Chapter Text
“You're here for a healer, aren't you? Or are you trying to wait for death to occur?” The woman with brown wavy hair spoke in a very soft and warm voice, not something he'd hear on most days. “Well? Have you decided yet?”
“I'm looking for the——”
“I know who you're looking for, but she hasn't been here since a tenday ago. Now, could you drop him and let me have a look?” She seems to be getting a little impatient.
“Gurr-tt.” Geralt thought to return on road but the stuffed, in pain sound, of the human between his arms made him furrow his brows. “Can you cure him?” Not a question, more of a threat.
“If you're threatening me, then no. If you're asking me,” she paused, “You might want to say ‘please’.”
“Ha…hggg…ugghh…” A puddle of blood smeared Geralt's chest. “Don…mmughh…Huuhh…”
“Shut up, Jaskier, then you won't,” Geralt growled at the bard between his arms. He then growled at the woman standing in front of him, jaw tightened, nostril flared, as if he's about to attack, but then he huffed out the words: “Help him,” he ground the rest of the word through his teeth, “Plea-se.”
“Wasn't so hard was it?” She turned to her heels, “Follow me. Or go ahead and set him down in the second room on the right, up the stairs, if you're in a hurry.”
And Geralt went. Just moments later the woman came in, with nothing but a box and a few scrolls in her hand. He doesn't question, but the frown on his face says everything he needs to say, though it doesn't seem to bother her.
“What did this to him?”
“Djinn.”
“…A Djinn?” She seems to be confused but doesn't ask more. Geralt watches her every movement, up until she decides to reach for Jaskier's very swollen throat. “Trust me, if I wanted him dead he'd already be dust by now. Plus, I'm interested in you, Witcher. I've been here for months, heard tons of stories about you lot, but never got the chance to see one for myself. Well, until now that is.” She doesn't move her hand on Jaskier anymore, instead, she grabs out a scroll, which seems to have powerful magic in it and tears it apart, suddenly the whole room bursts into a light blue shade of colour, “This will cost you, Witcher. And that Djinn, I assume the wishes aren't done. I cannot hold it long, you better think of your wishes, and be precise of it.”
“Hguhh…Uhghh…” Jaskier is getting less air within moments, he needs to act and think fast.
“Now!” The woman yells. At the same time, a wind starts to swirl in the room, while Jaskier's throat seems to flatten, a see-through magic-made hand grasped on something transparent, and it doesn't seem the hand's going to hold long. “Think! And wish for it!”
Geralt thought and thought and finally, something occurred.
But just as he was about to give in the second wish, the Djinn broke free, the magic hand evaporated in thin air and the woman got backlashed by the huge swirl of wind and magic, out of instinct, Geralt went for the woman instead of his wish. And then the Djinn disappeared. The swirl of wind died down, the nature-scented room calmed down and the woman climbed back to her feet, looking somewhat exhausted and surprised.
“This world is just as scary as mine.” The mumble doesn't escape Geralt's ear. But he decides to check on Jaskier before interrogating this more than just odd woman.
“He'll be fine. But he needs to rest for now. At least for the night.” She withdraws her arm away from Geralt. “The name's Echo, of Waterdeep. I'm a…was a bard, nowadays I'm just a sorcerer. Now, if I may ask, who did I just help?”
“Waterdeep?”
“Let's just say I'm not from this realm. I fell through a portal and now I'm stuck here for god knows how long, but I do like it here, it's nicer than where I was. The lady of this tower healed me from my wounds and kept me safe, until things caught up and she had to leave. As I said before, a tenday ago. Now name, please.”
“What are you?” He feels magic still lingering around her and something else, something more strange, more powerful but also weak at the same time. How could it be powerful and weak?
“I'm an elf. One of the nicer ones.”
Echo waited for a moment and then rolled her eyes, “I'm not getting a name out of you, am I? I don't mind casting a spell to read your mind, but I don't think——”
“Geralt.”
“Ok then, just Geralt. And him? Who's he to you? You were very worried.”
“Jaskier the Bard. He's,” Geralt gave the sleeping bard a look, then turned his eyes back at Echo, “a friend.”
