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“The dragons are what ?!” Geralt growled.
“They’re, uhm, doing it on purpose ,” Jaskier repeated. “They treat it a bit like live theatre. We're mumming for dragons, essentially.”
“So you haven’t ever been in real danger?”
“Not really, and neither have you.”
“Fucking hells, Jaskier, why didn’t you tell me any sooner?” the Witcher snapped. “I was so fucking worried about you!”
“I’m sorry for being secretive about this,” the bard stood, cupping Geralt’s face in his hands. “But the first couple times it happened I wasn’t sure exactly how friendly they were going to be. I only just figured out that they wouldn’t eat me immediately for not complying with their rules.”
The Witcher glowered but nodded in understanding. “Alright. What if it happens again?”
“Oh, it will most certainly happen again. The next dragon should be popping by any day now. What’s it been, a month? Nearly two?”
“Nearly two and a half,” Geralt corrected, frowning deeply. “So they must be planning something big. Something... annoying.”
“At least the reward promises to be large as well,” the bard said, smiling sheepishly. Then he bit his lip and stared off into the distance, relaxing his features into that puppy-dog expression Geralt 'secretly' enjoyed so much, “And I just wonder what outfit I’ll have to wear this time around. Aramaris said her brother was partial to silk.”
Those words in particular made the Witcher’s face flush and Jaskier knew he’d won the argument.
“I guess I can let the charade continue,” Geralt grumbled. “If they’re paying us this much coin and you’re not in any actual danger.”
“None at all, my love. And it's nice to know you'd always come to save me. It's rather sexy.”
“Hmm.”
Jaskier had been right. Not even a full week later the bard was carried off from their camp in the middle of the day by an enormous gold-scaled dragon, who left behind a note (complete with an elaborate wax seal) detailing the hidden location of the bard’s newest prison.
That prison turned out to be a rather lovely if somewhat abandoned villa near the sea, with one enormous ivory tower still carefully maintained and standing solid. The dragon set Jaskier on a grassy knoll outside the door and landed next to him as quietly as any bird settling on a branch. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
“You’re talking out loud! In common!” the bard clapped, bouncing with excitement on the balls of his feet. The dragon huffed out a puff of amused smoke.
“Yes, bard. You are correct on both accounts.”
“Oh, that’s right. Silly me! Golden dragons can transform into humans, right?”
“Correct again, my friend. It’s nice to finally meet you, by the way. My name is Vertos the Shimmering, brother of Borch Three Jackdaws. Though we rarely speak as often as we'd like, unfortunately. Thus is the way of my kind.”
“I am Jaskier, bard to the White Wolf,” Jaskier bowed deeply, as he would have done for a King or perhaps a god if he ever met one. Vertos chuckled deeply and closed his scaly eyes. Jaskier watched with growing wonder as he transformed from an enormous lizard into a handsome middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and kind green eyes.
“Borch’s younger brother, mind you,” the dragon winked. “Same nest and all that but I hatched a little after him. Now, would you care to have some dinner and perhaps a glass or two of wine? I only have the finest in my cellars and it’s so rare for a guest to share it with me.”
“I would be honored to sup with you, My Lord,” Jaskier bowed again. Vertos put a hand on his shoulder and stood him up, smiling broadly the whole time.
“Don’t be formal with me just because I can take on a human shape,” the dragon admonished gently. “I wish to have as much fun as my friends and kinsmen did in regards to your Witcher and his daring rescue.”
“I take it that you have a plan?” Jaskier asked, allowing himself to be led into the deceptively crumbly building (the inside was immaculately cared for) and through the front hall.
“Yes! A rather elaborate one, I'm afraid. I've had months to plan and I may have let it get out of hand, a bit. I’ve had certain items and set pieces… commissioned. I’ve even had a little stage built for our grand performance! Come, Master Jaskier, and let me show you around my domain!”
Jaskier was endlessly glad that he’d told Geralt about the dragons and their little game. There wasn’t an ounce of guilt in his body as Vertos gave him a tour of the castle and laid out his fantastical plot for Jaskier’s peril. Geralt would definitely be challenged this time and so would Jaskier, for that matter. It really was elaborate, and it required him to put in a bit of physical effort.
“Oh and your outfit, ” the dragon clapped excitedly, escorting him towards the dining room. “Wait until you see it. Aramaris told you all about my penchant for silk, didn’t they?”
“It may have been mentioned once or twice in passing,” the bard grinned.
