned at the tone of anxiety in the voice. Something wasn't right. "I didn't see you- really, I never meant to-"

"Oi! Ya' fruitcake! Come back here!"

In one flinch, Geralt saw the problem. "Am i to understand these men chasing you are of the unaccepting sort?" A nod was his reply.

"I should go-"

It was too late. Geralt saw the two bruisers that came hurrying round the corner, faces red with drink, small eyes stars of malice. He had seen it all before, and he'd be damned if he was going to stand by and let it happen again. "Gentlemen. I suggest you move on."

Perhaps it was the ice in his tone, but they paused. Only for a moment. Then the larger of the two came forwards, sneering. "Ya'll wanna help him? Not smart, boy."

Geralt angled his head, an ugly smile on his face. He took the step that placed him in front of the young man, who was too exhausted to run further. His enhanced hearing could detect the pounding of the victim's heart, and anger simmered to life in Geralt's chest. "Call me boy again, I dare you."

Geralt made people uncomfortable. It was the sense of otherness about him- the witcher serum that coursed in his veins. The inhuman way he moved. It also helped that, even though he was only twenty-seven, he had the height and strong build of a man far beyond his years. Now, the two men glanced at each other, and suddenly the larger took a fast swing at Geralt's face. It never hit, for the Witcher had caught the offending appendage mid swing, and bent it back with a vicious jerk. The bone broke with a sharp snap, and the man howled.

"Ya' broke my fuckin' arm!"

"I'll break more if you hang around," spat the white-haired Witcher, golden eyes molten with anger. He lent into the man's face and, baring his teeth, he hissed, "So fuck off, if you know what's good for you."

They needed no persuading after that. Geralt snorted derisively before turning to the young man. His large blue eyes were wide in surprise and shock.

"Should i have hit them?"

"What?" said the young man weakly.

"Did they strike you?"

"Oh. No. I'm fast- they didn't get the chance." The young man shivered, tugging his coat tighter about him. "I mean, they would have if they'd...God. I...I can't thank you enough..." he gave a sheepish smile. "You're quite scary, you know. Remind me never to make you mad."

That drew a chuckle from Geralt. "Regardless of what you just saw, i don't actually have a bad temper."

"Fooled me." The young man held out a hand. "Jaskier."

The Witcher shook it. "Geralt."

"You have my thanks." He was as sincere as he could be but Geralt groaned. "What?"

"You're a bloody singer." It could be heard in the eloquence of the speech. The honey smooth voice didn't help either.

"I am." Jaskier frowned. "Is that a bad thing?"

Geralt laughed. "I suppose not." If drama and flair were something you liked. "You're gay, aren't you? That was why-"

"Yeah. Just because i'm proud of who i am doesn't mean every Harriet, Joe, and Porky are. Prejudiced shits." Jaskier flipped the bird down the way the men had fled, now scowling. "Cowards."

"Says the man that was running..." needled Geralt with a smirk. Jaskier stuck out his tongue and Geralt reciprocated. "You in a hurry?"

"Nooooooo?" Jaskier squinted at him, suspicious. "Why?"

"I was planning to go for a drink. You look like you could do with something."

"God, that sounds wonderful. Something strong, though."

"I think we can manage."

From that moment on, be it unspoken or no, Geralt stood by Jaskier in thick and thin. Friendship was new to him, but it grew on him quickly. And while the singer could be annoying, he was always there for the Witcher- as Geralt was for him. In short- both parties concerned were content with the arrangement.

...on the other hand, nothing lasts forever...

Jaskier knew the friendship code as well as the next person. That being said, he was assuming that this hypothetical 'next person' had friends. Which was why he was berating himself on the morning of his party.

"You fucking idiot! Why did you have to go and complicate things?"

"He didn't bother answering himself. He'd never stoop that low. Besides, he really already knew what had done it. A romantic such as himself dreamed of the famed knight in shining armour...he had just never expected to fall for his saviour.

To be honest; he wasn't even sure if Geralt was like him anyway. Be that gay or deeply in love. Take your pick. But the Code said that falling in love with a friend was a no-no.

So he was well and truly screwed.

"Uhgh, fuuuuuucck it." Jaskier flopped down onto his bed, emerald shirt undone, and tore a hand through his short hazel hair. He threw an arm over his face and let out a great sigh. Why had this had to happen? It was the fault of that stupid heart of his. Though he had discovered that chiding said organ was fruitless. It refused to change its mind.

So, yep. Screwed.

Not that he'd ever tell Geralt. Just the thought made him wince. He would never do anything to risk loosing his friend. If that meant he would have to suffer in silence...then so be it. He had gotten quite good at it by now; hiding what he felt when the white-haired fiend was around. It was lucky, thank God, that Geralt wasn't the quickest thinker alive. He could also be rather oblivious. Jaskier thanked his lucky stars and then dragged himself up off the bed, doing up his shirt and draping a silver scarf around his shoulders. It was sunny again- he could see as much through his window.

He slipped on his sandals, scrubbing at his face with a hand as he made his way into the kitchen. Essi Daven (also known as Little Eye), an old friend, would be over later to assist with preparations. (Though he was starting to assume that she was only in it to meet Geralt). The morning stretched out before him. Four solid hours with nothing to do except bemoan his sorry plight.

Essi would probably laugh once she knew. "Really, Jask, you have the uncanny knack for trouble!" she would say.

He would have to be content with grumbling.

He might have had more luck with thoughts of Geralt if it had not been for the woman he'd seen, walking arm in arm with his friend the other week. She'd been a beauty- small and slender, with a nebula of thick, black waves for tresses, and cool, dark violet eyes. There had been a feel of danger about her- the same that Jaskier often felt when he was near Geralt. Her form graceful under a stylish black and white dress. They had been laughing together, her hand on his arm, smiles bright.

And he was happy for them...he was!...just a bit...disappointed.

He's led up to a remark about her the next time they had met, but Geralt was annoyingly vague. Merely saying that her name was Yennefer, though he called her Yen, and that they had known each other for a very long time.

There was another woman in Geralt's life too- a certain Triss Marigold. A red-head who loved to dress in the color green. She seemed a delightful young woman- funny and full of smiles- when Geralt had introduced her to Jaskier. She had become another close friend, quickly fitting in with Jaskier's other close pals.

He startled as his phone rang, the room filling with the sound of Rosewater Murder singing 'Just give me a chance'. Maybe he was being nostalgic...until his eye caught the caller ID. Then he laughed at the irony that was life.

Geralt

"Helloooooo?" He knew Geralt hated it when he answered the phone like that. Sure enough, he heard a irritated snort. "This is Jaskier his Magnificence speaking."

"You have no shame," rumbled Geralt's deep bass tenor over the line. He sounded exasperated.

"I beg to differ. I have a natural flair! Why would I waste such a gift by letting it fall into disuse?"

"Can you refrain from spouting nonsense for a moment? I had a question to ask you."

"Ask away!"

"The party- is it your birthday? You never mentioned."

"Oh." Jaskier laughed. "No- it's just a get-together. Why?"

"Just wondering." Geralt paused, listening to someone yelling in the background. "Excuse me-" he muttered, before bellowing, "No, Lambert, I did not hide your knives!"

"Ah fuck, Geralt! Who has them then?"

"Well I don't!"

Jaskier was expiring with laughter when Geralt apologised and bid him goodbye, saying he would see him later.

With a last chuckle, Jaskier set his phone down on the mantle piece, before pouring himself some cold coffee from the kettle. After adding cream and a pinch of sugar, he ditched the scarf and set to work preparing for Essi's arrival.

It was going to be a long morning...