“A bard now? Huh, I have plenty of questions when he wakes up.”
Geralt now wishes Jaskier would never wake up. Or maybe he should just take him and leave.
“Give this to him. It's a potion of healing and strength restoration. He needs it.” Echo takes out a red glass bottle and sets it down on the table, “He was heavily wounded and was on the edge of death. You're welcome to stay however long you two want, but don't try to leave with a still-healing patient, he won't make it. Not a threat, just a fact. He needs rest and so do you. You do realise you smell like years-old sewer, right? Room opposite of this, big bath with everything you'll need either than your clothes.”
Geralt debated with himself for a while. He doesn't trust her, especially not understanding what the more-to-her part meant. She says she isn't from this realm, and he does (somehow) believe that, especially when her magic is different from all he's seen, and he's seen many, but nothing like this. Nothing about her is familiar to anything he knows. Maybe the bard part, she is just as talkative as Jaskier during his normal days. He sometimes even talks in his sleep - which annoys Geralt to the hells and back.
“Mr Witcher, I have no ill intent, you can leave him with me.”
She is telling the truth. She's been telling the truth from the start, Geralt knows that, which is the reason that he's so agitated. Since when does anyone, other than the noisy bard, be so truthful to him? There has to be a catch. There has to be. Even the bard wants something from him, from here and then. What could she want? “You said a price. What is it?”
“We'll talk about price after you're washed. I won't add more to it than I had already planned.”
Another irritating truth to it.
Geralt grumbles.
*
Half a day passes, and Geralt finally gets up from Jaskier's side, knowing he now is fully resting with no pain (though he will not willingly admit that bottle of whatever it may be might have helped too), decides to leave for the bathroom the sorceress had promised him. He took one last check on Jaskier, seeing his chest rise and fall with ease, his was swollen throat now all back to normal with but just a small red mark that looked like a hickey, Geralt's shoulder softened with ease. But then tensed again when he remembered his last thought before the Djinn vanished from the room. He's not sure if the Djinn had caught up with his thought then or not, he's not even sure if he accidentally also used up the third wish or not. Hopefully, he didn't. Hopefully, he didn't wish for anything that he shouldn't. Hopefully, the Djinn decided to become deaf at that moment. Hopefully.
Geralt grunts himself to the room across this one, and his senses suddenly heightened. True this is a room made just for a huge bath, he can even see the warm air swinging above the water, and the lightly scented - even for his nose - oils and salts, but that's not what he's picking up. His growing senses are picking up something else entirely, something pure of magic. His medallion is vibrating crazily as if it might shatter the next moment.
Just how he wished he had taken his swords with him into the room. The biggest mistake he's made so far.
Walking cautiously, he pushed away the light silky curtain dangling from the ceiling, eyes roaming everywhere. As he steps by the edge of the huge floor carved-in bath, his eyes land on the source - the mysterious woman who claimed to be a sorceress from another plane.
She's sitting by the shallow waters, and around her is some sort of magical view she had casted, like mist, but more colourful. An illusion of sorts, Geralt thinks.
“Oh,” Echo gasped at Geralt's appearance. Her focus faded from the illusion, the colourful mist disappeared within one breath. “I had thought you'd, well, guess you had to make sure your friend is indeed fine. Umm, I'll leave you to it then.”
“What are you? You reek of strange magic and power. Nothing of which this world offers.”
“I did say I do not belong to this plane, world, realm, whichever you'd call it.” She pulls a thick gown over her damped clothes, covering everything beneath it. “My magic runs through what we call The Weave, where you people call it Chaos. But unlike your sorcerers who need to learn and study it, I was born into magic with no need to learn or study, but practice, making it more stable and more powerful…Why am I telling you this? We just met.”
Silence coated the room.
“...What did you wish for?” She asks slowly, words coming out from her mouth one by one.
Geralt can't be annoyed more at himself. Maybe also at Jaskier. First the Child of Surprise, then he can't sleep, and then goes the missing Djinn, now this , whatever this is.
“What did you do, Witcher!?” She came and stood in front of him, blue eyes full of fury and fire. Once again, Geralt felt his medallion humming and vibrating at the same time.