“Well, wait until you see what this particular weave of silk looks like when it’s wet. ”
“Geralt is probably going to cry.”
“Wonderful! Truly, I cannot wait to meet your handsome witcher. I've heard such wonderful things from my brethren. Anyway, you’ll also have to help play judge for the outfit I have picked out for myself. I ate a rather rude prince once who was carrying a fantastic traveling trunk with him. I’ve been waiting ages to break out some of his more dramatic pieces of armor.”
“So what’s the angle we’re going for during this performance?” Jaskier asked, ever the professional. He could sense Vertos' excitement overtaking him, as any good artist's often does, and pulled the conversation back to solid ground.
“Ah, right, the plan . It’s all very exciting and I feel that it would be better explained over dinner…”
Vertos’ plot was exactly the type of romantically erotic nonsense that Jaskier had once pined over at Oxenfurt, reading naughty books by candlelight in his dorm, dreaming of the handsome protagonists and fair maidens. This gig with the dragons was a literal dream come true. As he was led into the tower's central chamber, he let his gaze wander. Vertos interrupted by jogging his elbow gently and grinning.
“You’ll be over in there,” the dragon gestured to the left. Jaskier’s gaze landed on an enormous, elevated hourglass at the center of the circular room. It was empty of sand, for obvious reasons, and looked to be of excellent make, “Water will pour in through the top like a waterfall to get the silk all wet and slowly fill the hourglass. It’s very gentle, I promise. One of my servants volunteered to test it out and he said it was actually rather refreshing, like having a warm bath poured over your head.”
“And I am to be bound during all of this?”
“You’ll be chained in place, of course, but it's purely for aesthetic purposes.”
“I won’t drown, right? You won’t let me die in that contraption?” Jaskier raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Oh of course not!” Vertos clapped a hand against his chest in mock offense. “I wouldn’t dream of letting you come anywhere close to real danger. This is all about getting the famous White Wolf to break his freakishly well-developed sense of composure. My kin and I only want to make your love life a little more interesting and you know that we’re all so bored. Dragons are solitary creatures most of the time; it’s nice having people to entertain us in return for relatively little payment. Although I intend to pay you very handsomely indeed, my darling bard. This is a production of great magnitude and your skills will be truly highlighted as an actor and poet.”
“I appreciate both the challenge and the reward; Geralt does, too, in his own odd way. Witchers and troubadours are not often paid the kind of fees you and your extremely generous brethren have been bestowing,” Jaskier thanked him sincerely. “It has been a world of help. Geralt has been able to afford better armor and more ingredients for his potions. I’m far less worried about his safety; it has been a wonderful gift and I want to pass on my deepest thanks.”
“That’s all well and good,” the dragon winked roguishly. “But this is really just about making the Witcher blush and stutter over you, darling.”
“Of course. You mentioned a certain weave of silk earlier? One that went well with watery escapades such as this?”
“Oh, yes! I had nearly forgotten. I have a lovely silk blouse picked out for you to wear and when it gets wet -” the dragon whistled suggestively “- it looks amazing , trust me. Your Witcher will absolutely lose his breath over you. Hell, he might propose before he even breaks you out.”
And wouldn't that be something, Jaskier thought to himself.
Geralt slammed his way into the large tower room and scanned the circular chamber in a panic, searching for Jaskier. He didn’t have to look far: the bard and his impressive prison were clearly the centerpieces of the room’s scant furnishing. Behind them and just to the left was a strange man with short salt-and-pepper hair. He was wearing a set of impressively shiny and spiky steel armor and sitting on a theatrically large, gilded throne. When he locked eyes with Geralt he gave an easy, confident smile. “Ah, hello good Sir Witcher. I expect that you’ve come to fight the dragon and win back the bard?”
“Aye.”
“There will be no need for your sword in this matter, my friend. If you can solve my riddle in time then you can have him back right away,” the dragon stated. His confident smile shifted to a lazy smirk and his eyelids lowered slightly as if he was bored. "If you can't answer the riddle and time begins to run out... perhaps your sword can be of some use then."
“You look human enough; no dragon here that I can see. Why shouldn’t I cut you down now and take the bard without answering your riddle at all?”
“Your love has made you foolish,” the man sighed. “You know of my brother, Borch, do you not?”
