Try, Please Try For Me

Lay All Your Love On Me

Geralt sits next to Jaskier on the grassy bank of the pond and watches intently as his husband studies his reflection in the water. It must be enchanted in some way, Geralt thinks, because even though the breeze whistles through the willow trees around them, the surface of the pool remains glassy and clear. Not a single ripple forms, not from the gentle wind or the golden leaf that slowly flits down from the overhanging branches and lands perfectly on the water.

Geralt stares into the pool alongside Jaskier, where his own reflection is blinking back at him. But instead of looking, his eyes drift over to where the other man is mirrored in the water, face focused with curiosity, but clearly upset. He watches as the mirrored Jaskier slowly brings a hand across his face, fingers dusting his newly gray-toned complexion and blue freckles.

"It looks wrong," Jaskier says, gaze not leaving his reflection.

Jaskier has been awake for three days now, and has finally recovered from the ash poisoning enough for his strengthened fae healing to kick in. Now the main concern is the actual wound itself, which in combination with Jaskier's faerie abilities and the careful stitches that a faerie healer repaired, is healing nicely. Despite the fact that he's recovering quickly however, he still hasn't been able to shift out of his fae form.

"It doesn't look wrong," Geralt says, gently. "It just looks different."

The reflected Jaskier's brow bunches together and he moves his fingers up towards the base of his curved horns, frowning.

Today is the first day he's been strong enough to walk around outside, and instead of asking Geralt to take him around Faerie, the place he's always dreamed of seeing, Jaskier just made a quiet request for a mirror. The fae apparently don't keep mirrors, and so Twillthistle directed them to this pond.

Jaskier waves a hand at his reflection, watching the movement. "It just doesn't feel like me," he says with a sigh. "Being part fae has never bothered me that much before, even though I knew I was different. If not for the reaction that other people give when they see the ears, I'd almost say I liked them. But this..." Reflected Jaskier's nose crinkles as he makes a face at himself. "Makes me feel like everything I am was a lie. I feel like an imposter in my own skin."

Geralt places a hand on Jaskier's back, right between his shoulder blades, hoping that the bard will find the action comforting. "When witchers come out of the trials," he says, "we often feel disconnected from ourselves. I went through the trials twice, and came out even more changed than the others. My hair turned white from the strain of it all." He hums and rubs his hand up and down Jaskier's spine, taking note of the way the bard leans into the touch.

When Geralt had first come out of the trials he'd taken it so hard he'd avoided the other trainees for weeks. The first time he saw himself reflected in a mirror, he'd been so startled that his reflexes kicked in and he punched it. He still has a light scar on his knuckles from where his fist broke the glass. It was months before he could even handle seeing himself reflected in a metal spoon.

Jaskier's eyes move to look at Geralt's reflection in the water, his eyes studying the witcher beside him. "I had always wondered where the white hair came from," Jaskier says.

"It was hard," Geralt tells him, "to come to terms with the changes. It took me many years to accept myself for who I am. Sometimes it's still hard. But I know what it feels like to not recognize your own reflection. Trust me when I say, it will pass with time."

Jaskier presses his lips together in a firm line, and looks back to himself, drawing his hand across the length of one of his horns. "I guess I'm lucky," he says quietly. "That I don't look like this all the time. Once I change back I can be normal again instead of this-- this thing."