The nagging feeling deep down still picking at him, telling him something's not right. There's more than meets the eye.
“I saved your life.”
“By bounding me to you?”
“You think I wanted so?”
“I told you to think precise! Great, just great! The last thing I need in my life is more complications. What the hells am I supposed to tell Yen? She'll be furious…And I don't even know what wish you had made.” She glares at Geralt, “Do you know? About your untold wish?”
Silence.
“Oh of course! Why do I even bother to ask!”
Just as things started to heat up, a cry for help came through the doors and then bathroom door came bursting open.
The sleeping bard now being captured by an unknown man, still very hazed by the effect of the previous potion that was given to him, but he seems more conscious now, as he knows to call out to the only person he knows in this room: “Geralt. Help. I didn't do anything.”
“Jaskier.”
“Geralt, I——”
“Shut it.” The man shoves the dagger more towards Jaskier's neck, scraping open a small wound, making the very mortal bard bleed. “Where is that witch? Where's the one with black hair, black dress, smells of lilac and gooseberry? Where is she!?”
Geralt dares not move, his eyes focused on the dagger and the light wound as it very slowly drawing out blood. He darts his eyes to meet Jaskier's, finding those bright blue eyes with horror and plea, a small growl slips past his lips.
“Mister, she's not here anymore, she left. The tower now belongs to me.” Echo points a finger to Jaskier, “That there is a patient of mine, he and the handsome gentleman came to me for help, they got nothing to do with whatever you're seeking for.”
The bold, puff-eyed, with an ugly scar guy, spits on the floor with disgust. “My eyes might be swollen, but even then I know that's a Witcher. They're no human, and never gentlemen . Mutants, are what they are. Freaks.”
“You take that——aaahh.”Jaskier wanted to speak back, but the dagger had gotten more flesh. “Geralt.”
Everything is going all the wrong way. Geralt's grunt becomes a low angered groan as if someone disturbed a sleeping lion. Well, in this case, a wolf. First the Child, then loss of sleep, then the Djinn, then this witch, and then back to Jaskier getting hurt, Geralt again thinks Destiny is fucking with him. Just how many things can happen within the span of just a few years? His eyes fixed on the dagger, hands itching to cast a sign, head thumping with built-up anger from everything that's been going on. Oh, just how much he wants to throw this human out of the window. But he shalln't, he cannot, he won't allow himself to do that. No matter how much he feels like it.
“What do you want?” He grunts out through his teeth, sneering even.
“I want that witch dead! She promised me a cure! Not a disease!” The man yelled next to Jaskier's ear. “She was supposed to clear my mom away from people, but instead I got a coin-digger, sick, diseased mother in my hands!”
“Liar.” Geralt turns his head towards his left. This strange witch, or sorceress as she herself claims to be, even though those two in his head are exactly the same. She has this feral look on her and she smells of disgust, towards that man. “You asked for your mother's death, Yen agreed to take your mother off your hands, however, never in between had she claimed to kill your mother off, all she did was give your mother a potion to haze her memory and let her forget who you are. That was near three months ago. The disease,” Geralt watches how her facial expression turns into a very contemptuous smirk, “that was, is, because of your own doing. Perhaps you forgot you work with shit, to be specific, pig shit. Swine disease is something to be known, just so you know. And no, I will not cure you. Just like you will let go of my patient.”
Just as her last word dropped, a wave of magic grew around them, with a red flash it hit the man on his head and he froze, stood there unable to move or even blink, or to talk, all he could do was stare at her with his swollen yet wide eyes. There's something Geralt finds hilarious about the sight.
Geralt walks towards Jaskier and frees him from the dagger. He plucks the dagger away from the man's hand like taking his trophy from his kills, with ease and no worries, which is weird and he hates the gut feeling of trusting the sorceress due to the unknown bound by the Djinn, but for now, he'll allow it since Jaskier needs to be safe.
“There, there.” He pats the poor bard's shoulder, uncomfortably comforting him.
