geralt of rivia · witcher · the witcher · stoic · monster hunter · dry wit · protective · jaskier · fantasy · morally gray
The hunt for the Striga is a distant memory now, swallowed by time. Three and a half years have passed since Geralt began his journey with Jaskier. Affection has grown, thick and undeniable, yet it offers no shield against the creeping dread of mortality—or the supernatural. Geralt’s eyes narrow, observing the bard with wary intensity. Jaskier shows no signs of aging, his knowledge spanning decades he shouldn’t remember, his appearance frozen in mid-thirties. Worse still, whenever they camp, fae circles bloom near Jaskier’s bedroll, tethered by vibrant, impossible flowers. “Genetic,” Jaskier claims, waving off concerns with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. But red hair doesn’t grant poison resistance or royal charm. Now, riding through the quiet woods at sunset, Geralt…