“Fuck,” the Witcher growled. He stepped forward and went down on one knee before the throne, sheathing his sword in the same smooth movement. Jaskier's heart swelled with pride. His witcher was so fucking gorgeous and elegant. Geralt bowed his head respectfully, his long white hair forming a curtain around his utterly impassive face. His voice was low and even when he spoke. “Release the bard. Please; I’ll do whatever you ask to ensure his safety.”
From within the confines of his glass prison, the bard in question smiled softly. Geralt wasn’t acting, despite his knowledge of their circumstances. He was merely declaring his love while he had the chance, letting Jaskier hear the undiluted truth in the most dramatic and sweet way possible. Truly, the bard loved a romantically gallant Witcher.
“Answer this for me and the bard shall be freed from his imminent demise,” the dragon said, gesturing towards Jaskier. Water began to trickle down from the top of the hourglass and directly onto the bard’s head, soaking his hair and the top half of his shirt, sticking the damp silk against him like a second skin. Geralt's eyes flickered to him briefly but the witcher kept himself focused on the dragon for now. “What gets larger the more you take away from it?”
“That’s the riddle?”
“Were you expecting something more complicated? More confusing? I can do that, if you'd like, or you can try to answer this: the more you take away, the larger it gets. What is it?”
Geralt’s eyes slid in Jaskier's direction a second time and rested there for a long moment, taking everything in while he had the opportunity. Now that he knew the foolish brunette wasn’t in any real danger, the witcher could pause their dramatics to appreciate his view for what it was.
His already devastatingly gorgeous bard was wrapped in expensive cloth and fine jewelry from head to toe, nothing unusual in the slightest when it came to the dragons’ various escapades. With the water falling over him and sticking it to his skin, however, the pale-pink silk shirt wasn’t really hiding anything from view. Damp curls of dark chest hair peeked from the exceedingly low-cut collar and the clinging sleeves accentuated the lean, corded muscle of his arms.
A delicate golden hoop hung from one ear (when had he pierced it?!) and a lovely golden collar circled Jaskier's swanlike neck. His slender wrists were chained together by a set of solid gold manacles and fastened with a waist-high chain to the floor in front of him. Jaskier sparkled like a diamond with the water falling over him that way and the gold dripping from his every limb; it was making the witcher's trousers uncomfortably tight.
Geralt’s eyes returned to the dragon on the throne and his voice reverberated through the nearly-silent room. “It's a hole.”
“Hmm?”
“The more you take away from a hole, the bigger it gets. The answer to your riddle is a hole. ”
The dragon snapped his fingers and the water pouring into the hourglass where Jaskier was imprisoned began to fall even faster. Geralt growled, eyes narrowed: "Let him go! You promised!"
"I'm trying, really. I guess the spell just isn't cooperating very well, is it?"
The water was just past Jaskier's knees now and climbing steadily. Soon it would surround his waist.
Geralt snatched his silver sword up off the ground and spun it in his hand until he could rest his forearm against the blade. Using the hilt, he cracked the front of the hourglass.
"I'm coming, Jaskier! I promise!" despite the bard's promises that this was all play, Geralt hated seeing Jaskier in any kind of danger. It made his skin prickle with a deep, ancient kind of protectiveness. A possessiveness he did not usually allow himself to acknowledge. But with Jaskier everything was different. A challenge. He snarled and slammed the sword into the glass again. A large crack spiderwebbed across the surface and shattered with the third and final blow. Geralt darted inside, past the rushing water that dampened his boots, and collected Jaskier into his arms.
"Geralt I'm a bit-"
The witcher snapped the chain holding the bard's manacles together and Jaskier quickly wrapped his arms around the witcher's neck.
"My hero!"
"Jaskier," the witcher sighed, burying his nose in the bard's damp hair. "Thank fuck I got to you in time. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"It would be quiet," Jaskier joked. Geralt growled low in his chest and kissed the bard silly, only stopping when the younger man begged for air. "Alright, I get it. I love you too, White Wolf."
"Wh-Where'd the dragon go?"
"Huh. I don't know," Jaskier shrugged. He wriggled a little in Geralt's arms, letting the clinging pink silk drag delightfully across his skin. "But there's food in the other room, wine in the cellar, and a very comfortable goose-down bed in the tower if you'd like to take advantage of the... amenities."
Geralt paused as if he was considering the offer, his eyes roaming freely up and down the bard's slender frame, his pupils darkening, "Alright. But the silk stays on for dinner."
"But Geralt," Jaskier pouted. "It's chilly."
The witcher flicked one rosy nipple and smirked at the bard's expression, a mixture of shock and arousal. "I know."