“Geralt,” Jaskier sighs with safety, holding onto Geralt's arm with his dear life, “For the sake of your dear friend's life, please don't piss off this witch.”
“Hmm.”
“Oh, gods. Geralt, what did you do?” Jaskier squeaked, eyes wide, those cornflower blue eyes full of plea. “Already?”
“You know I can hear you, right? I'm right here, dear patient of mine.”
Jaskier froze on the spot, his eyes met Geralt's, yelling for help.
Geralt huffs out a full mouth of air, heavily wishing that he and Jaskier could leave this very moment. But…the damned Djinn, his damned wished, fucking Destiny, nothing ever can be so plain and simple, not when it involves Magic and the Unknown . Oh, and he still has yet a damned price to pay. Fuck.
“Name your price, sorceress.”
“First of all, a thank you would be lovely. And It’s a very pleasure , Geralt of Rivia, to save your friend.”
“He called me a friend? ”
“Oh, you don't remember?” Echo says in a dramatic surprise. “That is a pity. You should've seen yourself, bardling, all bloody and clinging to his arm for dear life. Hmm, it must've been a very nice sensation though.” She eyes Geralt's arm and then smiles at Jaskier in a knowing smile, making him duck behind Geralt's back.
Geralt grunts, getting irritated. One Jaskier is enough in his life. “Your price, witch.”
Echo tsks softly. “Can't I have at least some fun in my time?”
Jaskier shakes his head behind Geralt.
“Ugh, fine. But you asked for it.” Yen is going to scold her in the future for this. But here isn't safe anymore, the magic is fading from the runes Yen had carved out last month, people are starting to come and go whenever they want. “I need a safe place. A safer place than here. And you and him,” she points to Jaskier too, “will help me to find one, within four-five months. Before that, I shall be an extra company to you both, on the road to wherever, and you won't be able to lose me because of that stupid wish you had wished for. ”
*
And so here they are, middle of Melitele knows where, somewhere in between a thick forest behind and a small stream just a few feet away. Jaskier sat by the fire near Geralt, who's cooking some sort of stew that smelled absolutely amazing to his nose, and watched Echo with a dumbfounded face. “You do realise Roach is head over heels for her, right? She's even letting her scrub her nose and wash her in the nearby river. I mean, of course, the dearest girl deserves to be treated with the best things life could offer, but it took me years to even gain her trust, with the help of sugar cubes and apples as bribe! And she just…she just owns it like what? On the first day of meeting? Geralt, there's something going on here!”
“She talks to her.”
“What?” Jaskier confuses himself. “You do too. And if not more.” He doesn't take his eyes off Echo and Roach.
“As in she can hear Roach's thoughts.” Geralt grunts, sitting on the log and staring at the bot's boiling stew. Slagging his shoulders, seems somewhat defeated. “She says Roach's been complaining about how I feed her too much sugar cubes in the past month.”
Jaskier finally takes his eyes away from the two ladies and turns them towards his dear friend. “And you believe her?”
“Hm.” He first grunts then says: “Roach seemed happy when she fed her a carrot, and today another.”
“You know, Geralt, for the past four days, you've spoken more words than you'd've spoken within months. Is't because how Roach adores her or because of her? What was't that you wished for that made you being so soft, maybe I should find a Djinn and wish it for myself to you.”
Geralt grunts at Jaskiers words. “Thanks for reminding me, bard.” Damn Djinn.
Jaskier shrugs and starts strumming on his lute. “If nobody's going to acknowledge it, then I will. It's been four days since she joined and look at yourself, already going mushy and dearing over her. Whatever you wished for, darling, something is definitely not right. Since when are witches nice? They're rather stone-hearted bitches or some ruthless, crazy woman. If you get lucky, maybe just maybe they'll leave you alone, and that's after she gets what she wants. But never someone like her. Never. Ever. So this is either your wish doing strange things and when she realises we both would die in the most gruesome way one can ever endure, and I mean more than how you kill your monsters. Or, which is highly unlikely,” Jaskier looks up towards where Echo is brushing Roach's hair, “this is how she is.”
“She says she's not from the continent.”
“Yes, you said before. And you believe her. Which is even more terrifying, you know.” Jaskier pouts down at his lute, mumbles, “It took me forever to gain your trust and a Djinn comes around, suddenly you're so trusty, with open arms. Maybe I really should get a Djinn myself.”
“Jaskier.”
“And I mean it! We've- I've been dear to you ever since Posada, and sometimes you still push me away when you need help! You talk to Roach more than you to me and you told me my singing is a fillingless pie! I'm the one who stitched you up many times, and I washed your bottom with chamomile, Geralt! I made beautiful songs that get spread throughout the continent because you deserve to be treated nicely, because you're not a monster, you're the best thing that can happen to anyone, anyone , and I ran into you! You're not just my muse, Geralt, you're also my friend and——”
“Stop.” Geralt sighs.
Jaskier gasps. “I'm talking and I'm not to be ordered to stop! You listen to me, Witcher, I——”
“Not you, bard. Her. She's using magic on you.”
“Wha-” Jaskier blinks and something within fades, suddenly realising what he was about to say before Geralt cuts him off. His eyes widened, looking somewhat terrified and confused. “Don't do that to me! I will not be manipulated into anything!”
Echo walks back towards the two, smirking. “I didn't manipulate you to do anything, everything is already there deep within, I just made you spill your heart out - truthfully.”
Jaskier shuts his mouth and gives Echo an angry look, but mostly like a kicked puppy, wide eyes and looking innocent, which made Echo's smirk wider than before. He unconsciously scooches towards Geralt for safety, sitting shoulder to shoulder, if Jaskier moves more he might as well sit on Geralt's lap.
Echo: “You're adorable, lark. And I have to add, your singing is definitely not fillingless. It reminds me of…never mind.” She smiles and ends the topic. “Is the stew ready yet? It smells wonderful. Do you have any spices?”
“It's in the stew,” Geralt states.
“No, I mean chillies.”
Geralt shakes his head. “No.”
“Pity. Some chilli would be so fine in the stew. But anyway, doesn't matter. You eat what you can get. Even if you need to eat sausage and bread for a month. Ugh, I'll never look at them the same way.”
Jaskier couldn't help his curiosity climbing in his throat. He held back as long as he could, but, “Why did you do that? It sounds horrible,” he choked out.
“Well, not for a month, I was only exaggerating.” Echo smiles cheekily and watches Geralt spoon out the beautiful-smelling stew. “Food was scarce at that time and my little group of freaks didn't have that much money, so we ate whatever we could find, which was mostly different kinds of sausages and bread. You'd have an idea of how it felt when finally you get a nice meal after days of eating the same thing over and over. And with a bottle of fine wine or even a cup of nice brewed tea, anything that's actually heaven-like in your mouth.”
“Thanks,” she says to Geralt as he hands her the bowl of rabbit stew. “I was like you in my little freak group, all chatty and optimistic and a lot of singing, they hated it in the beginning. But they loved it too. I know they did. I might've even gotten one of them stuck with the chorus part.”
Jaskier nipped on his lip and gave her hands a look, and it was there, the leftover of playing a lute for years and years, the proof of a musician, an artist. She does have the voice too. “What happened? You said did . Aren't you anymore? Playing.” He has to ask. He couldn't not ask.
“Life. Plus I fell in love. Well, was in love, we broke up and things happened and here I am eating rabbit stew with a Witcher - which, by the way, we don't have - and his bard.”
She shrugs it off like nothing, but Geralt smells the pungent scent coming off of her for a moment, and it doesn't smell nice. The emotions were so strong that they kind of gagged him at the moment, but was also quick to disappear. He's never smelled anything so strong before, not even when monsters or men try to kill him. Not even when The Lioness of Cintra wanted to kill him for getting her granddaughter as the Child of Surprise. There's more to the story than she's letting out. Much more.
“Life,” Jaskier mumbles and shoves himself a mouthful of stew, “that makes sense. Don't think either three of us don't know what that means. A hunter”, he points to Geralt. “A witch,” points at Echo. “A bard,” he points to himself. “Walks into a bar. Wonder how that'll go.”
It goes all too damn well. Too well to Geralt's liking